Notes: FenellaG - Yeah, Remy is a little shit... But maybe he will become a little less stubborn soon! Guest - Hey! Good to see you checking in again! I agree about how Remy is treating her, but my interpretation is that the depth of the hurt he felt (and still feels) is because she was the greatest love he ever had, and so that sense of betrayal cut really deep. And I think, in his heart of hearts, he knows that she loved him too, even if he doesn't want to admit it, and so he can't rationalise in his head why she would still have betrayed him despite that. But things will change. They have to, right ;)
Enjoy! x
CITY OF LIGHTS
Chapter 10
The dovecote atop the Millicent Collins' town house was burbling with the sounds of hungry pigeons.
Remy, feeling unreasonable bold, charged the latch to the pen, releasing control of the tiny thread of energy in a wisp of an explosion that threw open the gate with a resounding snap. The pigeons fluttered into the sky, and, laughing, he scattered the birdseed high up in the air, letting the birds whirl round him as it all came crashing down again.
He was proud of himself. Of the fine control he'd built over his powers, over this whole crazy mission. Of satisfying a woman who made an art of not being satisfied. No matter that she'd walked out on him angry and indignant. She wouldn't be for long.
Remy watched the birds feeding with a smile, like a boy watching favoured pets. At last, he selected the one he wanted. Picking up the pigeon with a now practiced hand, he attached his message and sent it on its way.
Hopefully, within a few days, all the information he'd gleaned from Anna Darkhölme would be in Carver and MI-6's hands.
He wandered downstairs, searching for something to tamp down the edge of his hangover.
Millicent was in the lounge playing the latest jaunty hit on her ornate gramophone player, and he whistled merrily along to tune as he entered and poured himself a coffee.
"I take it you had a pleasant time last night," she threw at him knowingly as he entered.
"That I did," he concurred with a smile in his voice.
"And I take it, in the midst of all the pleasure-seeking you indulged in, you managed to get some information of use?"
He threw himself onto the couch, a maddeningly self-congratulatory grin on his face.
"I did."
He proceeded relay to her everything he had learned, as quickly and concisely as his mood would allow.
"A British scientist, you say?" Millicent was surprised at that. "MI-6 would certainly like to know that information."
"I've already sent it to them," he reassured her. "Courier pigeon."
"Ah." She left the gramophone and alighted gracefully on the couch. "It seems to me you are finding your relationship with Fraulein Darkhölme rather profitable already."
He made no reply, simply sipping at his coffee – but the smile on his face was suitably smug. Just the mere mention of her was putting a twitch in his dick.
"You ought to be careful," she chided him playfully. "Should the general find out—"
"It wouldn't matter to him. She ain't his lover. She's his bodyguard."
She looked startled at that.
"His bodyguard?"
"Oui."
"Don't you find that awfully strange?"
He shrugged, unconcerned. It seemed that any concern he might've had was trumped by the idea that his new paramour was unattached. Millicent grimaced. It might not have been obvious to Remy himself, but the look on his face was certainly one she had seen in men many times before. She patted his thigh with helpless affection.
"Tread lightly," she reminded him, as soberly as she could conjure up in light of his contagiously buoyant mood.
"Yeah, yeah," he waved her off, as if she were his mother. She tutted and rose, moving to the side table to pour herself a coffee too.
"If you must know," she informed him. "I've invited her and the general for tea tomorrow."
He sat up at that.
"What?"
"The general and his lovely bodyguard. I've invited them to tea."
He stared at her over the top of the couch, eyebrows raised.
"My dear, you told me you considered her dangerous," Millicent reminded him over the rim of her cup. "I concurred. I would very much like to observe her. How she interacts with you. Whether that sense of danger is unfounded, or not." He looked surprised, agitated by her words even, and she hastened to add: "I always like to keep an eye on my weakest links. And my boy, at the moment, you are both my strongest and my weakest."
-oOo-
The general was humming to himself, an operatic tune Rogue had heard him play often, but could not name.
She peered into his bedroom to find him at the mirror, buttoning up his dress uniform. An uncertain smile flickered across her lips. The general was a dour man, not given to romantic inclinations, at least as far as she knew – but the acquaintance of Madame Millicent Collins seemed to have brought out whatever latent quixotic feelings he possessed.
"My dear Anna," he spoke, seeing her in the reflection. "You are not yet ready. We will be late."
She stepped into the room fully.
"Is my presence necessary, General?" she asked.
"But of course!" he replied, having buttoned up his blazer and turning to her. "Your name was on the invitation."
"I feel I would only get in the way," she protested; but he was having none of it.
"My dear, your presence is always needed, if not for the pleasure of your company, then for your unique talents. Besides," he added, "why do you feel you would get in the way? Surely you don't think I go to woo Madame Collins!"
It had crossed her mind, despite her knowing him the way she did.
"I think you enjoy her company a great deal," she responded diplomatically.
"Well, I do." He gave a genuine smile. "She is an uncommonly entertaining host! And since making her acquaintance, I feel I have been given quite a new lease on life. But don't imagine I have any other intentions than companionship towards her. Romance is quite out of the question for someone such as me."
Rogue smiled audaciously, crossing the room towards him and assiduously smoothing out his lapels.
"General, I have heard it said that the best marriages are based on companionship first, and romance second."
He scoffed.
"You are too young to entertain such foolish notions!"
"I thought it rather wise."
"You cannot tell me you have given up on love," he remonstrated with her seriously. She dropped her eyes, then her hands.
"Love only gives us pain," she murmured. He could have had no clue who she was speaking of in that moment – but she knew he would think he knew.
"Ah, my dear," he said softly, patting her on the shoulder soothingly. "Do not think of my son."
He moved away to retrieve his coat.
"You will come with me, Anna. We cannot turn down Madame Collins' invitation; and I sense you need something to distract you today, even if it is only a good afternoon tea."
No amount of cajoling would get him to change his mind, and Rogue knew it. Obediently she went back to her little room, and made herself more presentable. If there was some excuse she could have found to avoid seeing Remy again, she would have taken it – yet even so a part of her longed to see him. Try though she might, she had been unable to think of anything else but him, even if the thought of him brought her as much pain as pleasure. And so, she left willingly.
The car journey was a short one. Anticipation chased her, up the stairs to the front door of the grand apartments, in through the door as the footman held it open for them. It did not leave her even as they were led to drawing room, and she was finally faced with him once again.
Madame Collins, effortlessly elegant as always, rose from the couch to greet them. Remy, sitting with a lackadaisical arm thrown back across the opposite couch, gazed at her unsmilingly, his eyes drawn to her and no one else. Even when he finally stood and approached them, his eyes did not leave hers, and she realised that she wasn't breathing. The meaningless patter of the general and Madame's conversation had faded into the background as she thought of their meeting at L'Hotel.
He smiled at her, as if he knew exactly what it was he did to her.
They took their seats, a maid appearing to deliver tea and refreshments. Rogue barely noticed a thing. She had expected his presence to be confronting, but not quite like this. Her thoughts burned with the memory of his touch, his weight, his kiss, his masterful possession of her. She had gone without pleasure for so long that now, with him, it was like a drug.
They sat across from one another silently as the general and Madame Collins laughed about times, places and people – mutual friends – long gone by.
Every so often she would raise her eyes and find his already on her, assessing her with some impenetrable intensity.
It brought a flush to her cheeks and the blood rushing between her legs, when she thought about what they had shared not so long ago. Their own illicit little secret, in the midst of such genteel company! It brought the blood rushing even harder; she pressed her legs together, and her body pulsed with newly reawakened need.
For a long while she held his gaze, challenging him to think he was having any effect on her at all. But the roiling in her depths wouldn't stop, and at last, it was too much for her.
She stood, breathing tremulously, and moved swiftly to the table of refreshments. Somehow she was not surprised when, only a few moments later, he joined her there.
"Try the salmon and cucumber sandwiches," he suggested, when he saw her deciding which canapes to put onto her dainty plate next. "It's the only thing worth eating on this table."
She took the suggestion, not to please him, but merely to have something to do. The memory of their passionate tryst the other night was viscerally present, and him standing this close to her was drowning out all other senses, especially the kind called common-sense.
"You forgot something the other night," he said casually. He dipped a hand into the pocket of his suit jacket and brought out her Derringer. "Here."
She was startled when he laid it on the table between them, making no effort to conceal it. She snapped a glance over her shoulder at the general and Madame Collins – but they were both locked in animated conversation, and she slipped the clutch out from under her arm, snapped it open, and secreted the gun inside.
"Thank you," she said stiffly, aware that this was some sort of peace-making gesture for… well, for whatever had happened between them the other evening. She tucked the clutch back under her arm and moved down to the drinks.
He followed, picking up a few random titbits from the table and depositing them nonchalantly onto his plate.
"Meet me again," he said quietly. "Same time, same place. Tomorrow."
Heat suffused her. A part of her was incensed that he was still pressing her for more… a greater part of her was unabashedly hungry for more of the same pleasures he'd inflicted on her, if not the invasive torment of his probing for information.
But she didn't think she could say no.
"Same name?" she asked softly, pouring tea.
"What name do you suggest?"
The question seemed like a concession. Of what, she wasn't entirely sure. But he seemed… softer than before.
She turned, glancing over her shoulder at him, not afraid, in that moment, to look him in the eye.
"Lavosier," she murmured, and sashayed back to her seat.
The afternoon seemed to drag on for an inordinate amount of time. At last everybody rose, goodbyes were said, and Rogue snapped on her gloves, thankful to finally leave. Such niceties bored her, but that was nothing to the hungry, wolfish stare of Remy LeBeau. She was surprised when, at the door, he took her gloved hand in his and pressed it to his lips, his eyes never leaving hers.
"Tomorrow," he murmured the word in a volume no one else could hear.
Was he mocking her? It felt like it. She drew her hand back sharply and rejoined the general, who was bidding his leave from their hospitable host. Her cheeks still flushed, she got into the waiting car and didn't dare look back at the party of two waving on the pavement as they finally sped off.
Remy LeBeau turned back into the house, grinning from ear to ear.
"You are being quite insufferable," Millicent scolded him, as the butler shut the door behind them.
"Really? I feel insufferable," he declared flippantly.
Millicent shook her head helplessly. Ah, the brazen follies of young love, she thought to herself!
"I take it you will meet her again," she probed him.
"Sure will. Don't worry. I'll get more information out of her. I promise."
He was being remarkably insouciant about the whole thing, and, Millicent thought, this would not do!
"Remy," she called to him firmly, as they passed the door to her little private study. He turned, surprised at her change in tone, to see her holding the door open, indicating for him to step inside. He did so, and when she had shut the door securely behind them, his demeanour was all business once more.
"What is it?" he asked her soberly.
"You asked for my opinion," she said, equally seriously. "On her. On this. Very well. I have assessed the situation, and if you desire my opinion after all, I shall give it."
A faint smile touched his lips, and he made an open-handed movement with his hand, gesturing for her to continue.
"She is as you say," she replied, "a dangerous woman. Why exactly the general thinks she is a worthy bodyguard, I have no idea, although I do believe he is right. She is not a woman to be meddled with. But her deference to the general interests me. It would not surprise me if he had some sort of hold over her. What that is, I cannot tell."
All traces of levity had disappeared from Remy's face.
"You think she's… indebted to him somehow?"
"I cannot say." Millicent shrugged. "It should not bother you, unless of course, it is some sort of leverage you wish to hold over her. She is scared. Of what, I cannot tell." She paused, before adding in a half-curious tone: "She is attracted to you, that much is clear. But… she is scared of you too."
He was surprised.
"Me?"
"No doubt she senses the game that you play with her, of that I am certain. To her, I suspect you represent… loss of control."
Control.
His brow furrowed at the word. All those years, and she hadn't found it, where he had. And it had been so easy.
"Tread lightly," she warned him yet again. "In this case, your penchant for play might not reward us in the way it usually does."
And with those final words of warning, she patted him on the arm and left.
-oOo-