An amused smile played over Laroche’s mouth. ‘How very enterprising of them.’ He held out his hand to Finch. ‘Give it to me.’
Finch brushed a speck of lint from his breeches, his expression puzzled. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. And when my embassy hears — ’
‘Don’t play games,’ Laroche snapped, stepping closer. ‘The statue of St Hubertus. It wasn’t in the church.’
Finch actually laughed. ‘Every church in the country has been stripped by the army. Forgive me, but you presume too much.’
‘Nonsense. A letter that came into my possession not three days ago, mentions a statue. You were in that church and here you are.’
‘We’re not here because of a statue,’ Finch said mildly. ‘We came as Commandant Blancot has said, to see Mr. Mayfield released. He’s been a particularly fine member of our embassy and we wanted to ensure he continues his good work for your network.’
Laroche scoffed. A harsh sound that grated on her already frayed nerves. ‘Come, Monsieur Michaud, if that is your real name, which I’m sure it isn’t. Mr. Mayfield isn’t a member of your embassy and never has been.’
‘You are wrong.’ Adeline spoke before she could think and regretted it immediately.
Laroche eyed her, speculatively. ‘I can assure you I’m not but I daresay you’ll try to convince me.’
She swallowed but plowed on with the story that she and Finch had agreed on. ‘Mr. Mayfield is an undercover agent, following Bonaparte’s army. He’s been loaned to our embassy in Paris because he’s good at what he does.’
Laroche’s grin curled with malice. ‘Oh, he’s very good at what he does and I should know.’
‘You do?’ Her brows rose.
‘Nicholas Mayfield is my half-brother and a royalist from his boots up.’
Blancot gave a long whistle.
‘That’s impossible,’ Finch declared. ‘He’s never lived in France.’
Laroche whirled around and glared at him. ‘Nicholas remained in England when our mother married the Comte de Laroche. When I was ten Mother took me back to England, thinking both her sons would become friends.’ A sneer passed over his face. ‘She was wrong. Nicholas didn’t play fair.’
His voice rang with the bitterness of a child thwarted. There was no doubt he spoke the truth and for a moment she wondered what had happened on that visit to drive such a hatred of his own flesh and blood. She wasn’t close to Rosalie but she’d never wanted to hurt her.
‘Your family history is no concern of mine,’ Finch said, standing up.
‘Stay where you are, you imposter,’ Laroche spat. ‘I haven’t finished with you.’ He turned to his guards. ‘Search him.’
Finch, outnumbered, hardened his jaw as two guards grabbed his upper arm. ‘Laroche, you will be hearing from our embassy.’ Finch yanked his arm but the guards held fast. ‘And don’t think this will be viewed lightly.’
‘You think I care?’ Laroche sneered. ‘By the time I’ve finished with you, there will be nothing to show you’ve been here.’
The guards thrust Finch up against the wall. Pressed against the stone, Finch was completely at their mercy. One of the soldiers ran his hands over Finch’s body and down his legs, a thorough inspection that didn’t show an ounce of gentleness. ‘Nothing, sir,’ the guard said.
They swung him round and Finch admirably adjusted his cravat with a level look at Laroche. ‘I did tell you.’
Blancot murmured, ‘Sir, I hope you know what you’re doing.’
‘You are now my assistant,’ Laroche hissed, ‘and I order you to be quiet. And if you can’t be quiet I’ll slit your throat.’
Blancot clamped his mouth shut.
Laroche studied Finch, his hands on his hips. ‘So, if you don’t have it, then …’
With a wolfish grin, he slowly turned his eyes to her. ‘Madam Michaud, or should I call you Sophie? Is the statue in your keeping?’
Her breath hitched and she shook with nerves taut as a full sail. ‘I have no idea why you would think so. Charles has already told you the church was empty.’
‘My little Sophie,’ Laroche said with a smirk. ‘I will search you myself if you do not give it to me this instant — and that will give me immense pleasure.’ He almost purred the last words.
She gasped and moved beyond his reach. ‘You would put your hands on me? You are no gentleman, sir.’
An insolent grin spread across his face. ‘Feisty. I like that.’
He leaned forward to grab her but she back stepped, right into a guard. She yelped as the guard immediately pinned her arms and held her to his chest.
‘Let her go,’ Finch demanded at once. He lunged forward only to be brought up short by three muskets trained at his head.
‘Tut, tut, monsieur,’ Laroche said. ‘Your little lady is in good hands.’
Finch’s eyes lit with rage. ‘Only a coward would take it out on my wife.’
A nasty little laugh erupted from Laroche that sent chills down her body. ‘Come, now. Sophie may or may not be your wife, but whatever the truth, the game is over.’
Laroche moved across to her. He stroked her face with fingers that wandered lower to her breast. A move that caused her to recoil into the guard still holding her, with every fiber in her body.
‘The statue, my dear.’
He played with her like a cat with a mouse. She couldn’t escape these guards and short of allowing Laroche an unbearable latitude with her body, she had to give him what he wanted. ‘It resides in my reticule.’
‘Thank you, my dear.’ Laroche tugged it off her arm, his fingers intentionally caressing her inner wrist. He plucked the statue out, his eyes gleaming. Blancot nearly whimpered.
‘A thing of beauty, would you not agree? And in perfect condition too. I commend your care of it.’
She itched to kick him and gouge his leg with the toe of her boot. He deserved it and more, as now the last link with Skylark had gone and with it the chance of her pardon, although that was the least of her worries right now. She’d be lucky to survive the day.
Laroche turned the statue over and chuckled with surprise. ‘I see Nicholas’s sense of drama has not deserted him.’
‘What do you mean?’ she asked guardedly.
He tapped the written script on the saint’s robe. ‘This code. It’s one we devised on that childhood visit. I will be able to decipher this with ease.’
Horror strangled her throat like a vine. Not only had she lost the statue but Laroche would know the contents — information that might be dangerous to their own agents.
‘When I see Nicholas, I must thank him for it,’ Laroche said with amusement.
‘That may be a little hard.’ Her voice cut the air like a sword. ‘He died two days ago.’
A frightening expression crossed Laroche’s face. ‘Blancot, is this true?’ His eyes never left her.
‘Yes, sir. Stomach wound. Nothing to be done for him.’
Laroche whirled. ‘You bloody incompetent fool! I wanted to interrogate the bastard.’
Blancot held up his hands, his face ashen. ‘I had no idea he was your half-brother. No idea at all. So sorry … didn’t mean … that is —’
Laroche’s eyes flashed dangerous sparks that would have cut down a better man. ‘Did he say what he’d been doing? Or where he’d been?’
‘We couldn’t get anything out of him.’
Finch smiled at this. Laroche dumped the statue and reticule on the desk and marched over, grabbing his shirt collar. ‘You must know. What was he doing here?’
Finch faced him with cold, unblinking eyes. ‘You are assuming we were privy to his orders. We were not.’
Laroche screamed and punched Finch in the stomach with a sickening blow. Finch doubled over on a groan, and she clasped her stomach, utterly sick.
‘I say,’ Blancot murmured, looking aghast. At Laroche’s poisoned look, he coughed. ‘Er … nice work, sir.’
‘Spies, damn spies the both of you
.’ Laroche breathed out heavily. ‘And you,’ he slapped Finch’s face with an open palm, ‘you stay locked up until you talk.’
Finch’s head flew back and Adeline’s heart cracked. ‘Charles,’ she cried. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Quiet!’ Laroche roared, turning on her.
An imprint of a hand marked Finch’s cheek, burning red against his tanned skin.
‘Sophie had nothing to do with this,’ Finch said to Laroche through gritted teeth. ‘I made her carry the statue but she’s innocent. A decoy.’
Oh Finch. His selfless bravery cut her in two.
‘You spies are all the same,’ Laroche said panting. ‘Lie after lie.’ He snapped his fingers at the guards. ‘Take him to the basement.’
Shock, fierce and wicked, ambushed her. The guards surrounded Finch and one dug the point of his musket into his back. Finch lurched forward, his face giving nothing away, even though he must be hurting.
He flicked her a speaking glance before the guards marched him out of the room. She couldn’t read it and in the quiet that followed she realized how much she’d come to depend on him. His solid presence, his cool head under pressure. What she wouldn’t give for his ruthlessness now.
Her lip trembled but she reined it in. She would not show Laroche how much she feared him. For both their sakes, she must stay strong and think how to get them out of here. ‘What do you plan to do with me? Lock me up as well?’
Laroche’s eyes narrowed and he stepped closer. He clamped his hand over her throat and squeezed. Pain exploded behind her eyes and she stared at him, gasping.
‘You know, my dear, I have a mind to do so, but where would the fun be in that? Hmm?’ He released her suddenly and she staggered back, drawing in great gulps of air.
‘No, you shall dine with me tonight and I will learn from that sweet mouth of yours, the truth about Nicholas.’
She swallowed, her throat bruised and pulsing with pain. ‘You must believe me,’ she croaked, ‘I don’t know anything.’
Laroche swore. ‘I am sure once you’ve enjoyed my … games, you will remember.’
Deep within her, a fear more terrifying than her near suffocation, coiled its way up her legs. They buckled and she had to put out a hand to hold onto the desk. Dear mother of Mary.
Blancot stood hovering near the window and Laroche turned to him with a snarl. ‘See that she has a room with water to wash. I want her ready and willing to convince me of her innocence.’
She sucked in a ragged breath. Her mission had failed in spectacular fashion. Skylark had died, the statue had been taken and Finch languished in a cell in the basement. And in a few short hours, she would face Laroche. All for information she did not have.
But if he thought to do this to her, what of Finch? Laroche would treat him far worse and she could not bear to think of Finch broken and bleeding. He’d looked out for her from the beginning and he’d come to mean everything … as important as the stars at night and the sun during the day. His dear face as he’d left her — oh, why had she not realized it before? She loved him. Loved him with every beat of her heart, every breath she took, every smile and touch.
Only it was too late. Much too late. Unless —
Thinking back, the meaning of his look became clear. He was depending on her to do something. Just what, she had no idea at the moment. The only thing she knew for sure was that she would not go to Laroche willingly. She would fight as a spy should fight. With every skill she had learned. She would be cunning, inventive. Looking for the moment when she could execute an escape.
For to lose would be the loss of her love and certain death.
Chapter Sixteen
The clock showed six when a guard came to collect her. He marched her towards a dining room at the rear of the building, usually the province of the commandant’s guests. Tonight however, Blancot wasn’t there. No doubt he’d been ordered to make himself scarce.
Laroche stood poking at the fire, evilly resplendent in his scarlet coat and black breeches. The firelight flared, and with satisfaction, he laid the poker aside on the hearth and surveyed her.
‘My dear. How lovely that you join me,’ he said softly.
A gleam lit his dark eyes and desperately she glanced around the room. An oval table stood at one end flanked by two hard-backed chairs. Intimately set with silverware, three chafing dishes, a compote of fruit and several flickering candles, it was a scene for seduction — or worse.
Jerkily she waved her hand at the table. ‘Impressive that you went to this much trouble.’
‘You’re worth it.’ Laroche strolled over, a glass of something red in his hand. ‘Please take this claret. I fear we got off on the wrong foot earlier and I wish us to have a pleasant evening.’
His idea of a pleasant evening definitely didn’t match hers and claret wasn’t a drink she cared for, but she took the glass and pretended to sip. She wouldn’t put it past him to have poisoned it.
Slowly, she gathered her composure. Perhaps she could drag out proceedings by asking lots of questions and delay the inevitable. That thought gave her a slight boost until she glanced at his face. The foxlike features were relaxed, even mellow. Underneath however, there was a simmering excitement that turned her stomach. The fox was baiting her, watching and waiting.
So the game began. A game more deadly than any she had played. Her body quivered but she did not look away. ‘How did you know we would come here?’
Laroche moved over to the table. ‘Knowing you had the statue, it wasn’t hard. I knew Nicholas had been brought here and thought you’d try to reach him. Particularly after I worked out you had taken the letter.’
‘And you did nothing to help your half-brother even though you knew he was here?’ His cruelty seemed ingrained and all thought he might spare her evaporated in an instant.
Laroche must have read her disgust because he said with a growl, ‘I didn’t know he was wounded.’
‘Would that have made any difference?’
‘Of course. I’d have interrogated him sooner.’
Her breath caught as he waved her towards the table. ‘Sit down. We have a selection of meats and I’ve ordered an apple tart from the cook that I’m sure will delight you.’
The food sounded better than she’d eaten for days. It was a pity her appetite had deserted her. She crossed the room and chose the chair nearest the door. She’d need to use every little thing to her advantage.
Laroche sat with his back to the window, unconsciously giving her a better fire-lit view of his face. Making good on her plan to delay, she raised her glass with a slight incline of her head. ‘To … er… your thoughtfulness.’
‘Thank you, my dear. It is a pleasure to spend this time with you. Now, tell me,’ he said as he lifted the lid on the nearest chafing dish and spooned some braised beef in red wine onto her plate, ‘what did you hope to find out from Nicholas?’
He hadn’t wasted any time with his questions. She picked up her fork and prodded the meat. ‘This does look appetizing.’
Laroche smiled and condescended to her tactic. ‘The cook is new, from the Bordeaux region. Apparently this dish uses one of the local wines.’ He cocked his eye at her. ‘But you haven’t answered me and don’t think to evade the question by calling out to the guard for help. He has been given express orders not to come in, no matter what he hears.’
Her heart seized. She truly was on her own and even though she’d hoped to fob him off, his intent look demanded an answer she must find. Her mind whirled, landing on option after option. The story she had told earlier would need to be embellished and the only thing she could remember were the reports Peregrine had given her.
Slowly she said, ‘Mr. Mayfield has been working on supply lines for Napoleon Bonaparte’s army. He travels with them to ensure that the men are fed, clothed and appropriately armed. It is a huge job and he is one man among many, but the Swiss embassy was happy to loan him to the logistical regiment, particularly after he was highly praised
earlier in the year.’
She stuffed her mouth with meat and swallowed. So many lies. Peregrine should be proud of her — if only she lived long enough to tell him.
Laroche didn’t immediately reply. Instead he poured another drink and ate a mouthful of his meal, assessing the truth of her statements. ‘And who requested him?’
She blinked and picked up her own knife to spread butter on a slice of bread. ‘The ambassador of our embassy in Paris.’
‘And that would be?’
‘You don’t know?’
A smirk flashed across his face and he learned forward and clasped a hand behind her head. ‘You are such a pretty thing but not very forthcoming. I do know the ambassador as it happens but I would like to hear his name from your own lips.’
She hadn’t had time at The Nest to learn about the Swiss embassy in Paris. It hadn’t seemed necessary in their rush to leave for France and she had no idea who the ambassador might be. She couldn’t even guess a name and if she got it wrong, there’d be nothing to save her. The time had come to take a risk.
She fluttered her eyelashes and leaned forward, wobbling her breasts a little. ‘What a handsome man you are. You distract me from my thoughts and I can barely think. Perhaps a little kiss from you would help me to remember?’
A slow smile. ‘Just one?’
The pig. She dimpled and ran her fingers down his jacket. ‘Maybe two little ones?’
He chuckled and moved his head towards her, his eyes a dark, burning brown. As his lips landed hard on her mouth, she grabbed the dinner knife and stabbed his hand. The knife slid between his second and third finger and she thrust hard, crushing bone and sinew.
Laroche pulled back on a scream. He stared wildly at the knife sticking out of his hand then yanked it out on another horrible scream that echoed around the room. ‘You bitch! You bloody little bitch.’
Blood dripped from the wound as she sprang up, her chair crashing to the floor behind her. She turned to run but Laroche lunged. His arm shot out and locked around her windpipe. He squeezed and without conscious thought, she dropped her shoulder, twisted and punched. Just like Finch had shown her. A jarring shudder ran up her arm as her fist connected with Laroche’s throat. He reeled back, falling to his knees.
An Unwilling Spy Page 17
