Page 13 of To Love A Spy
Right now, he had a mission to accomplish and nothing must distract him. Already precious time had been wasted.
Wincing, the marquess slowly sat up and flexed his limbs to assess the damage. No broken bones, he decided, just a welter of bumps and bruises. He would be moving rather gingerly for the next few days.
But move he must.
Damn.Already an obstacle stood in his way. His portmanteau had, of course, been lost at sea. He would need fresh clothing and enough funds to arrange a crossing to the coast of Normandy. Out of old habit, he had taken the precaution of sewing some gold coins into the lining of his coat. Had they survived the storm?
Gritting his teeth, Lynsley swung his legs to the floor, wondering where to start looking . . .
“You ought not try to rise, sir,” came a chiding voice from the shadowed doorway. “If there is something you need, I shall fetch it for you.”
“I need my clothes, to begin with.” Aware that the flannel nightshirt barely covered his calves, Lynsley hitched the blanket over his legs. “And directions to the closest fishing harbor.”
“Anxious to be on your way?” Her voice was sharp, sarcastic. “I am sorry to hear my humble hospitality is not to your liking, milord.”
“Whatever my feelings, they are irrelevant,” he replied. “As you know, a mission takes precedence over all else.”
Flint struck steel and a candle flared to life. “Your clothes are in tatters and you—you are in no condition to be up and about.”
“I’ve faced far worse in the past. I’ll manage,” said Lynsley calmly. The light flickered over her frown, leaving her eyes wreathed in darkness. “Though in this instance, time is of the essence, so I don’t mind admitting that I could use your help.”
Valencia gave a bitter laugh. “Why you?” she asked abruptly.
He didn’t answer for a moment. “There was no one else ready.” A glimmer of a smile played on his lips. “Over the last year, I’ve lost my three best Merlins.”
“Dead?” she demanded.
“Married,” he replied softly.
“It must have been a sore blow to discover that they loved a mere mortal more than their duty,” she snapped.
Lynsley closed his eyes. “You didn’t used to be so cynical, Valencia.”
“I didn’t used to be crippled either.”
For a moment, the only sound in the bedchamber was the smoky hiss of the peat fire. Then she seemed to regret her harshness and expelled a sharp sigh. “That was unfair.”
“Not really,” replied the marquess. “But I cannot change the past. Neither of us can.”
There was an awkward silence, as she mixed a spoonful of dark powder into a glass of water. “A draught of willowbark will help ease the aches and pains.”
“Perhaps you would rather make it hemlock,” he said dryly.
Her lips twitched but Valencia didn’t reply. Instead she asked, “Who are you after?”
Truth or lies?Deception was often the difference between life and death during a mission. Lynsley hesitated a fraction before making his decision.
“Pierre Rochambert.”
The spoon slipped from her fingers and fell to the floor.
He reached down and retrieved it from the rug.
“Pierre Rochambert.” Slowly swiping the pewter against her sleeve, Valencia finished her stirring, then carefully set it aside.
“Yes.” He tried to catch a glimpse of her face, but she had already turned away, hiding behind the ebony veil of her hair. Glass clinked against glass, the brittle sounds followed by the scrape of metal as she put away the box of medicines.
Lynsley heard her draw in a harsh breath, then let it out ever so slowly.
