by Diane Darcy
These were troubled times in his country. England was rife with spies, both from France and America. The latest war with France appeared to be nearing an end, but no one expected Bonaparte to give up easily. He continued to gather support and funds where he could, including in England.
Richard did his best to find those individuals with sympathies toward France. Many of the French aristocrats had fled to England at the start of the war, becoming English gentry. But not all of them severed ties with France despite pledging allegiance to England. Added to that were those Englishmen who supported Bonaparte and his cause.
Regardless of what type of support they gave Bonaparte—money or information—it was still treason. Identifying them was no easy task but he’d spent years honing his skills.
A deep sense of loss filled him at the memory of Charles Dumond, the friend who’d lured him into this ridiculous life.
And it was ridiculous.
Searching out spies had seemed like a mad chess game when Dumond first dragged him into it after their years at Oxford. He and Dumond believed themselves invincible despite the risks they faced. No wonder the government recruited young men for this terrible game. Older and wiser ones lived longer but accomplished less as they weren’t willing to take the risks the position often required.
That was the challenge of this life. Rushes of fear followed by long days of boredom as one watched and waited for something of interest to occur.
Much like this evening, which promised to be as tedious as so many other nights. But members of the ton were often the best source of information. The people in attendance this evening were influential, including diplomats, ambassadors, and titled lords and ladies with relatives in France.
His reputation as a rogue gave him reason to move from brothels, gaming hells, and taverns where information was also abundant to events like the Southbys’ ball. Most people overlooked the fact that his boots were well worn, that he had only one carriage, and his stable was half empty. They thought him harmless, that he was merely taking what pleasure he could from life before convincing a wealthy debutante to marry him.
But marriage was not in his future plans.
He had something far more important on his mind: revenge.
After nearly a year of long days and nights, he’d narrowed the list of suspects to three who fit the identity of a French spy who called himself Le Sournois—The Sly One.
Thus far, Richard knew he was an English lord with relatives in France whose loyalties remained with Bonaparte. He’d brutally murdered Dumond outside a French tavern, along with Maria, the woman who’d betrayed them, before shooting Richard and leaving him for dead.
Richard had caught only a glimpse of the jeweled dagger Le Sournois had used to kill Dumond. Its distinctive handle was burned in his mind forever. Tracing that dagger along with other clues had led him to the three men, one of whom would be in attendance tonight.
The ball was no different than countless others Richard had endured. He told himself he found it amusing to be a voyeur, observing all facets of Society. But often he found the antics of both the ladies and the lords appalling. The innuendos hid little if one watched closely.
What made their behavior any different than the thieves and prostitutes in the rough parts of the city? Better clothes for one, but beyond that, it was difficult to say.
With a mental shake of his head, he pushed aside his cynicism and reminded himself to focus on the task at hand. He nodded at a lady who smiled prettily but moved on. Distractions of any sort were dangerous in his work, especially women. He’d made the deadly mistake of trusting a woman once but never again. Not after Maria.
He lingered behind the Marchioness of Danbun, who was currently having an affair with the Spanish ambassador, but she said little of interest. He continued around the room, catching interesting comments here and there. Gathering intelligence sounded far more exciting than it was.
As the music for a quadrille ended, he watched people clear the dance floor and others take their place. He rarely danced. Few of the ladies were truly skilled at it, and conversation during most dances was nearly impossible, unless one indulged in a scandalous waltz.
With surprise, he realized he was lonely this evening. Ironic, given the fact that he stood in the company of over a hundred others. Loneliness was an emotion he rarely allowed himself. Doing so meant thinking of Dumond, and despite the fact that he’d been gone nearly a year, Richard still missed him deeply. Social events had been far more amusing with his friend at his side.
A French diplomat paused in his conversation with a lady to glance at Richard as though sensing he should be careful with his words. Richard didn’t immediately move away, enjoying the man’s discomfort.
His mood wasn’t conducive to gathering intelligence this evening. In truth, he was tired—a weary-to-the-bone kind of tiredness that told him to take a few days away from this business. He had to guard against cynicism, lest it drag him into despair.
But he couldn’t take that time off yet.
The Duke of Wayfair was one of three lords on his short list of suspects for Le Sournois, and he was supposed to be in attendance this evening. Richard didn’t often come across the duke, who tended to only partake in select events. Any opportunity to watch and hopefully listen to what he said couldn’t be wasted.
Keeping an eye on the growing crowd for his quarry, he continued moving along the room at a snail’s pace, observing, filing away the random comments he heard to be examined more closely later.
“Did you see who she danced with?”
“Why would she choose to wear such a color?”
“I heard he lost a fortune on a ship from the Caribbean.”
On and on the gossip went, some interesting but much of it petty and cruel.
“From my research, I understand there is money to be made in the spy business.” That comment had him pausing.
He wanted to turn to face the woman who’d said it, tempted to correct her assumption. The paltry amount he received for his services barely covered his expenses.
“How much?” The intensity of the other lady’s tone had him listening closer.
“Well, the exact amount wasn’t mentioned, but it’s supposed to be quite lucrative.”
“Then I shall make inquiries.”
Richard couldn’t help but turn as subtly as possible, pretending to search the crowd so he could identify the two women speaking, though he didn’t know who had said what. Did they not realize what a deadly game they played by speaking of spying?
One was a young lady he didn’t recognize. The other who’d sounded so interested at the idea of spying was Miss Caroline Gold. He’d noticed her on more than one occasion simply because she was beautiful. Though he had no intention of marrying, ladies still occasionally caught his interest. Her blonde hair and green eyes combined with her cool demeanor had drawn his attention the previous year.
Those unusual eyes met his, the intelligent awareness in their depths surprising him. How had he not noticed that before?
The woman was truly beautiful, making it difficult not to stare. Rather than preening as so many debutantes did, she shifted as though uncomfortable under his regard. As if she knew her appearance was nature’s doing rather than her own, and she couldn’t take credit for the result.
When she raised a brow askance, he realized how rude he was being.
Halting his fanciful thoughts, he turned away, hoping the two would continue speaking on the topic of spying, but their conversation turned to other matters.
As he skimmed over the crowd once more, a ripple of satisfaction filled him at the sight of the Duke of Wayfair approaching. But when Richard realized he walked directly toward him, his heart rate surged. Only once he was near did Richard realize the duke’s focus was on Miss Gold rather than himself.
While Richard wouldn’t mind a confrontation with the man, he did not yet have proof. Confronting him would only alert him to Richard’s suspicions.
As the duke greeted Miss Gold then escorted her to the dance floor, Richard watched them closely.
He didn’t care for the duke, regardless of whether he was Le Sournois, but Miss Gold seemed to, based on her bright smile. Richard couldn’t help but feel a twinge of regret that the intriguing lady was involved with Wayfair. Yet as he considered it further, her comments about spying made perfect sense if she worked with the duke. It never failed to amaze him that people spoke so freely about their supposed secrets in public. He’d encountered that with surprising frequency over the years.
Perhaps he’d inadvertently found another link in the chain that connected the network of French spies living in London. The pair bore watching and the night was young.
Richard trailed behind them, realizing the evening had just gotten much more interesting.
ORDER ON AMAZON
Other Regency Rendezvous Books
The Devil of Montlaine
The Blue Drawing Room
The Archaeologist’s Daughter
Ice and Embers
The Elusive Lady Winston
Wreck and Ruin
The Earl’s Encounter
P.S. I Loathe You
Romancing the Rogue
The Stablemaster’s Daughter
The Enigma of a Widow
A Rake Like No Other
About the Author
Diane Darcy loves to read and write lighthearted and funny books. She’s a member of the Heart of the West and RWA. She was a finalist for Romance Writers of America's Golden Heart® Award. She’s written romantic comedies in several different genres—some historical, some contemporary, all lighthearted and fun. She makes her home in Utah with her family and is hard at work on her next book. She can be reached at www.DianeDarcy.com, or at https://www.facebook.com/diane.darcy.104.
