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Raoul’s stomach dropped and his mouth became dry. He stood in front of Morvan, in his severe black suit and simple black cravat, and all he could think of was what the undersecretary did in his own bedroom. How would he feel having his sexual liaisons brought up publicly?
“You do not disagree with this accusation of depravity?”
Raoul did not respond, but he hung his head. He was sure he was to be fired, and sent home to Souvigné in disgrace. What would he do there? Work in the vineyard like his father? Perhaps he could learn to be a vintner, work in the caves?
“There is a way you can turn your deviance to the good of France,” Morvan said, and that was when Raoul truly knew his fate had been sealed.
“Yes?” he asked timidly.
The undersecretary finally motioned him to a seat. “You are familiar with a British nobleman, Lord Therkenwell?”
“He and I are ... acquainted.”
Morvan hmphed. “Acquainted with his buttocks, if my sources are correct.”
Raoul felt himself blushing. If the word cock came up in the conversation he thought he would die of mortification.
“Are you aware who his father is?”
They had talked little of their families—whenever John mentioned his father, his cock seemed to wilt. “Earl Badgely, I believe.”
“And do you know what role he serves in the British House of Lords?”
Raoul shook his head. It seemed stupid, now, to have engaged in a romantic liaison with a member of the British aristocracy, and not done his diligent research on the man’s family and connections. But then, he had been more interested in John’s body than his background.
“I do not.”
“He is the chair of the Committee for British West Africa,” Morvan said.
Raoul permitted himself a small shrug. What was a Briton’s interest in Africa to him?
Morvan leaned forward. “You are familiar, of course, with the Suez Canal Company, and our contention with Britain over it.”
Raoul nodded.
“Despite British interests in a railroad from Alexandria to Suez, they allowed de Lesseps to finish the canal four years ago. It left both of our countries positioned to explore the interior of the dark continent and explore its riches.”
Raoul still did not understand what this had to do with his romance with John Seales, but he continued to listen.
“We are come to a similar position with regard to west Africa,” Morvan said. “We have established our footholds in Senegal and Côte d’Ivoire, while the British have theirs in Sierra Leone. It is in France’s best interest to stall further exploration of the continent by the British.”
Raoul looked out of the window, where a single pigeon huddled against the ledge, trying to avoid the onslaught of the relentless rain. “Earl Badgely is the prime driver of his country’s initiative to explore and conquer,” Morvan continued. “Our ambassador has tried to reason with the British and tried to negotiate, but with little outcome. And so the task has fallen to us, to do what we can in this situation.”
“Did you wish me to draft a letter to Earl Badgely, outlining reasons why Britain should desist in its exploration?” Raoul asked. “I could research the situation.”
“It is already beyond that. It is time for more severe action.”
Morvan sat back in his chair and steepled his fingers. “Do you know the penalty for committing sodomy in Britain?”
Raoul swallowed hard. “I do not, sir.”
“It carries a maximum prison sentence of life with hard labor.”
Morvan was silent for what seemed like a very long time, probably to give Raoul a chance to consider what could happen to him.
All thoughts of exile to Souvigné evaporated. No, he would not return home in disgrace. He would be sentenced to life in a filthy British prison, walking a treadmill to produce grain or some other back-breaking work.
Morvan continued, his tone almost kindly. “Just five years ago, two British men were arrested outside the Strand Theatre for wearing women’s clothes. They were charged with conspiracy to commit sodomy with the third son of the Duke of Newcastle. There was quite an uproar. But then, you were in Paris, then, were you not?”
“I was.”
“No one could prove them guilty of anal intercourse, so they were sentenced for an offence against public morals and common decency. Instead of imprisonment, they were under government surveillance and control for two years.”
Well, that didn’t sound so bad, considering the alternative. Would he have to stay in Britain, or would he be returned to France in ignominy?
“The duke’s son, Lord Arthur Clinton, was not part of that trial, but he was a suicide later that year, because of the stigma attached to his family.”
Suddenly it all became clear to Raoul. This whole charade was not about him at all, but about John Seales and his father. He swallowed hard.
“As you can imagine, it would be quite damaging to Earl Badgely were such charges to be brought against his son. The accompanying scandal might even force him to resign from his position and return to the countryside.”
“Are you proposing that I expose myself in an effort to have Lord Therkenwell charged? But surely that would have dire consequences for me.”
“Perhaps you should have thought of that before inserting your cock into his ass!” Morvan roared unexpectedly. Then his voice quieted. “Or do you play the woman? Does he penetrate you?”
Raoul’s mouth dropped open. “I find the entire subject of this conversation objectionable.” He pushed back his chair and stood. “You will have my resignation forthwith.”
“Sit down, you stupid boy.” Morvan stared at Raoul until he complied. “You are too valuable an employee to be wasted in such a manner. I have other ideas for you.”
Raoul’s body shook. “What sort of ideas?” he asked.
“A simple threat should do,” Morvan said. “A letter on embassy stationery notifying Earl Badgely that it has come to our attention that an illegal and immoral relationship exists between one of our employees—you will not be named—and his son. That unless he resigns from his position on the committee such details shall be posted publicly.”
Morvan sat back, a beatific smile on his face. “I think that will do nicely. We remove him, and he avoids the public scandal. You will secure your lover’s acquiescence to this plan as soon as possible. And of course you must continue your regular duties as my assistant.”
He waved his hand, and Raoul rose and walked back to his desk.
He had no idea how Morvan had ferreted out his secret. He never spoke of such things in the office. All his encounters in London prior to meeting John had been quick and furtive, and he could not imagine how word of their relationship had reached Morvan’s ears. And yet, he did work for an agency that engaged in subterfuge, so he ought to have expected that.
Someone in his own office had spied upon him, presumably at Morvan’s direction. How could he continue to work at the Embassy when any one of his colleagues could know such intimate details of his life?
He appeared to be in the same trap which had snared him for Father Maurice. He was at the mercy of a more powerful man—and once again one who was attempting to use his cock to manipulate him.
As he returned to his desk, he looked at each one of his colleagues. Who had betrayed him? Alexandre had his head down, carefully copying numbers from one sheet to another. Was it him? He and Betty had encountered Raoul with John outside Liberty’s. Could Alexandre have followed them, ferreted out John’s identity?
Then there was Hugo, who never seemed interested in women. Had he spotted Raoul in an indiscreet encounter? He had been to molly houses before meeting John. He and John had been together on the street. Hugo could have spotted them and interpreted the gestures between them. He could not catch Hugo’s eye as he was intent on a document he was reading.
Or finally Gabriel, who was Morvan’s pawn. Had he been assigned to trail Raoul, to search for a way in which his sexuality could be used against him? He took no notice of Raoul, staring into space as he often did.
He saw the three of them in a different way. They were not friends, certainly, though their work threw them together. Colleagues? Yes, officially. But which one was the spy?
