by Jane Feather
Nathaniel’s lips thinned. “I don’t believe that’s any of your business.”
“Oh, don’t you?” Simon demanded morosely. “According to Georgie, Lord De Vane would expect me to call you out for debauching his honorary daughter.”
Nathaniel threw back his head and roared with laughter. “Is that what I’ve done, indeed? If you ask me, the boot is definitely on the other foot. It was my honor that was suborned by that shameless wild woman … and at your instigation, my friend.”
Simon grinned reluctantly. “Well, I didn’t suggest she seduce you, but I did imply that she’d have to employ unorthodox measures to gain your attention.”
“She certainly did that! Now, can we get on with these questions?”
“Go ahead.” Simon leaned over to refill his glass from the decanter on the side table and then sat back cradling the goblet between his hands. Of course Nathaniel was right Every caution was essential, even where Gabrielle was concerned.
It was an exhaustive and exhausting session, but when the two men parted in the early hours of the morning, Nathaniel had failed to find any holes or even weak spots in Simon’s narrative. It would appear that Gabrielle was everything she seemed to be.
He had one last test for Gabrielle. But first he needed to ensure her absence for an hour or two.
“Oh, Gabby, I forgot to give you this letter. It arrived for you just before we left Vanbrugh Court.” Georgie entered the breakfast parlor the next morning, flourishing an envelope. She dropped it beside Gabrieile’s plate and smiled around the table.
“Good morning, everyone. I slept like a baby. I think the air in Hampshire must be more restful than in Kent” She leaned over to kiss her husband. “You were up betimes this morning.”
“Some of us have been up for hours,” Gabrielle said, picking up the letter. The envelope bore Talleyrand’s elegant script. “Some of us have already had a two-hour ride.”
“And thus feel we deserve our breakfast,” Simon added, pinching his wife’s cheek. “Unlike lazy ladies who don’t bestir themselves until past mid-morning.”
Georgie merely smiled at this good-natured raillery and turned to examine the chafing dishes on the sideboard.
Nathaniel leaned back in his chair, one booted ankle resting on his thigh, his hand circling a tankard of ale on the table. His eyes rested on Gabrielle, watching her face as she slit the envelope with her butter knife. The handwriting on the envelope was almost as familiar to him as his own.
Gabrielle had been expecting a letter from Talleyrand relatively early in her assignment, and it had been agreed initially that she would use the Vanbrughs’ address as a poste restante. Once she’d established herself in the network, she would inform her godfather and they would use a more efficient channel.
Gabrielle wondered if Nathaniel recognized the handwriting. It was highly likely he’d seen examples of it in his work. Some of Talleyrand’s correspondence would have surely fallen into English hands at some point.
“It’s from Talleyrand,” she said calmly, glancing across the table at Nathaniel. He inclined his head in a gesture of acknowledgment and raised his tankard to his lips.
Gabrielle decided he had recognized the handwriting and she’d probably just passed another test.
“Quite an honor to have such a notable correspondent,” Miles observed innocently, frowning with concentration as he filleted a kipper.
“Oh, I’m fully sensible of the honor,” Gabrielle said with a tinge of irony that neither Simon nor Nathaniel could miss. “My godfather is a regular and most interesting correspondent.”
“And a consummate politician,” Miles said comfortably.
“Indubitably,” Gabrielle agreed. “He’s the cleverest man in Europe, not excluding the emperor. And his cleverness is exceeded only by his ambition. I defy anyone to untangle the personal motives behind his allegiances. If it suited him to abandon Napoleon, he would do so without a qualm.”
“A pragmatic gentleman,” Nathaniel commented with a shrug. “Lady Vanbrugh, may I pass you the marmalade?”
“There’s no need to be so formal, Nathaniel,” Gabrielle said, unfolding the sheets of paper in leisurely fashion.
“No, indeed not,” Georgie agreed, slightly flustered because she still could not like Nathaniel Praed, despite the magic he so clearly weaved around Gabby.
“You do me too much honor, ma’am,” Nathaniel said, confirming Georgie in her dislike.
“Pompous ass. Take no notice of him, Georgie.” Gabrielle picked up a roll from the basket on the table in front of her and threw it across the table. It landed in Nathaniel’s tankard, splattering ale over his shirt.
“Why you …!” He pushed back his chair, half rising to his feet. Gabrieile’s chin lifted and she met his indignant glare with challenging eyes and her mocking, crooked smile.
“What am I?”
“Devil’s spawn,” he said with a reluctant grin, resuming his seat, dabbing at the mess on his shirt with his napkin.
Simon and Miles exchanged a look of total incredulity and Georgie stared in unabashed amazement at her cousin who, with a complacent smile, had turned to her letter.
It was clear at first glance that she was supposed to share its contents with the English spymaster. It was a cheerful, chatty letter describing the social scene at Warsaw, Napoleon’s reception by the Poles, and the emperor’s fascination with Marie Walewksa.
Presumably that was the nugget she was to pass on. It was a piece of information that would be of general interest to the English government, and at this point it was something known only to Napoleon’s intimates. If Gabrielle passed on the information, it would add credence to her claims of intimate connections within the court surrounding the emperor.
“Well, it seems Napoleon has found himself another Josephine,” she said, looking up, realizing that Nathaniel had been watching her carefully as she’d read the letter. What had he been watching for? Signs of evasion or calculation, perhaps. Well, he wouldn’t see them. All the years with Guillaume had taught her to show on her face only what she chose.
“In Poland?” Nathaniel inquired casually.
“The wife of a Polish chancellor,” she said. “I’ll read the letter to you. It’s quite entertaining.”
It was the civilized letter of a civilized man, full of observations and impressions, descriptions that were pointed and witty, Nathaniel reflected. The significance of a liaison between Napoleon and the Polish noblewoman was not elaborated upon, but it would be obvious to any intelligent observer of the world’s affairs.
It would be interesting to read Gabrielle’s reply. That would tell him much more about the relationship between the diplomat and his goddaughter than this seemingly innocuous communication. Did she conceal her hostility from Talleyrand under a dutiful filial response? From what he knew of Gabrielle, he’d find that hard to believe. And yet as he’d already observed, the more he learned about her, the less he truly knew her.
“Interesting,” he said noncommittally when she refolded the letter and slipped it back in its envelope. “I wonder how Josephine will react.”
“She’s an extremely jealous woman,” Gabrielle observed, pouring coffee into her cup. “For some reason she doesn’t consider her own infidelities to be of the least importance compared with Napoleon’s. She writes him outraged letters whenever rumors reach her of some possible liaison. He describes her as a tigress when she’s jealous, but all she has to do is weep and he comes running again. He’s very susceptible to women’s tears.”
“Then it’s to be hoped Madame Walewska learns that rapidly,” Simon commented. “Since I’m sure she has an ulterior motive in becoming his mistress.”
“Power is a powerful aphrodisiac,” Gabrielle said lightly. “Talleyrand told me that Napoleon is actually very sensitive about the smallness of his … his … private parts.”
“Gabrielle!” Georgie protested, although her eyes shone with interest.
“Not a suitable topic fo
r the breakfast table? Or is it the mixed company that troubles you?” her cousin inquired impishly.
“Both, I imagine,” Nathaniel said, pushing back his chair. “Spare our blushes, you outrageous woman.”
Gabrielle laughed. “Very well, I’ll change the subject. What are we going to do today?”
“We should be on our way,” Simon said.
“Oh, must you?” Gabrielle looked disappointed.
“Yes,” Miles said firmly. “We’ve intruded sufficiently.”
“If you leave within the hour, you could probably make it back to London in time for a late dinner,” Nathaniel said readily.
Even Georgie recognized that Nathaniel this time was making fun of himself and joined in the laughter, but no one attempted to alter the plan, and an hour later Gabrielle waved the chaise away from the house.
“Are you tired of being alone with me?” Nathaniel inquired as they turned back into the hall.
“No.” She shook her head. “Far from it. But that said, I imagine I’m a more sociable being than you.”
“That wouldn’t be difficult,” he agreed with a wry smile. “I’m afraid I’m going to be very boring and shut myself up with some work.”
Gabrielle shrugged. “I wouldn’t mind going into town to do some shopping.”
“I’ll tell Milner to bring the brougham round from the stables.”
“I’d rather take your curricle and your grays.”
Nathaniel regarded her quizzically. “I don’t wish to offend you, ma’am, but they’ll be very fresh.”
“I can handle them.”
“Yes, I’m sure you can.” He shook his head with a resigned chuckle. “Very well. But Milner had better go with you.” He turned aside toward the library.
“Could I take Jake?”
The question arrested him with his hand on the library door. “He has lessons.”
“A surprise holiday never did anyone any harm.”
“You don’t want a child hanging on to your skirts while you’re shopping.”
“If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have suggested it,” she pointed out.
To his surprise, Nathaniel heard himself saying, “If you really want to, I see no objection.”
“Thank you,” Gabrielle said with quiet satisfaction. One made progress little by little.
Nathaniel watched the departure of the curricle from the library window an hour later. Jake was bouncing on the gravel like an india rubber ball, apparently chattering nineteen to the dozen to the patient Milner and the smiling Gabrielle, who swung herself gracefully into the curricle and took up the reins. Milner lifted Jake onto the seat beside her and then jumped up behind.
Nathaniel watched critically as Gabrielle felt the grays’ mouths with a delicate pull on the reins. They were very fresh, stamping the gravel, lifting their heads to the brisk wind blowing in from the river, their breath steaming in the cold air. He wondered uneasily if he’d been wise to allow her to drive them. She gave the order to the groom to release their heads, and the horses plunged forward.
Nathaniel drew breath sharply, then relaxed as he saw her draw on the reins, asserting her mastery, bringing the grays round on the gravel and trotting them sedately down the drive. Gabrielle was clearly a capital whip—as he’d expected.
He went upstairs to the Queen’s Suite. He had a good two hours in hand to conduct his search.
12
Jake was in seventh heaven at this unexpected holiday. He chattered throughout the short drive, too excited to take much notice of what they passed on the way, demanding to know what shops they would go to and what Gabrielle wanted to buy, and whether they could buy an ice from the tea shop on the quay. Primmy had once bought him an ice there a long time ago when he’d had to go to the dentist and he’d been very brave. The afternoon stretched magically ahead for the child, an uncharted landscape with no limits.
Gabrielle listened attentively to the boy’s seemingly irrelevant prattle as they drove along the country lanes between hedgerows bright with holly berries. It was almost as if someone had taken the lid off a bubbling well, she thought. Jake talked as if he could talk forever. Was he not used to an audience? she wondered as he embarked on a convoluted description of some fantasy game he liked to play. It was an elaborate and imaginative scenario, the details lovingly and carefully described to his attentive listener. This was clearly a child who lived in his head, she concluded, as the rich inner landscape took shape for her. And Nathaniel presumably had no idea.
What kind of child had he been? As lonely as Jake, certainly, but tougher, she suspected. The son of the daunting-looking sixth Lady Praed, rather than the sweetfaced, gentle-natured Helen, seventh Lady Praed.
As she thought these thoughts and lent an attentive ear to the child’s chatter, the seventh Lord Praed was conducting a systematic search of her possessions.
Nathaniel had conducted many such searches in his career, more often than not under conditions of secrecy and the threat of imminent exposure. That afternoon he was in his own house, secure in the knowledge that Gabrielle was well out of the way and that no one would either question his presence in this room or interrupt him.
It gave him the leisure to proceed with excessive thoroughness. Coldly, he blocked out all thought of the personality behind the possessions as he examined the gowns in the wardrobe, checking seams and hems. She had an enormous number of shoes, he registered distantly as he examined the soles of each one, testing for the hollow sound that would indicate a cavity in the heel.
He went through the lacy undergarments in the drawers of the armoire, looking for concealed pockets, loose seams. He had the advantage of Gabrielle in that he knew the room itself contained no secret hiding places. If she did have anything compromising, it would be in her possessions, unless she’d made her own hiding place in the furniture or draperies.
He went through her jewel case, raising his eyebrows slightly at the priceless gems, realizing that so far he’d seen Gabrielle wear barely half of the treasure of the Hawksworths.
He went through the contents of the secrétaire, running his eye over the letter from Talleyrand that she’d read at breakfast. She’d left nothing out in her reading. There was no other correspondence, no journal even.
He stripped the bed and examined the mattress. There were no suspicious cuts or lumps. He ran his hands along the curtains at the windows and around the bed. He looked under the carpets, turned the chairs upside down, and lifted the cushions.
There was nothing to be found. He wondered if he’d expected to find anything. And only then did he realize how relieved he was.
He stretched in the shaft of weak sunlight falling from the window and ran his fingers through the silver swatches at his temples. Then his eye fell on the books on the floor beside the window seat. For some reason, he’d missed them.
He bent to pick them up. There was a copy of Delphine by Madame de Staël and a copy of Voltaire’s Lettres philosophiques. He opened the latter, shaking out the pages. Nothing fluttered loose. He did the same for Delphine with the same results. Idly, he picked up the Voltaire again. It had been a long time since he’d read this critique of prerevolutionary French institutions. The inflammatory book had sent the author into exile and was generally considered an incitement to the revolution that had followed its publication.
He flipped through the pages, his eye running over the text. Suddenly he went cold, the hairs on his forearms rising.
He stared down at a long paragraph where certain letters were marked faintly with lead pencil. There were numerical annotations in the margin.
With a heart of stone he took the book into his own room next door and copied out the passage, including the annotations. He would master the code at his leisure. Then he replaced the book and checked the room to make sure that everything was as he’d found it. The bed looked a little less neat than it had, but no one would notice. He smoothed the coverlet and then went down to the library to await the return of Gabrielle and his s
on.
He’d used such codes himself many times, he reflected distantly as he poured himself a glass of cognac. Books were the ideal medium. They were such a natural component of one’s personal possessions, easy to carry around, and only those fluent in the language of spies would notice on a casual glance anything remarkable about faint markings on the text.
Fluent in the language of spies … Dear God in heaven! Of all the treacherous, duplicitous whores—peddling the glorious wares of her body while she betrayed …
He hurled the glass into the fireplace. The delicate crystal shattered and the fire spurted blue flame as drops of brandy splattered on the logs.
How close he’d been to believing her! A hairbreadth away from entrusting her with the most sensitive political intelligence and the lives of half a dozen agents in France. A hairbreadth away from entrusting her with his own soul …
What a fool! How could he have been such a fool? With her laughter and her challenges and exuberance … with the glorious wildness of her passion and her deeply erotic sensuality … she’d wormed her way under his skin, nibbling away at his defenses like some internal parasite, destroying the protective shield he’d erected since Helen’s death.
She’d entranced him and captivated his son in order to betray him.
Icy sweat broke out on his brow as a wave of revulsion swept through him. Jake—she’d used the child, Helen’s child, to weave her damnable spells around her quarry, to learn his secrets, to exploit his weaknesses. And he’d let it happen.
And her friends. He saw her laughing with Simon and Georgie, singing that silly song, joined in the deepest intimacies of a shared past. A shared past to be exploited, without conscience and without loyalty. She had duped Simon as neatly as she’d almost duped himself.
He stared into the fire and in the wreathing flames he could see Gabrielle’s body contorted with joy, her hair flowing on the white pillow, her limbs twisting around his, drawing him ever closer to her center, to be engulfed in the glorious conflagration of their fusion.
