London Gambit

by Tracy Grant

  O'Roarke was further down the table, sitting back a little, as appropriate for one who had supposedly not fought at Waterloo. Harry's fingers were curled round the stem of his wine glass. Malcolm met his gaze for a moment. He knew his friend hated anything that verged on sentimentality. Cordelia was looking at Suzanne, as though sharing their memories nursing the wounded. Laura sat quietly. Cuthbertson's gaze was trained on her.

  A footman slipped up behind Malcolm but not, as Malcolm thought, to refill his glass. "Forgive me, Mr. Rannoch, but there's an Inspector Roth of Bow Street below with a lady. He says he has an urgent message for you."

  Malcolm met Suzanne's and O'Roarke's gazes. Of one accord, the three of them slipped from their seats. The commotion of the course being removed helped cover their departure. They met in the passage outside and went down to the ground floor sitting room where the footman had shown Jeremy Roth and the lady with him. Lisette Varon.

  "I'm sorry for the interruption," Roth said. "I had called in Berkeley Square. To tell you that I've been ordered to stop the investigation into the break-ins at Whateley & Company and Brook Street."

  "Damnable," Malcolm said, "but not entirely surprising. The wonder is Carfax let the investigation go on as long as he did."

  Roth nodded. "I was leaving you a note when Mademoiselle Varon arrived. She has news that's more urgent."

  "One of the coffeehouse waiters is a friend," Lisette said. "I had him watching for Germont and his friend to come back into the tavern. And listening." Lisette's gaze flickered from Malcolm to Suzanne to Raoul. "They were discussing some sort of meeting. Tonight at ten-thirty. By the stand of oak off Hyde Park Corner."

  Malcolm exchanged looks with his wife and Raoul, then glanced at the clock. It was five minutes to ten.

  "I don't have the least idea what this is about," Roth said. "But tell me what I can do to help."

  "You're the best of friends, Jeremy," Malcolm said. "Can you see Lisette safely home?"

  Lisette opened her mouth as though to protest, then slowly nodded. "I suppose I'd only be in the way. You'll tell me—"

  "Everything we can," Raoul said.

  "Which could be precisely nothing. But I appreciate the thought."

  Apsley House stood at Hyde Park Corner. Suzanne could see the stand of oak as she and her husband and Raoul slipped from the house. "Almost as though they planned this with us in mind," Malcolm muttered.

  Raoul cast a sideways glance at him, but didn't say anything.

  Not knowing what the evening would hold, they of course hadn't dressed for blending into the shadows. Malcolm's and Raoul's dark coats did well enough, and fortunately her gown was black net over champagne sarcenet, not as well suited as a plain black silk but far better than coral lace or silver gauze.

  The park was dark and mostly still at this hour, though the wind stirred the trees, the occasional owl called, and small animals rustled through the grass. Dark shapes beneath the trees also occasionally stirred. Hyde Park was a refuge for those with nowhere else to sleep. Many of whom, Suzanne knew, had returned home less than whole from the battle they had been celebrating in the candlelit house across the street.

  Without the need for speech, they took up positions in the shadows on the edge of the stand of oak. They could adjust later as needed, depending on where Germont and his friend and whomever they were meeting positioned themselves.

  Another owl hooted. A real one, she thought, though her senses were keyed for a call between agents. The wind whipped a branch against her cheek. And then the wind brought something else. The sound of soft footfalls on the grass. Somehow there was something familiar about that gait. But it was only when he stepped into the stand of trees and a shaft of moonlight fell across his profile and bounced off his spectacle lenses that she realized what.

  Apparently, Germont and his confederate were meeting with Lord Carfax.

  Beside her, Malcolm had gone absolutely still. She wanted to reach for him, but was afraid to do anything that might disrupt his concentration.

  Carfax paced the clearing, then turned abruptly as another man stepped between the trees. His features were in shadow, but the moonlight caught his pale hair. And she'd know that posture anywhere.

  The man Carfax was meeting wasn't Louis Germont. It was Julien St. Juste.

  "Isn't this a bit overdramatic?" Carfax spoke in his familiar, incisive tones, but she caught the tension beneath.

  "Neutral ground." Julien leaned against a tree across the clearing from where Suzanne, Malcolm, and Raoul were positioned behind the trees.

  "We haven't needed neutral ground before."

  "We haven't done this sort of exchange before." Julien folded his arms across his chest. The posture was casual, but Suzanne could read tension in the lines of his body as well. "Did you bring it?"

  Without speech, Carfax reached inside his coat and drew out a sheaf of papers.

  "I'll need to verify them," Julien said.

  "Do you think I'd be fool enough to give this to you without seeing what you brought me? You're quite capable of sticking a knife through me."

  "My dear Carfax. Tempting as that might be, I'm quite sure you've arranged for things to be exceedingly difficult for me should you meet with any sort of accident." Julien reached into his own coat (beautifully cut, as always) and drew out a slimmer sheaf of papers. From his other pocket he drew out a candle and a flint. "We both verify at the same time."

  The two men approached each other with the measured caution of duelists. By the light of the candle Julien held, they each studied the papers the other held. Apparently—remarkably given the two men involved—what they saw pleased them, for after a minute or so, Carfax gave a crisp nod.

  Julien's smile gleamed in the candlelight. "That wasn't so hard, was it?"

  Carfax snorted.

  Julien tucked the papers Carfax had given him into his coat. "Needless to say, that other business stops now."

  Tension shot through Carfax's shoulders. "There's no need—"

  "You can't possibly believe I'd assist your ridiculous plan now." Julien blew out the candle. "You should thank me, Carfax. You're too sensible a man to waste your energies in some ridiculous quest to ferret out Bonapartists. We're done."

  Carfax held Julien with his gaze. "We're never going to be done, Julien. You must know that. But I agree we're done for the present."

  Oddly, tension shot through Julien. Suzanne could almost feel the power shift in the scene before her, like the ground tilting beneath her feet. "For the present, then." Julien's voice was that of a man who won't cede ground but knows he is in check.

  Carfax turned on his heel and strode back towards Park Lane. Julien looked after him but made no move to leave the park. At last, as Carfax's footsteps faded into the distance, Julien settled his shoulders against a tree trunk and cast a glance round the clearing. "You can come out now, Suzanne. And whomever you've brought with you."

  Chapter 37

  For a moment, Suzanne stood rooted to the ground. Julien could have that effect on one. At the same time, a voice in her head screamed. Of course. It had been far too easy.

  She felt the tension that ran through Malcolm. She squeezed his hand, willing him to understand, and stepped from the shadows.

  "Good evening, Julien."

  He turned his head. His gaze cut through the shadows. "Suzanne. You are still calling yourself Suzanne, aren't you?"

  Suzanne was the name she'd used on their journey with Hortense. For long enough she'd grown quite accustomed to it, long before she became Malcolm's wife. "Don't tell me you don't know."

  "I heard rumors. To own the truth, I wasn't sure until I saw you at the Duchess of Richmond's ball. I have to say, I'm impressed. I've never kept a mission going for so long."

  "It's not a mission any more."

  "You're an agent, Mélanie Suzanne. You'll always be on a mission."

  "These days I work with my husband, rather than against him."

  Julien raised a brow.


  "Most of the time."

  "Can't be easy. I hear he's quite formidable in his own right, though I can't imagine he's any match for you."

  "Don't be so sure."

  He gave a soft laugh that echoed off the stone. "You used to be made of harder stuff."

  "Being married has changed me."

  He shook his head. "How are the mighty fallen. I remember you swearing you'd never marry."

  "We hardly had a happy example in front of us in Hortense, at the time. I also said I doubted I'd ever have children."

  "And having children has changed you?" He sounded genuinely curious.

  "Thankfully." She paused a moment. "I have a whole new understanding of how strong Hortense is."

  For a moment, Julien's gaze went serious in a way it seldom was. "Even I have a glimmering of that. The more so since Waterloo. The perils of letting one's happiness depend so much on another person."

  A gust of wind cut through the trees. She drew her shawl about her. "The alternative being to be alone."

  "I see nothing wrong with my own company." Julien ran his keen gaze over her. "At least you haven't done badly for yourself after Waterloo."

  "Nor have you, by the looks of it."

  His grin gleamed in the shadows. "If that's an attempt at gathering information, you used to be subtler."

  "You were working for Carfax." She could still scarcely credit it.

  Julien cast a glance round the clearing. "I think we should all be present for this. I made sure you brought O'Roarke with you. I rather hope you brought your husband as well."

  A few moments of silence followed. Just long enough for seasoned agents to make quick calculations. Then Malcolm and Raoul emerged from the trees.

  Julien's gaze shot between them. "O'Roarke. It's been a long time. And you must be Rannoch."

  Suzanne moved to Malcolm's side—half protection, half warning. "My husband, Malcolm Rannoch. Julien St. Juste. At least, that's what he calls himself most often."

  Julien's gaze moved over Malcolm. "Since you're here, I assume you know the truth about your wife. I have to say, I'm impressed. You're a wise man to recognize that she's worth holding on to."

  "Shut up, Julien," Suzanne said.

  Julien continued to regard Malcolm. "And no, Carfax doesn't know about her. At least, not from me."

  "But you were working for him." Malcolm's gaze was trained on Julien, though he dropped his arm round Suzanne.

  "Not exclusively. As with most of my relationships, professional and otherwise. Carfax came to my assistance early on in my career. I won't go into the details, but suffice it to say I owed him. I've gone my own way since. But I've never quite stopped owing him. Not enough to break away completely."

  "So you decided to take matters into your own hands," Raoul said.

  "I encountered Craven on a mission last year. Not one of Carfax's abler agents, but one night over a bottle of brandy he confided in me about the papers that could be damaging to Carfax." Julien cast a glance round the company. "In the autumn of 1810, Carfax traded information about British plans with Fouché in exchange for information he thought would lead him to the Elsinore League."

  Malcolm drew a harsh breath. "Until this investigation, I didn't realize how obsessed Carfax was with the League."

  "Quite," Julien said. "For all his faults, he's usually rational. This verges on obsession. Fouché had been dismissed from the ministry of police at the time. Perhaps that made it seem less of a betrayal to Carfax. Still—" He turned his gaze to O'Roarke. "Did you know about it?"

  "My God, no."

  "But then, Fouché was almost as much your enemy as Carfax, wasn't he? I knew. My—a friend was the one who actually made the exchange, in Lisbon. But I didn't have any proof. Craven had got his hands on a letter of Carfax's that was quite damning. I don't think he quite knew what he had. I was the one who saw what use it could be put to. There were other papers Carfax had that Craven was worried about. That made him hesitate to do anything against Carfax. He was hoping to retrieve them."

  "Yes," Suzanne said. "Craven asked me to steal those."

  Julien whistled. "Did you?"

  "What do you think?"

  "Depends on what Craven had on you."

  "You don't have enough faith in me."

  "I have faith in your sense of self-preservation. If he threatened your life here—Oh, all right. You're such a good agent I forget about your tiresome ideals. In any case, the next I heard Craven had been killed. I more than half thought Carfax was behind it." He looked from Suzanne to Malcolm to Raoul.

  "So did we," Suzanne said. "But he wasn't, as it happens."

  "Interesting." Julien regarded her for a long moment, then turned his gaze to Raoul.

  "No," Raoul said. "Though I can see why you'd think it."

  "You and your tedious scruples."

  "My dear St. Juste," Raoul said. "You wouldn't recognize a scruple if it bit you."

  "But I can see them in others."

  Suzanne bit back further speech. Louisa Craven's secrets were not to be shared, for the sake of any number of people, most especially her children.

  Julien looked from Raoul to her to Malcolm. "So you know. And you aren't going to tell me. I can't say I blame you. In any case, with Craven gone, I began to wonder about recovering the information and putting it to use."

  "But you wanted your hands clean," Suzanne said.

  "I have a healthy respect for Carfax. Besides if one of us tried to break away, even I, he could come after that person and make an example of them. If we did it as a group—"

  "The power of collective action," Suzanne murmured. "You've finally turned into a revolutionary."

  "Whatever tactics work." Julien gave a faint smile. "So, I contacted another of Carfax's agents I know. No one knew the names of everyone involved. Not even I. I didn't even know who had been hired to actually break into Whateley & Company."

  "What happened?" Malcolm asked. "How did Coventry die?"

  "I don't know. Isn't that what you've been investigating?"

  "We thought most likely an agent of Carfax's had intercepted Coventry." Malcolm watched Julien a moment. "You weren't there yourself?"

  "Do you really imagine I'd go anywhere near a job like that?"

  "You had the papers," Suzanne said. "Did Maria Monreal find them in Brook Street?"

  "Obviously," Julien said.

  "That's not what Oliver says," Malcolm said.

  "Lydgate may be lying. Or Maria may not have told him."

  "You wanted us here tonight," Suzanne said. "You deliberately let the waiter overhear you and Germont talking about the meeting."

  "Oh, yes. And I let you see me at Gunter's, despite the fact that I've been running about London in disguise for weeks."

  "Why?"

  "Because of the reason Carfax summoned me to London. His pet project that gave me cover for the other project."

  "The Phoenix plot," Suzanne said. "So called."

  Julien's mouth curled. "I don't deny Carfax's abilities, but he's inclined to overestimate the reach of Bonapartists." His gaze moved from her to Raoul. "No offense to present company."

  "He wanted to lure them out of the shadows," Raoul said. "See who still posed a danger. Get evidence to have them arrested or send them back to France to face the Bourbons."

  "Worked that out, did you?"

  "Yes, but I thought Fouché was behind it, not Carfax," Raoul said.

  Julien laughed. "It's the sort of thing Fouché might think of."

  "And Louis Germont?" Suzanne asked.

  "I brought him in to work with me. He's the cousin of an old friend, and he wanted out of France in any case. Disguise is effective, but some of the people I needed to approach knew me too well."

  "Did you mean me to meet him?"

  "He was supposed to fake his injuries rather than really be wounded, but, yes. I didn't think you'd really fall for it. But I wanted you to know about the Phoenix plot."

  "W
hy, in God's name?"

  "So you'd know what Carfax was up to."

  Malcolm drew a harsh breath.

  Julien cast a glance at him. "Still had illusions about your spymaster, did you? That's why I wanted you here tonight."

  "You wanted me here?" Malcolm demanded.

  "I don't deny it's pleasant to see Suzanne, and I can put up with O'Roarke. But you're the one I wanted to learn the truth about Carfax. Because from what I know of you, you're the only one with a prayer of keeping him in check. Which is no more than he deserves, and may keep him out of my hair for a time."

  Malcolm stared at him.

  "To own the truth, I'm surprised you haven't left to confront him yet."

  "Go." Suzanne gripped her husband's arm. "Raoul and I can handle Julien."

  Malcolm's gaze swung to her.

  "Julien's annoying," Suzanne said. "But he's not the one who needs dealing with now."

  Three months ago, Malcolm had called at Carfax House late at night. That night had ended with Louisa Craven dead by her own hand. The memory of Carfax staring down at his dead daughter was still imprinted on Malcolm's brain. But it was not compassion that filled him now.

  The Carfax House footmen were used to seeing him at odd hours, but John, who was on duty, hesitated when he opened the door. "Mr. Rannoch—"

  "I don't care whether he says he's at home or not." Malcolm pushed past John and strode to the door to Carfax's study.

  Carfax, of course, might not have gone straight home, but Malcolm suspected the earl would have wanted to stow away or destroy the papers St. Juste had given him, as quickly as possible.

  He pushed open the study door to find Carfax at his desk, bent over a stack of paper, as he had found him on countless occasions.

  "Malcolm." Carfax looked up with raised brows. "It's a bit late. And I thought you were at Wellington's dinner. News about the investigation?"

  "You could say that." Malcolm pushed the door to. "I just overheard you negotiating with the man behind the Whateley & Company break-in."