Pierre set his hands on the table, lacing his fingers together as he sat forward. “Be that as it may, you have already failed our first requirement. My father has need of someone of Spanish descent. You, sir, are a dirty Englishman.”
Talon nearly bit his tongue biting into his crêpe. Damn Jacques... the man mustn’t have informed them he was British. Taking a sip of his coffee, he wiped his mouth. “Aye, I was born in England, but my family heritage is Spanish. They emigrated from Catalonia when I was a babe.”
As Pierre barked a laugh, Talon glared at the whelp. Melodramatic fanfare was the cornerstone to a good undercover mission. In order to convince these men that he was indeed the right person for this job, he had to dig deep into his repertoire of staged identities. Fortunately, he had them in spades.
Bursting out of his chair with an overly accentuated sigh, he snarled, “Merci, gentleman. I’ll see myself out.”
“That’s enough, Pierre.” The Colonel tapped the top of the table. “Pardon, Monsieur, my son tends to be impetuous. S’il vous plait, I would like to hear your story. What does your family do?”
Squinting at the man, Talon huffed before putting on a show of indignation. He slowly sat. “They rear horses. Spanish stallions, to be exact. Our bloodlines run back to the time of the Conquistadors.”
Did I pronounce that correctly?
Straightening his shoulders, DuPont hummed. “Impressive. I’ve seen the Arabians on the battlefield. C’est magnifique.”
“You’re a horse farmer?” Cocking his head, Pierre scoffed. “Then how are you qualified to help us with this mission?”
Talon pressed his lips into a grim smile, wanting nothing more than to give the boy a planter right in his nose. Kill them with kindness. Wasn’t that what his mother used to say? “As Miss Beaupraît and Jacques have told you, I’ve been connected to the revolution for several years. I worked surveillance with Edouard Blanchefort for two years before his untimely death at the Bastille.”
DuPont slammed his cup down and shook his head with a growl. “Blanchefort! You can’t travel the French countryside without hearing that man’s name. They worship him in the farmlands.”
Talon arched an eyebrow, attempting to mask his surprise. He was under that the impression the Jacobins admired Edouard’s work. Clearly, this man had issues with the situation.
Switch tactics.
Folding his hands on the table, Talon nodded. “Aye, it’s the same in England, sir. Blanchefort made quite the impression on my countrymen. How do you think I ended up here?” He wasn’t sure if it was true for the rest, but his Romani brethren had seen Edouard as a saint.
Pierre’s eyes widened as he darted a gaze at his father. DuPont grinned. “Mayhap Blanchefort accomplished something after all. We’ve been wanting to gain the upper hand in the British Isles for some time.”
Clearing his throat, Talon scratched his beard and frowned. “Quite. Blanchefort sought out many supporters in my homeland.” That much was true. He and Claire were recruited by Edouard after being disillusioned by his own countrymen.
Pierre rubbed his hands together. “That is exciting news, father.”
Talon gave him a sidelong glance. Shifting in his seat, he played along. “Aye. The monarch cares nothing about us. You’d be surprised how many Brits would go against God and country to see the fruitions of the French come to a head. The American Revolution is still a sore spot, so one can’t be too careful to voice opinions, mind.” Talon stifled his smile behind a scone.
Not bad, Barberry.
DuPont beamed at his son as he bit into a crêpe. “You see, Pierre? Our cause is just. We are making headway. And soon, we will free the world.”
Talon stopped mid-bite. Do these idiots really think they can take England? Mayhap Mademoiselle Beaupraît wasn’t privy to the extent of this man’s insanity. He needed a stint in Bedlam, to be sure.
Swallowing, Talon wiped his hands on a napkin and gazed at the younger DuPont. “I’m all ears, gentlemen. I have few scruples, and I’m prepared to do anything it takes to help, especially for a price.”
The boy fondled a metal buckle on his jacket, his eyes darting wildly from his father to Talon. “First things first. We’ll save your British brethren... all in good time.”
Talon pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. Noted—they’ll both need rooms. Perhaps a call to the good doctor was in order...
DuPont bobbed his head. “Pierre’s right. Your services won’t be in vain. First, we need to regain our foothold in the new world.”
Talon pressed his lips together, ready to finish this godforsaken meeting. “You speak of New Orleans?”
Pierre blinked rapidly. “Is it not the perfect place?”
As the man’s voice escalated to a decibel that would wake the dead, Talon glanced toward the library door. It creaked on its hinges, and prickles danced over his neck. Something seemed odd about this. Did these men want their staff to overhear everything?
Talon shrugged. “I’ve never been, truth be told.”
DuPont pursed his lips. “The governor of the Louisiana territories has control of the greatest trade route in the New World. That is our first goal.”
Shaking his head, Talon linked his fingers together on the table. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t the French government hand New Orleans to the Spanish?”
Pierre growled an epithet as DuPont muttered, “Oui. Not our finest moment. But most of the city is occupied by French-speaking citizens, and fortunately, a few of our Spanish friends have rejoined our cause. Along with our new leadership, they also seek to oust the Spanish from power.”
Pierre cut in. “Indeed, the National Assembly is quite excited about General Bonaparte’s mission to expand colonial France.”
Talon sat back and sighed. Aye, something was amiss. Instinct told him he should run as far away as he could from these people. But like Edouard, Jacques had the power to pull people in... albeit using guilt.
Contesse cares about you. You’re family. Take the assignment, no matter how ludicrous.
Thanks, Jacques.
Shifting his weight in the chair, Talon sighed. “If you have Spanish allies, why do you need my help?”
“The King of Spain and his Minister of Defense are willing to make a deal, c’est vrai.” DuPont hesitated. “But the Cabildo government in New Orleans, run by a man named Ricardo Aringosa, doesn’t seem to answer to the monarchy. He has his own plan for the future of the Louisiana Territories—designed around the rum and sugar trade of the region.”
Talon sat up. They were finally getting to the gist of this debacle. “Aye, I see. With New Orleans under Spanish control your society hopes to recapture the city by infiltrating their government with a spy.”
Pierre held his head high and snorted. “We already have spies in the city, Monsieur Barberry.”
Talon threw his hands up. “Bloody hell, then what do you need me for?”
The lad’s eyes sparkled. “We have a more challenging job for you. Father?”
DuPont smacked his lips noisily. “Oui. We need you to acquire someone for us... someone very special to Governor Aringosa. His daughter, Carina.”
“What?” Talon stared stonily at DuPont for a few moments. Blimey, did the man just allude to abduction? That was a new endeavor, to be sure.
DuPont nodded. “The girl is in Lisbon visiting family. Our intelligence informs us she will board a Spanish ship in six weeks to sail home.”
Raising his eyebrow, Talon gave him a stony gaze. “How will taking this girl make any difference in gaining a foothold in the colonies?”
“Her fiancé, Sir Jonathan Paulet, is an English emissary stationed in New Orleans. But he isn’t just any ordinary diplomat. He’s the son of the Marquis of Winchester, and he plans to marry Aringosa’s daughter by Christmas. If this comes to pass, the English will have the advantage to infiltrate the Louisiana Territories using the Mississippi River as an active stronghold. Right now, we have the Spanish c
rown in our favor. We can’t let the enemy gain the upper hand.”
Pressing his lips together, Talon scoffed. “You want to hold this girl for ransom?”
Pierre sneered. “Non. That’s idiotic.”
Talon squinted at the fop. Aye, he was going to have it out with Jacques as soon as he could. “I’m not sure I follow.”
Fisting the lapels of his overcoat, DuPont grinned broadly. “Pierre will marry the girl in his stead.”
Talon snorted. This meeting was getting stranger by the minute. “Why would the woman agree to this?”
Pierre rose, an evil smile creeping over his face. “Love can be a powerful persuader, Monsieur. Our spies will take her fiancé prisoner and hold him until she’s agreed to our terms. Since the girl’s besotted with the nobleman, the task shouldn’t be difficult. We have a priest awaiting us in New Orleans.”
With a roll of his eyes, Talon scrubbed a hand across the back of his neck. Bloody Hell, the bastards are crazy. At least Jacques had forewarned him. He didn’t care a wit if the French wanted to take over the new world. But using an innocent woman for political gain went against his morals, especially if she was hurt in the process.
Madame Beaupraît had given him leave to improvise as needed to accomplish the mission. Mayhap that’s why she insisted he take it... to save this girl from a fate worse than death.
But what was it worth?
Thankfully, he wouldn’t be reporting to DuPont or his brat. Pushing his cup aside, Talon eyed DuPont. “Say I agree to do this dastardly deed for you fine gentlemen. What’s in it for me?”
Grasping the lapels of his overcoat, the colonel held his head high and cleared his throat. “Five hundred pounds, sterling silver.”
Talon spewed hot coffee all over the table as he gasped for breath. Coughing into his hand, he rasped, “You can’t be serious!”
DuPont slid a parchment his way. “Indeed. We have plenty of funds in our coffers from foreign interests. We need this plan to succeed for the sake of freedom.”
Talon’s heart pummeled his chest with hope. Five hundred pounds? That amount of money could feed his clan for life. Gripping the table, he pressed his lips together. “When do I begin?”
The men grinned at each other broadly. “You sail within the week.”
Chapter 4
LISBON, PORTUGAL
July 30, 1798
“Dios mio, I’m late.”
Glancing toward the red sun rising above the horizon, Carina Aringosa lifted her skirts and hurried along the stone walkway. She worried her bottom lip between her teeth, hoping her best friend and companion, Talia Montrose, hadn’t been waiting long.
They were meeting for breakfast... their last meal together until they reunited in New Orleans. They’d spent two months visiting relatives in Lisbon, and they were due to return home in a sennight.
But their plans had changed.
Two nights ago, her father, Ricardo, had announced that instead of returning to New Orleans, they would be sailing for England. Carina’s fiancé, Lord Jonathan Paulet, and his father, the Marquis of Winchester, had invited them to Britain to formally meet her family before their wedding. It was understandable. Unlike Jonathan, the Marquis hadn’t had the pleasure of meeting her.
A flush fell across her neck as she smiled. She’d met the Jonathan, an English diplomat, at one of her father’s parties last year. It was love from the start. Fortunately, Ricardo had taken a liking to the British man and had given his blessing to their sudden betrothal.
But Talia wasn’t going with them. Apparently, her father, Fernando Montrose, had taken ill at their plantation, Temptation Hall, and Talia needed to return home. Ricardo had found a proper escort for Talia, and she’d be leaving on a merchant ship with the morning light.
Walking toward the guest quarters, Carina ascended the stairs to her friend’s room. Nervousness flooded her like the stormy seas. Allowing Talia to sail across the ocean with an escort she hardly knew? The idea was preposterous.
Carina had expected more from her father. Surely, he hadn’t thought this through. Evidently, he couldn’t care one wit about her feelings. Not that Talia was fussed. It was typical that she wouldn’t bat an eye at the risk. She welcomed new adventures without a care for potential danger.
Carina hated to admit she was envious of her best friend. As a child, Talia’s French mother and grandfather had indulged her, giving her anything she ever wanted—fancy new gowns, as many books as she could read, and horses that came directly from Cortez’ Conquistadors.
Her mother had tried to turn her into a lady, but Talia would have none of it. She wore breeches like a boy. She learned to ride and shoot and curse as she followed her Spanish father, Fernando Montrose, around their plantation. With her father’s encouragement, Talia had grown up at his side, learning the intricacies of planting indigo and sugar and completely adored.
Carina would have given anything to have that kind of love and attention from her parents. Her mother had died when she was young, and Ricardo worked like a fiend for the Havana government. He was much too busy for her.
Talia was the sister she’d never had.
Carina stopped at one of the guest rooms and hesitated. The maid cleaning on the second floor motioned toward the room. “Would you like me to announce you, Señorita?”
Carina nodded politely. “Gracias.”
The maid knocked loudly. “Pardon, Señorita Montrose?”
“Mon dieu!” Talia’s irritated voice filtered into the hall.
As the maid returned to her duties, Carina called out, “Buenos Dias, amiga.” A loud thud preceded squeaking brass hinges as Talia flung the door open with a happy squeal. She threw herself in Carina’s arms.
Carina laughed as Talia pulled her inside. “I’m so glad to see you, ma petite. I apologize for my crankiness, but that woman has fussed over me all morning.”
Carina patted Talia on the back. “It is good to see you, too. Shall we go?”
“Do I have time to freshen up?”
Carina nodded. As Talia sat at her vanity and resumed her toilette, she sat on the bed, admiring her friend from afar. Talia’s emerald eyes shone brightly as she attempted to tame the thick, coffee-colored curls bouncing across her back. She wrestled the stray pieces into a tight chignon at the nape of her neck, understated yet elegant. It fit her perfectly.
Tears whispered down Carina’s cheeks. She would miss her friend.
Talia reached out to her, worry shifting across her face. “What is it, ma petite? Are you nervous about your trip?”
She met Talia’s verdant gaze and sniffled. “Curse Papa’s schemes. I’m concerned about you. Are you sure you can’t travel with us to England? It isn’t safe for such a beautiful woman to be unescorted for a whole month, especially aboard a ship full of uncouth sailors.”
A dimple deepened on the right side of Talia’s porcelain cheek. Shaking her head, she took Carina’s hands in hers. “Papa needs me. Maman left a fortnight ago for Paris, and I’d never forgive myself if something happened to him. Don’t fret. Ricardo has chosen a responsible bodyguard to escort me home.”
“Surely your mother could have waited to visit her family until another time. Papa always said the French are selfish and—” Carina’s eyes flew open as she clamped her hand over her mouth. “I’m sorry, mi amiga.”
Talia laughed and waved her off, apparently undisturbed by the disparaging remarks about her heritage. “You have naught to fear. I imagine my trip home will be boring.” She embraced Carina. “But I will miss you. In four weeks’ time, you’ll be safe in the arms of your beloved Jonathan while I spend my days trying to decide what to do with my life. I’m rather envious.”
Carina sighed. “What I wouldn’t give to have your courage. Traveling to New Orleans with a stranger as an escort? I could never be so brave.”
“Nonsense, ma petite. You’re braver than you think.”
Carina shook her head sadly. If only it were true. Beautiful and con
fident, Talia had a joie de vivre that turned the heads of most of New Orleans. Her witty remarks and seductive charms drew the young creoles to her like honey.
And it wasn’t unwarranted. Carina often felt the sting of sitting in her shadow, however Talia’s unwavering support and loyalty were second to none. She’d been ecstatic to learn of Carina’s betrothal to Jonathan. In fact, Talia and Maude had orchestrated a splendid engagement party for her before she’d left New Orleans. Perhaps when she and Jonathan returned, they could introduce Talia to a spirited man, one that Fernando Montrose might approve of.
Carina stifled a giggle. Or perhaps not. Talia Montrose... the spinster of New Orleans society. It wouldn’t be easy to tame the headstrong woman. She wasn’t afraid to live life to its fullest. Unfortunately, she often ventured into perilous waters.
This latest adventure would be nothing new—hence Carina’s concerns. As of late, Talia’s wild ways had taken a risky turn. Her brazen wantonness had become a problem. Rumors had spread, and Talia’s reputation had become the talk of the town. Apparently, Fernando had allowed to accompany Carina and her father on their holiday hoping to tame Talia’s unruly behavior—or perhaps to leave a certain brigand behind.
And now she was sailing for home on her own.
“Are you ill?” With a ladylike tap on the hand, Talia interrupted Carina’s thoughts. “What shall I wear the day of my journey?”
Giggling, Carina followed Talia to the wardrobe. She removed a simple rose satin gown from the wardrobe. With a square neck and puffed three-quarter sleeves adorned with lace, it was perfect. “Wear the mauve. It accents your skin and hair beautifully.”
Talia’s eyes danced as she removed a dress from a large box on her vanity. The low, square cut décolletage puckered at the bodice of the white muslin as it draped to the floor. “Non, this one, I think. Behold one of Paris’ newest fashions.”
Carina passed her hand over the soft material, admiring the fine lace of the sensuous garment. She touched the soft gold velvet sewn to the cuffs of the dainty capped sleeves. “Oh, Talia, wherever did you get this? It’s so delicate. What in the world will you wear underneath?”
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