“So do I. Er, on that subject, I don’t suppose you know of Perreau’s intentions towards Alma Thorpe?”
Nico’s eyes widened sharply. “It seems they are walking out,” Titus explained. “Apparently I had to give my permission for that, which is absurd, but now I feel rather responsible, so if you happen to know of any reason Alma shouldnotwalk out with Perreau, I wish you will tell me. If he is married already, or a dangerous rake, or any such thing. Not that I think so at all, but I would be remiss not to ask.”
Nico briefly looked that rare thing, speechless. “I… cannot speak to Perreau’s intentions, but I believe him to be greatly charmed by Mademoiselle Alma, and I have never known him be a cad to a woman.”
“That really is all I wanted to know,” Titus assured him. “Just, I had to ask if he has a trail of abandoned babies behind him.”
“I can say with certainty he does not.”
“Then anything else is up to Alma. Shall we go through?”
Thorpe did indeed examine him closely as they went in to dinner; Titus was grateful for Nico’s warning, and his work on the neckcloth. And for dealing with Henry, and for finding Vespasian, and for so much else, he’d lost count.
He’d intended to broach the subject of gratitude, and if it might take a tangible form, this evening. Nico had mentioned his lack of funds before moving in, and though he’d claimed he had resources, Titus had seen no evidence of them. He wasfairly sure that Nico had outstanding bills with his tailor and other tradesmen, and he had meant to ask if he could make him a loan (with a repayment date somewhere at the end of the century) before Henry had arrived and thrown everything into disarray.
It was only fair. He had so much, and Nico had done so much for him, and frankly, even if he had come into Titus’s life with one eye on Titus’s bank balance, he had made himself invaluable ever since. Titus had no objections to paying for services rendered; he just wanted to find a way to make the offer without sounding like he was paying.
He couldn’t possibly broach the subject now. He wasn’t the most socially astute man, but anybody could see the problem with,Since you appear to be willing to go to bed with me, would you like some money?
They sat down to dinner. Once they were served and the footman gone, Nico raised his glass with a smile. His smile was warm and his eyes were wicked, and Titus was hit with a wave of emotion so powerful, his throat closed entirely.
“Titus? Mon ami, what is it?”
“Nothing. Nothing. I just thought… I am so fortunate to know you. You could have consigned me to the devil and walked away when we met and nobody would have blamed you, and instead you have shown me nothing but help and kindness—”
“No, no, no,” Nico said. “Don’t. Please.”
Titus had no idea why he was so very resistant to thanks. “I won’t embarrass you,” he said. “But I have never met anyone like you. The way you listen, your consideration—”
“Has it ever occurred to you that your standards are remarkably low?” Nico sounded quite heated. “You are grateful for the slightest attention, and it is an absurdity! You are too used to standing back.”
“I don’t greatly enjoy putting myself forward.”
“But when you speak, you are worth listening to, and I cannot say that of many. Less of the self-effacement, mon cher. I do not like to hear you be grateful for things you should have by right—to be considered, or listened to, or helped. Bah.”
He looked positively fierce in Titus’s defence. Titus felt positively dizzy. To have gone in the space of a few hours from Henry’s grinding demands to Nico’s kisses…
He didn’t even realise he was smiling until Nico smiled back, and he lost himself in the glory of it.
“Better,” Nico said, reaching over to tap Titus’s glass with his own. “Now, since we are obliged to eat—and the dinner is, as ever, delicious—tell me about your lesson.”
“Oh. Yes. I was trying to paint an egg.”
Nico indicated a question with his eyebrow, while sketching an oval in the air. Titus said, “It’s a little more complicated than that.”
“How so?”
“Because it’s not about drawing an outline. Gideon says one doesn’t paint an object, but rather the light as it falls on the object. That’s what you have to look for, the shape of the light—are you really interested in this?”
“You are interested in it,” Nico said. “I should like to know what catches you so.”
“Well, take, oh, your wine glass. What colours would you use to paint it?”
“I scent a trick question. Red for the wine—you are going to ask me which red, and I will say, one that is wine coloured, and probably made of toadstools. And for the glass… merde. I suppose there is not transparent paint. Oh, but you use the colour of the thing behind it, non?”
“No, you see, this is what is so exciting, because you areactually painting the light, and the shadows too. So the wine in the glass isn’t simply red. It’s got lines and patches that look white or gold where the light falls, and parts that look brown or black in the shade.”
Nico turned his glass in front of the candle flame. “But it is red.”