Étienne smiled, his voice light, though he could not fool Hector. “I hope not—it is difficult for me to make new friends. What tea is this?”
Though deflected, the question hung in the air between them, and soon Hector told Nina that he needed to go with Étienne to take care of certain arrangements, promising he would return to sup with her. The dark fear that they had evaded that morning now rubbed itself against their legs, but Hector shooed it away, placing a kiss upon Nina’s cheek.
Outside, there was a strong wind blowing, and Hector grabbed the brim of his hat to ensure it would not go flying away as they walked from the apartment building.
“Tell me the truth, now that she cannot hear us: Will he shoot to kill?” Hector asked gravely.
Étienne hesitated. “I tried to tell Luc this was silly and amends could be made, but my brother is stubborn.”
“That is not what I asked.”
“When we left your home together, that is the angriest I’ve ever seen him,” Étienne said. “He has not only lost a woman, he seems to think he’s lost a business proposition.”
“You mean to say he wanted Nina for her money,” Hector replied.
“Possibly. I am not sure. He did not tell me any details—it is all I could surmise, and it is not as if we are speaking now. Anything I’ve heard since yesterday has been communicated through Gaétan, since that is the role of seconds.”
Hector felt offended. He could understand the irrevocable passion of youth and the rawness of anger, but the thought that all this was because Luc felt cheated out of a bank account made everything worse.
His shoulders tensed, and Étienne glanced at him, a crease forming between his brows. The day was bright and cheery, birds chirping in the trees, but it all felt chilly to Hector, as if winter had suddenly arrived and chased any possible warmth from the city.
“You must not judge him too harshly. He is brash, he always has been. He’s also spoiled. It is our fault, we coddle and taunt him at turns. And he is the youngest of us, facing a more difficult path.”
“For money, Étienne,” Hector said.
Étienne stuffed his hands in his pockets. He sounded ashamed as he spoke. “Nothing matters more than money to us, the Beautiful Ones who walk down these city streets in pristine gloves and silk-lined garments. You can give yourself the luxury of love because you are not one of us. That is why you are my friend: because despite everything, at heart you remain an innocent.”
Étienne clasped Hector’s shoulder, and they both stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, staring at each other’s face.
“You will not shoot to kill, will you?” Étienne asked.
“You know I wouldn’t,” Hector said.
He had thought to shoot Luc in the leg or the arm, if he had the chance, though realistically that “if” was but a faint possibility that grew fainter in his mind with each passing minute. He felt like death was his shadow that day, lovingly licking each one of his steps.
“Accompany me to the notary public, then, and afterward you can select the pistols,” Hector said. “I do not need to look at them. I know they will be fine, whatever you decide upon.”
“What are we doing there?”
“You are witnessing my last will and testament.”
“Hector, please.”
“You are my friend, as you say. To you falls this grim business.”
The matter of the will went smoothly. He left Dufren in charge of settling his business affairs, all accounts to be paid properly, and a fee for his services. To Étienne he gifted several of his paintings. To Nina went everything else.
After the will was notarized, he shook Étienne’s hand and they agreed he would pick Hector up the next morning.
When they’d met, Hector would not have dreamed he would be facing the prospect of being murdered by the youngest brother of that careless youth he’d befriended during his travels. He could tell Étienne was thinking something similar, wondering how they’d arrived at this position.
On the way back, Hector bought fish, bread, and other ingredients at the market. He cooked dinner. To cheer Nina and to distract himself, he proposed they have a picnic inside their apartment, as she’d once suggested, one rainy day. He tossed a tablecloth on the floor, arranged the dishes upon it, poured wine into his finest glasses. She was amused by this, but the sun descended, and as the shadows stretched across the apartment, her anxiety returned.
She clutched her empty glass of wine between both hands, a desperate look in her eyes. “I should not have told Luc I would marry him,” Nina said. “I was upset and I foolishly let myself be talked into an engagement I did not truly want. Then I came to see you, in the middle of the night, and I should not have done that either.”
“I am glad you left the party and came to see me.”
“You are fighting a duel for me. You cannot be glad,” she protested.
He leaned forward; their foreheads almost touched. As he moved, his foot grazed the bottle of wine. It shook, but did not fall.
“When you knocked on my door, I was half-dead. I had spent days dragging my sorry carcass around my room, convinced I would not see you again and wishing I could tear the world apart for this injustice.”
He clutched her, the weight of his mouth against her shoulder and his arms around her, and she poured herself against him, forgetting it all, but reality sneaked in at length. Nina drew apart. She raised a hand and pressed it against her neck, as if it might keep her voice from trembling. It did not.
“What are you going to do tomorrow?” she asked.
“I’m going to trust that Luc Lémy will inflict no lasting harm. Most duels don’t end in death, I’ve told you that, and twenty paces gives me a fair chance. Tomorrow I might be back before breakfast with only a scratch for you to look at.”
“You won’t have me wait for you here, will you?” she asked.
“I can’t have you with me.”
“What, am I to stay in bed, in terror, praying that nothing happens?”
“You are to stay in bed, asleep. And when I return, I can wrap my arms around you and lie at your side,” he said.
“Hector, don’t treat me like a fool.”
“I really need that. I need to know you are waiting for me at home. Please.”
She wanted to cry, he could tell. He had been performing all day, all the tricks to distract her, and he would not let the illusion crumble at the last minute. He kissed her. She turned her head, he ran his hand along the side of her face and she sighed.
He shifted his legs and accidentally sent the bottle of wine tumbling down. It would leave a stain on the tablecloth.
Nina giggled as he tried to undo the buttons of her dress. “Here?” she asked. “But the bed—”
“Books detailing the mating habits of beetles don’t explain everything, it seems.”
Her brows lifted in challenge, and her voice slid low, scraping his skin. “Oh, really?”
She sat on his lap, and they kissed for a long time. In the end, it was the bed after all because he liked the way her hair fanned against the pillows, and he wanted to look at her like that.
If it is the last time I look at her, Hector thought, and panic shot through him. Nina must have noticed, because she pulled him closer to her with a knowing determination.