Regency Spymasters 01 - Spy Fall

by Diana Quincy

  Mari tsked. “We are Monsieur Dunsmore’s guests and the air is indeed his.” Taking her brother’s arm, she gave an easy laugh and playfully bumped her shoulder against Marcel’s. “Which you, brother, are polluting with your scowls and threatening stares.”

  They started inside, but Mari paused when she noticed Cosmo had not made to follow. “Are you coming?” she asked over one soft exposed shoulder, which he longed to nibble on for a good while.

  His mind felt a little fuzzy. “In a moment. I thought to breathe a little more of my air first.”

  As she turned away, her lips tilted into a subtle smile that provoked an achingly tender sensation in his chest. Once alone, Cosmo rolled out his neck, trying to calm the strange emotions swirling inside of him. Being in the parachutist’s presence nourished him in a way he couldn’t explain; he felt diminished by her departure.

  He shook his head against the absurdity of that thought. Clearly, he’d been isolated here in Dorset for too long. And he hadn’t had a woman since before the parachutist landed on him. Isolation and deprivation were obviously to blame for his unsettling reaction. Nothing else in his experience could explain it.

  He exhaled, feeling a measure of relief at being able to clarify the reason for Mari Lamarre’s disconcerting impact on him. Whistling quietly to himself, Cosmo went inside to rejoin the party.

  Chapter Five

  “Sacré bleu!” Mari kicked the leg of the chair in her chamber, energy snapping along her nerves. What had possessed her to flirt with Dunsmore like that? To invite his kiss!

  And what a kiss. Closing her eyes, she touched a finger to her lips, still sensitive from the heat of his mouth on hers. Dunsmore certainly knew what he was about in that area. Another string of curses erupted out of her mouth. Next she’d be writing poems about the man’s sensual expertise.

  Of course Dunsmore would be proficient in matters of the flesh. The man was a profligate rakehell. Only an imbecile wouldn’t manage to learn something of use after bedding so many women. Yet, despite being fully cognizant of the man’s reprobate ways, she’d still been tempted to accept his proposition.

  She sighed, her hand trailing from her lips down her throat with a feather-light touch. She missed lovemaking, the warm slide of skin on skin, the murmurs of intimacy, the act itself. She’d been too long without a man. Two years since Pascal.

  If Cosmo came to her tonight, while this mood gripped her, she might be tempted to let him stay. She’d expect none of the loving tenderness she’d experienced with Pascal. With Cosmo, the sex would be raw and primal, devoid of emotion, an expedient way to satisfy a basic physical need. Chewing on her thumbnail, she reminded herself how disastrous swiving Dunsmore could be for her mission. Her objectivity might be compromised, and she couldn’t chance it, not with Maman and the rest of the family at risk. She couldn’t bear it if they met the same fate as Papa.

  Emotion clogged her throat at the thought of her dear, sweet father. How she missed his kindness and wisdom. Even now, she longed for his steady, reassuring presence. With a deep exhale, she pushed the painful memories from her mind, and her resolution firmed. She must find the damning list and protect her family at all costs. She couldn’t afford any distractions. Especially not now.

  Besides, Dunsmore would likely prove disappointing between the sheets. Pascal had been a gentle and considerate lover, but, from what she’d gathered, most men were less than competent in that area. If Dunsmore’s kiss was any indication, though— “Zut alors!” Uttering a sound of frustration, she kicked the chair again. She had to get out of her chamber before she talked herself into a liaison. Throwing on a dressing gown, she slipped out into the hallway, moving soundlessly. Finding something to eat would be a welcome distraction. Perhaps food would ease at least one of her cravings.

  Light streamed from the kitchen as she neared it. A pan rattled. Perhaps Morpheus eluded Dunsmore as well. Closing her eyes, she pulled her dressing gown tight at her neck. Would he look at her with the same hungry glint from earlier this evening? Would he lift her onto the worktable and spread her legs— Footsteps sounded in the kitchen, coming toward her. Her body warmed. She held her breath. A small, plump form filled the doorway. She exhaled. Not Dunsmore after all.

  “Mrs. Godfrey,” she said, uncertain of whether she felt relief or disappointment.

  “Yes, dear.” Her round face creased into a welcoming smile. “Could you not sleep?”

  “No, I’m afraid not.”

  “Come in, come in.” The housekeeper bustled over to the kettle, her slippers shuffling across the flagstone floor. “I’ll make you a nice cup of tea.”

  “Only if you consent to join me.”

  Mrs. Godfrey hesitated for a moment—it was not the thing for servants to share a table with the master’s guests—before finally nodding. “I also have some raspberry tarts left over from supper.”

  She slipped onto a bench at the worktable while Mrs. Godfrey poured the tea and set the pastries out.

  “You are a most talented cook,” she said, savoring the dessert.

  Mrs. Godfrey smiled her satisfaction. “They’re one of Lord Cosmo’s favorites.”

  Of course, something so rich and decadent would appeal to Dunsmore. “Did Miss Elinor care for them as well?”

  The lines in the older woman’s face deepened. “Miss Elinor wasn’t one for sweets, unless it was lemonade. She loved my lemonade. The tarter, the better.”

  Mari sipped her tea. “It must have come as quite a shock when she married one of my countrymen.”

  “It was a surprise.” Mrs. Godfrey looked beyond Mari, her eyes full of memories. “Everyone thought she’d marry Viscount Darling. He was mad in love with her.”

  “Who is Viscount Darling?”

  “His property borders Langtry. From when they were children, everyone assumed he and Lady Elinor would eventually marry. Then my lady went down to London for the Season and married her Frenchman in just a matter of weeks. Even Miss Chalcroft was surprised.”

  “Miss Chalcroft?”

  “Lady Elinor’s closest friend. But two more opposite people I’ve never seen.” She smiled and shook her head. “Miss Elinor was a beauty, so lively and engaging. Miss Rosie was a bit plain, and although she tried to hide it, we all knew she had eyes for the young master.”

  “For Lord Cosmo?”

  She nodded. “Of course he never saw her in that way. She being so odd, collecting her fossils and the like.”

  No doubt all females of marriageable age in the county were smitten by Dunsmore’s charms. “Is Miss Chalcroft still in Dorset?”

  “Oh yes, she lives in a cottage by the sea on the other side of the village, still collecting shells. She paid a call when the marquess and the young master arrived at Langtry from Town and has taken to coming by on her morning rides when the bridge is passable.”

  Mari made a mental note to make Miss Chalcroft’s acquaintance soon. Elinor’s friend might possess information useful to her investigation. “How did Lord Darling take the news of Lady Elinor’s defection?”

  A fond look came over Mrs. Godfrey’s face. “He took it like the gentleman he is. Lord Darling is ever so nice. The master was almost as disappointed as Lord Darling. He holds the boy in the highest esteem.”

  “I’m surprised Aldridge would allow the match with Laurent.”

  “The marquess never could deny Lady Elinor anything. That girl could coax gold from a miser if she put her mind to it.” Her smile faded. “It hasn’t been the same at Langtry House since she left us. This used to be her favorite place. The family would summer here every year when she lived.”

  “And now?”

  “This is the first time either the master or Lord Cosmo has returned since the tragedy.” Her words were somber. “Almost six years it’s been.”

  So Aldridge had avoided Langtry since his daughter’s death. Until now. That lent credence to the theory he’d come here with the intention of passing the list to someone. What else would dra
w him to a place he’d avoided for years? “Why do you suppose they’ve finally returned?”

  “I cannot rightly say.” Mrs. Godfrey shrugged one shoulder. “Langtry no doubt reminds the master of his great loss. He was in a bad way after Lord Darling brought him the terrible news.”

  Mari’s mental focus sharpened. “Darling is the person who informed Lord Aldridge of his daughter’s death?”

  The older woman’s face took on a distant expression, as though someone had shut the door. “I shouldn’t be telling tales,” she said, her voice firm. She picked up the teapot. “More tea, dear?”

  “How did it go?” Mari asked Marcel when he slipped in through the barn doors. She sat on a stool repairing her damaged parachute frame. “Did you learn anything of interest?”

  He shook his head. “No unusual or unknown visitors to the area, or to the tavern or the inn. No one comes up here to the big house but the doctor and the daily domestic workers.”

  “Aldridge cannot pass the list off if he doesn’t make contact.”

  “Dunsmore could be acting as the old man’s agent. He comes and goes with regularity.”

  “I doubt it.”

  “Why?” Marcel asked sharply. “Because you fancy him?”

  Always the protective older brother. “I have had occasion to overhear their conversations. Aldridge does not trust Dunsmore. He doesn’t even want him here at Langtry.”

  The corners of his mouth twitched up with skepticism. “So what now?”

  She turned her attention back to her broken parachute frame. “We wait and we watch. I’ll search the entire house. Aldridge’s private quarters and the library should present the most challenge, but when the opportunity arises, I will see what I can find there.”

  He dropped a kiss on her forehead. “Take care.”

  “Such brotherly devotion warms the heart.” Cosmo’s deep voice carried from the doorway.

  Marcel straightened, throwing a lackluster look in the man’s direction. “Dunsmore.”

  “Lamarre.”

  Marcel went over to talk to Maxim, who was repairing the ornate trim on the balloon gondola at the far side of the barn.

  “Why does your brother want you to take care?”

  Cosmo came to a stop before Mari, his long, substantial legs braced apart. Trailing her gaze up his brawny frame, she thought he looked like a giant, especially from her seated position. Surely he possessed too much masculine flesh and vigor for just one man. Those qualities called to the femininity in her, awakening it, petting it softly until it rolled over and wanted to be stroked more fully. “We were discussing the jump I will make in a few days’ time.”

  “I see.” He fingered her parachute, testing the fabric between an elegant thumb and forefinger. “A practice session?”

  “Yes, I need to test the new vents I’ve put in the canopy.”

  He wore buff breeches and a white linen shirt with no cravat, treating her to an appealing view of the strong lines of his throat. “I suppose you use hydrogen instead of hot air to stay afloat longer.”

  “Precisely. Once the hot air cools, the balloon must descend. With hydrogen, the aeronaut controls the time and place of the landing.”

  “So this is where the mysterious Lamarres have set up shop,” an unfamiliar voice interjected.

  Mari looked toward the well-modulated voice, to where a striking man with eyes the color of the shimmering Mediterranean Sea stood on the barn’s threshold. Flawless tailoring set off his delicately rendered facial features; the intricate knot of his pale-blue cravat topped a fitted chocolate-colored riding jacket and black breeches that disappeared into polished brown boots. A gold fob hung from his waist, and he carried a walking stick topped with a carved ivory handle. He was perhaps the most elegant man she’d ever set eyes on.

  “Darling.” Cosmo greeted the newcomer in a bland voice.

  Mari did a double take. Darling? As in Lord Darling? This arresting specimen was the viscount that Elinor Dunsmore had thrown over for a foreigner?

  “The very same.” He swept off his hat and offered a bow, revealing thick, straight strands of hair so pale they were almost silver. He had the ethereal beauty and coloring of an angel, albeit a very masculine angel, which gave him an almost otherworldly appearance. Those vivid blue eyes fastened on her. “Won’t you introduce us, Cosmo?”

  “Certainly.” Cosmo’s voice was strained. “Mademoiselle Lamarre, may I present Tristan Fitzroy, Lord Darling?” He gestured toward her siblings. “And the brothers Lamarre, Marcellin and Maxim.”

  “A pleasure.” A gleaming smile opened up across Fitzroy’s face, and it was as striking as the rest of him. “Aldridge was telling me all about your adventures.”

  “You’ve already been up to the house then?” Cosmo asked.

  “Certainly. I paid my respects to your father first, of course.”

  “Of course.”

  Darling crossed over to Cosmo with the warmth and familiarity of a longtime friend. “I came as soon as the water receded.” He clasped Cosmo’s shoulder. “How good it is to see you. It’s been far too long.”

  “Has it?” Cosmo asked in a damp tone. “How do you fare, Darling?”

  “As well as can be expected.” He pulled off his gloves in smooth motions, revealing long, tapered fingers. “Langtry isn’t the same without the Dunsmore family. Your return gladdens my heart.”

  “I don’t anticipate our stay will be long.”

  Darling turned to Mari. “Miss Lamarre, it is an honor to meet such an acclaimed aeronaut.”

  She tried not to stare at him. “You are too kind.”

  “I had the pleasure of seeing your thrilling jump at the Tuileries Garden.”

  He’d surprised her. The Tuileries jump had occurred several years ago. One of her most exhilarating jumps, it had also been one of the first. “You were there, at the Garden?”

  He flashed that dazzling smile. “Along with half of Paris.”

  Crossing his arms over his chest, Cosmo leaned against the barn wall. “Like the spectacle of it, do you, Darling?”

  “Actually, the scientific possibilities of aerostation are of most interest to me.” Darling surveyed the balloon gondola Maxim and Marcel were working on. “Is this the same type of boat used in the Tuileries jump?” he asked, walking over to it.

  “The very same,” Maxim said.

  Darling asked a question about hydrogen, and followed it up with intelligent inquiries about the netting and valve-and-ballast system. Despite his dandyish appearance, the man was no dilettante. Mari flashed a look at Cosmo, who watched Darling through narrowed eyes. What was it about the viscount that drew Cosmo’s ire? At first glance, the man appeared amiable enough, but she would have a chance to learn more about him at supper.

  To Mari’s delight, Miss Rosalind Chalcroft was also among the guests when they gathered in the salon for drinks before the evening meal. Elinor Dunsmore’s friend was curvy and petite, with a round face and straightforward way about her.

  “Please call me Rosie,” she said, dispensing with the usual formalities. Her soft brown eyes were alert with a no-nonsense intelligence. Mari wasn’t certain what she hoped to learn from Rosie, but she needed to explore the possibility that there might be a connection between Elinor’s death and Aldridge’s recent acquisition of the secret list.

  The two women fell into an easy conversation. Rosie was a fossil collector who sometimes wrote of her finds—under an assumed masculine name—in scientific journals.

  “You’ve never married?” Mari asked.

  Rosie tracked Cosmo’s progress across the room, to where he joined Darling and Aldridge by the hearth. “No, I enjoy my independence and the unfettered ability to hunt for fossils whenever the desire strikes me.”

  Despite the words, the lady’s heightened awareness of Cosmo’s movements suggested she still carried a tendresse for her childhood friend. Feeling a sense of empathy, Mari clinked her glass against Rosie’s. “Let us drink to never marrying, s
hall we?”

  Rosie dragged her gaze away from Cosmo to run an assessing glance over Mari. “You are beautiful. You could marry well.”

  “Like you, I choose not to.”

  “Why?”

  “I almost did once.”

  Rosie’s soft brown eyes rounded. “Oh?”

  “His name was Pascal.” Emotion stabbed her ribs as the image of her betrothed’s serious countenance and slender form flashed in her mind.

  “Did you care for him?”

  “I did, very much so.”

  “What became of him?”

  She swallowed around the lump in her throat. “It ended badly. That is when I decided never to take a husband.” Losing the man she loved so soon after Papa’s death had almost destroyed her. She’d managed to survive by throwing herself into her work, finding solace in keeping busy. After Pascal, deep emotional attachments with members of the opposite sex no longer had any place in her life. “And I most certainly will not risk being forced to give up aerostation.”

  “Most men will not countenance a wife who follows her own course.”

  Anxious to turn the conversation toward the subject of Elinor Dunsmore before they were called into supper, she said, “Your friend Elinor certainly seemed to do as she pleased.”

  “Yes.” Rosie’s expression softened at the memory. “She was a force, our Elinor. So vital and full of life.”

  “I was most surprised to learn she married one of my countrymen.”

  “Well, that was Elinor,” Rosie said briskly, shaking off any signs of melancholy. “She did as she pleased.”

  “And the Frenchman pleased her?”

  “Oh, indeed. They understood each other.”

  “He must have been very special for her to jilt Viscount Darling.”

  “Her choice surprised many.” She looked at Darling, who appeared particularly handsome in smart evening attire, his perfectly combed silver-blond hair highlighting finely drawn features. “Especially when one considers how beautiful a specimen Tristan is.”

  “Do you know him well?”

  “We’re all old friends. This part of Dorset is not so large. We’ve known each other for an age.”