Page 36 of To Love A Spy
“An interesting suggestion, Mr. Noilly, and one that we will certainly discuss in greater detail once Levalier sets a time for our talks,” he said abruptly. “But now, if you will excuse me, I think I shall go find my wife.”
Circling around the perimeter of the ballroom floor, Lynsley was aware of the curious stares following his movement. A subtle reminder of just how delicate a dance he and Valencia must perform here in Paris. They must be in perfect harmony to pull it off—the slightest misstep and their demise would be swift and sure.
He paused for a moment to watch the kaleidoscope blur of colors crescendo into the last spinning figures of the waltz, then slipped into the shadowed corridor.
In the side salon, several gentlemen surrounded Valencia, The wine had brought a rosy glow to her cheeks, and the fire-gold candlelight caught the brilliance of her emerald eyes. She looked . . . magnificent. No wonder the men appeared to be hanging on her every word.
“Ah, here you are, my dear,” he murmured, bringing his hand to rest at the small of her back.
She stiffened slightly at his touch, then relaxed.
“Alas, it seems Monsieur Daggett has come to claim his lovely wife,” said Levalier, exaggerating a sigh. “Must you take her away so soon? The night is still young.”
“It was a long and tiring trip from Normandy,” replied Lynsley. “I am sure she is a trifle fatigued.”
“As you see, sirs, my husband seems to feel he must look out for me, though in truth I am not so fragile as he seems to think.” Valencia regarded him through the sable fringe of her lashes. He couldn’t tell whether she was amused or annoyed. “Really, Thomas, you will give these gentlemen the wrong impression.”
“Who could blame your husband for being a bit protective?” murmured Dumont. “I, too, would wish to see to your well-being, Madame Daggett.”
Valencia favored the man with a coy smile. “How very reassuring to know that I am surrounded by such gallant chevaliers.”
The Frenchmen exchanged smug looks. No doubt imagining that the cabbage-mannered American would soon be a cuckolded dolt, thought Lynsley. He had no trouble assuming a slight scowl.
“But perhaps you are right, Thomas,” she went on. “I suppose it would be best to take an early leave tonight, seeing as I have accepted a number of invitations for us the coming week.” A whisper of silk sounded as she shifted a step closer to him. “Including a visit to theComedieFrancais—and you know how Iadorethe theatre. Monsieur Mersault was also kind enough to ask us to a supper engagement afterward. His friend is a notedconnoisseur of fine wine and superb cuisine, so I took the liberty of saying yes. It sounded like an evening too good to miss.”
Despite her air of nonchalance, Lynsley sensed the quickening of her pulse as she placed her hand on his sleeve. “Indeed?” he drawled, feigning a look of indifference. “I shall leave our social schedule to you, my dear. I trust you to choose whatever pleases you, and I shall follow along.”
“How very amiable of you,” observed Levalier.
Lynsley smiled. “In marriage, one learns quickly that there are certain battles a man never wins.”
“It seems the same truths hold sway on either side of the Atlantic,” said Hillaire with a chuckle.
“Bon soir, Madame Daggett.” Levalier pressed a kiss to her glove. “I look forward to seeing a great deal of you in the coming weeks.”
As the minister’s gaze met his, Lynsley fixed him with a cool stare before taking leave of the group with a curt nod. He waited until they were in the privacy of their coach before remarking, “I take it you have something of interest to report.”
“Yes.” Wrapping her shawl a bit tighter around her shoulders, Valencia leaned back again the squabs. “ Our host for the apres-theatre supper will be Pierre Rochambert.”
The low flicker of the carriage lamp did not reach her face. Through the wisps of smoke and shadow he saw only the ghostly shimmer of her bare shoulders and throat. Pale and perfect as porcelain.
And oh so vulnerable.
Damn.The marquess turned his gaze to the glass panes, and took a moment to watch the muddle of lights roll by. “Good work,” he replied evenly, once he had forced the clench of his jaw to relax. “I had not expected to make such quick progress.”
“You don’t sound overly happy about it.” Her voice was muffled by the gloom.
“On the contrary. Every moment we spend in Paris is fraught with danger. The sooner we get the job done, the better.”
Chapter Nine
Despite his assertion, the marquess seemed in no hurry to make any clandestine forays to further their efforts. Indeed, to Valencia, the next few days passed in a dizzying whirl of mundane activity. Bonnets, gloves, silks, lace—the shopping seemed endless, as did the stream of invitations from the hostesses of thehaute monde.
Between the two, Valencia barely saw Lynsley, save for a briefing at breakfast to go over the daily schedule. His ministry talks had started in earnest, leaving him little time for strategy sessions with her.
Damn. If the dratted man thought to leave her stranded in the opulent salons while he seized the chances to learn more about their quarry, he was in for a rude awakening.
After returning home from an evening concert at the residence of Madame. De Vergennes, Valencia found her mood growing more discordant by the moment. Lynsley had once again announced that he was engaged to dine with the gentlemen from the Ministry, and while she had no real reason to doubt his word, she couldn’t help wondering whether he was leaving her in the dark.
