by Diana Quincy
“You knew there was a game at play.” She spoke with that calm self-assuredness which never failed to test his temper. She wore some drab brown thing, as though she’d hoped to go unnoticed, as if that were possible.
“Tell me, Angel, when you came undone while I was deep inside of you, was that part of the game, too?”
She kept her serious gaze level with his. “What do you think?”
A dry smile curled his lips. “I think I’m very sorry our little screwing party has come to an end. Not all women are as talented between the bedclothes as you are. I’m curious, though, is being a good fuck one of your professional skills?”
“What difference does it make?” Her manner communicated indifference, yet the flattening of her right hand on the table told him otherwise. “You are a rakehell who has lain with many women.”
“That may be.” He fought the emotion rising in his chest. “But at least women I screw know what they’re getting.”
The door scraped open and Will reappeared. “Sorry about that. Where were we?” He spoke as though they were having an ordinary conversation over tea.
“Where were we?” Cosmo bit out. “We were talking about you betraying your country for a bit of tail. You knew she might be a spy, Will. And furthermore, I’m surprised you’re the sort to go for a buttered bun.”
Will sighed his impatience. “Lamarre and I are not copulating. Surely you know me well enough to deduce I don’t share bed partners.”
Actually, Cosmo suspected he might not know his friend at all. “How do you explain this cozy tavern meeting?”
Will adjusted his spectacles. “We are discussing mutual concerns.”
“What concerns could you share with Miss Lamarre?”
“Come now, Cosmo, you are well aware she is an agent.”
He’d deduced as much, and she’d never denied it, yet the confirmation of his suspicion shook him. “I see.”
Will continued talking. “For England.”
Cosmo’s body struggled to reopen its choked air passages. “Beg pardon?”
“Miss Lamarre works for the crown.”
“How do you know that she is on our side?” He threw an angry look in her direction, which she met without any visible emotion. “She could be lying even now.”
“She isn’t.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I recruited her myself.”
Cosmo’s head snapped back in Will’s direction. “You?” He infused the word with supreme skepticism.
“Lamarre’s worked for the crown since the age of ten-and-six. She’s reported to me for almost ten years.”
Cosmo barked a laugh. “You’re just a bureaucrat.”
“Not exactly.” Will spoke with his usual implacability. “I manage the crown’s agent network.”
“You.” Cosmo stared at him. “A spymaster.”
“Yes.”
He tried to form the jumbled, implausible bits of information into something comprehensible. “Do you really even work for the Home Office?”
“I’m superintendent of a subsection of the Home Office known as the Alien Office.”
Disbelief pounded through him. “The Alien Office? The office that registers foreign visitors, is it not?” He shot a hostile glance at Mari. “Especially frogs.”
“You are correct. We do monitor the comings and goings of our guests from abroad, particularly the French émigrés. However, we also have a small, secret-service subsection that undertakes a number of clandestine activities.”
“Such as engaging young French girls to be your factors.”
“Along with merchants, customs officials, smugglers, post-office workers, justices of the peace, tavern owners.” Will rattled off the list in a business-like manner. “We engage the services of a number of individuals for our vast informational structure, which provides us with detailed and reliable reports.”
Unassuming Will Naismith leading a coterie of secret agents. Incomprehensible. He stared at Mari. “Are you really even French?”
“Oui,” she said. “My father was.”
“The publican said you spoke like a native Englishwoman.”
“I am adept at mastering accents.”
So she was French, but he still couldn’t see her as a traitor to her own country. “Why would you work for the crown?”
“I do not work for anyone but myself,” she said with a resolute tilt of her chin.
“Lamarre’s travels across Europe bring her into contact with influential people,” Will said. “When she comes across intelligence that might be of interest to England, she is kind enough to share it with us.”
“For a price, no doubt,” he said with contempt.
“Of course,” Will said. “After all, the information she provides is of value.”
Cosmo stared at her. “Why help England?”
“Her mother is English.”
She rose and went to stand by the window. “Robespierre took my father away.” Her body went rigid, as though she fought to control the emotion within. “He had him guillotined.”
His anger splintered. He hadn’t even known her father was dead. He resisted the impulse to take her into his arms, to comfort her and ease the grief in any small way he could. “I am sorry, Angel.”
She turned from the window to face him with a pale, pinched face. “My father was ordinary, a good man, not an aristocrat. And Robespierre killed him.” Her voice trembled. “I would not stand by while he slaughtered innocents, not only my father, but chemists, poets, and philosophers. Where would it end?”
“Robespierre is dead,” Cosmo said. “Does your contempt extend to Napoleon?”
She swallowed, the fine cords of her throat moving under delicate skin. “That is where your father comes in.”
He went on alert. “What does Aldridge have to do with any of this?”
“We have intelligence,” Will said in the circumspect way of his, “that the marquess is preparing to pass highly sensitive information to the French.”
“That’s a bloody lie,” Cosmo burst out. “Either those French buggers are lying or this is the handiwork of my father’s political enemies.”
“Our informants are not only French, Cosmo. We have a highly placed government source who saw Aldridge obtain the information,” Will said. “The man is a longtime admirer of your father. He was quite shaken.”
“Why? It makes no sense.” His head buzzed with disbelief. “What possible motive could Aldridge have to betray his country?”
“That is what we are trying to discover,” Will said. “For the past four or five years, there has been a leak at the highest levels of government. We have been unable to locate the culprit. This is our first significant lead.”
Furious disbelief swelled in Cosmo’s chest once he grasped Will’s meaning. “You dare to suggest that my father is not only colluding with the frogs, but that he’s been doing it for years?”
Will held his gaze. “It is my job, Cosmo, to protect this country, and I will do it to the best of my ability, no matter how uncomfortable the truth might be.”
“The truth, you miserable maggot, is that while I trusted you as a friend”—his fists clenched at his sides—“you sent a spy into my home to destroy my father.”
“I understand you are upset.”
“Upset?” Cosmo barked a contemptuous laugh. “I suppose that’s what you could call my overwhelming desire to tear you limb from limb with my bare hands.”
“You cannot expect us to ignore the fact that Aldridge took a document containing highly sensitive material.”
“So says this supposed longtime admirer of my father.” Cosmo exhaled through his nostrils, trying to settle his temper. “Who is this admirer and what kind of information is it?”
Will removed his spectacles and polished the lenses with his shirt. “It is a complicated story.”
Cosmo crossed his arms over his chest. “I am most anxious to hear it.”
“It begins with Robesp
ierre’s brother, Augustin,” Mari said.
“He was guillotined along with his brother, was he not?”
She nodded. “But while he lived, Augustin was Napoleon’s patron. There were others who worked for England during the Terror, as I did. We hoped to end it,” she said in a hard voice. “The people of France deserve true liberty. The revolution was stolen by bloodthirsty murderers.”
Will replaced his spectacles in a slow, careful movement. “There are those close to Napoleon who have made it their mission to ferret out informants like Lamarre, whom they regard as traitors.”
“Robespierre and his ilk were the real traitors to France.” Mari spat the words. “Not I or those who did similar work.”
Cosmo frowned. “I fail to see what any of this has anything to do with Aldridge.”
Will’s fingers drummed the table. “We believe your father is in possession of a list containing the names of French men and women who worked for England during the Terror.”
Cosmo went still as the implications sliced through him. “Your name is on that list,” he said to Mari.
“C’est possible.”
His legs went soft at the knees. He slid down to sit on the edge of the bed. “Your life is at risk if Napoleon’s people get their hands on this document.”
“Not only my life. My mother and sisters remain in France. My uncle and cousins. Their association with me places them in grave danger should the information leave England’s shores.”
Anxiety coiled in his chest. Powerful motivation had brought Mari to Langtry; she wasn’t just out to save her own skin, but also the lives of her entire extended family. If any of this outlandish tale proved true, it would lead to his father’s destruction. “I know nothing of this list, but I do know Aldridge is not capable of treachery, and he certainly has not been working with the French for years. It isn’t possible.”
Will gestured for Cosmo to take a seat at the table. “Let us prove it, shall we?”
Rising from the bed, Cosmo moved to join them, his generous frame dwarfing the narrow wooden chair. “This is what your visit to Langtry was all about. I thought you were there to help, but in reality you wanted to learn for yourself how much I knew about Mari’s reasons for being here.”
Will didn’t deny it, which further infuriated Cosmo. “Now that you know the truth, you can work with Lamarre.”
Cosmo shot a look at Mari, who stood by the window observing them, her face once again absent of expression. “She wants to prove him guilty.”
“Wrong,” she countered. “I want the list.”
“To save your family.”
“Yes.”
“Which has the power to destroy what little is left of mine.”
A shadow flicked over the smooth angles of her face. “I did not seek this assignment. I make no apologies for what I do here.”
“Lamarre bears no grudge against Aldridge and neither does the crown,” Will said to Cosmo. “You know where all the secret chambers and cupboards are at Langtry. Show them to Lamarre. Allow her to search. It is entirely possible she will come up empty-handed.”
“Because there is nothing to find.” Cosmo’s jaw braced. “Aldridge is not part of this.”
“Perhaps you are correct,” Will said. “I certainly hope so.”
“Very well.” Cosmo pushed to his feet in a sudden movement; his chair scraped the floor and tipped over, clattering backward onto the floor. “I will allow her to search because I am certain there is nothing to find. Do let’s get this over with.”
“You and Lamarre go on ahead,” Will said. “I will depart after you’ve gone.”
They descended the narrow stone stairs in silence, past Davey Watkin, the barman, who shot them an inquiring glance, which Cosmo ignored. He pushed the door open for her to pass, and continued out behind her. They walked without speaking for a few minutes until Cosmo broke the silence.
“What kind of spy cannot mount a horse?”
“I am not that sort of agent.”
“One would think riding an essential skill for a secret agent.”
“My inability to ride, although a nuisance, does not impinge upon the work I do. My aerial excursions gain me entry into the drawing rooms of Europe’s most powerful persons. That is how and where I conduct my work.”
“I cannot argue with your methods. The parachute scheme certainly got you into Langtry.” And into his bed. And under his skin.
She halted, looking at him with a serious gaze. “I am truly sorry about this business with your father.”
“It isn’t true.” He swallowed the bitter bile that rose in his throat. “None of it.”
Her face softened. “Perhaps. Lord Aldridge appears to be an honorable man and, as of yet, we have no real proof against him.”
He searched her face. “You are willing to admit you might be wrong?”
“Anything is possible. Usually traitors are motivated by greed or politics. So far, Will can find no motivation for Aldridge to work with the French.”
“Are you a double agent?” He peered at her, still trying to understand the new revelations. “Do the French think you work for them?”
She shook her head. “No. I was never a French agent. I only got into the game after Robespierre murdered my father.”
“Robespierre’s been dead for years.”
“I did quit after Robespierre became personally acquainted with the national razor.”
“And yet?”
“Will can be most persuasive.” She bit her plump lower lip in thought. “And once the game got into my blood, it was difficult to return to a quiet life.”
“Jumping out of the clouds isn’t exactly dull work.”
Her lips twisted into a reluctant smile. “I was good at intelligence gathering. It appealed to me.”
Of course it did. The danger, the thrill of spying, would naturally attract a risk taker such as Mari. “So you continued working with Will even after Robespierre was guillotined.”
“My parachuting takes me to many countries and allows me access to the upper circles of society all over Europe.”
“I imagine Will was loath to relinquish a source with that kind of access.”
“I was of value to him. I also have a large family that could use the coin, especially after my father passed.”
“And you liked spying.”
She nodded. “I did, very much. And, at this point, my work rarely involves France.”
They crossed the old stone bridge, walking up the grassy slope and beneath the canopy of trees cloaking the worn dirt path that led back to Langtry. “Napoleon is making a nuisance of himself all over the continent. French interests will soon be hard to avoid.”
Her smile faded. “Certainement. War between England and France is imminent. Difficult choices will have to be made. I find I am equal parts French and English. A troublesome mix, as it turns out.”
“Most females lack a single profession, yet you excel at two of them. You’re a woman ahead of your time.”
“Excelling? I fear not.” The clicking sound she made with her tongue communicated her displeasure. “How did you find me with Naismith? I made certain I was not followed.”
“A scoundrel has his ways. I put out the word in the village that I would pay handsomely for any news of you. Particularly if you were to meet with strangers.”
“Tonnerre de Dieu.” She shook her head. “The biggest mistake I made was to underestimate you.”
“A British informant.” He shook his head, still trying to digest it all. “You spy for our side.”
“You almost sound disappointed. I thought you would be relieved to know we are on the same side.”
“If only that were true.” The gulf between them couldn’t be more cavernous. Mari would do anything to save her family, even if it meant destroying Aldridge. Tension twisted into his shoulders as determination firmed in him. He might have failed Ellie, but this time would be different.
He would do whatever was required
to protect his family, even if he died trying.
Chapter Twelve
“So Dunsmore knows everything.” Marcel watched Cosmo dismount near the stables and engage the stable master in conversation as they checked the animal’s hooves.
Nodding, Mari tugged on the silk fabric. “Oui.” She and Marcel had spread her parachute out on the lawn near the barn. As was her habit after each descent, she checked for damage or worn components that might require replacing. “He swears Aldridge is not involved.”
“Of course he would say that, especially if they’re in it together.”
“He seemed shocked at the very idea that his father would engage in treachery.”
Marcel made a rude noise. “And you still believe him.”
“I have no definitive evidence, but my instinct tells me it is so.”
“Your instinct?” Marcel growled. “I doubt that is what you are thinking with.”
She stilled, fixing a cold stare on him. “What are you getting at?”
“It is where he is getting that concerns me, which is between your legs.” Marcel spat on the ground. “Don’t deny it.”
It didn’t surprise her that Marcel had deduced the truth. Being observant was his job, and he excelled at it. “Why should I deny it?” She kept her voice cool, despite the rising heat in her cheeks. “It is none of your affair.”
“It is if you’re going soft. You endanger all of us if your judgment is compromised.”
“How about you?” she retorted. “Do you think I do not know you are rutting with the kitchen girl who comes in from the village three days a week?”
His cheeks colored. “That is different.”
“How so? She could be Aldridge’s contact.”
“It is not the same because I am a man and coupling is just physical. It means nothing.”
“I see. But as a woman it means what? That I must have tender feelings that would naturally compromise my reasoning?”
“Pascal believed it to be so,” he said softly. “He always said your heart was too generous for this kind of work.”
“His perceptions were clouded by his tender feelings.” She forced the words past the emotion corking her throat. “Pascal always believed the best of me.”
