Page 42 of To Love A Spy
“I love the colors and perfumes of roses, but alas, our harsh New England winters make it hard to keep such plants.”
“Surely a hothouse would keep them safe,” observed Mersault.
She made a face. “My husband considers such things an unnecessary extravagance.”
Rochambert took a sip of his wine. “A husband ought to indulge his wife’s fancies.”
“American men have much to learn from their Continental counterparts. Perhaps a bit of your Gallic gallantry will rub off on this trip.” Valencia exaggerated a pout. “Thomas is terribly serious. And he is quite determined to do well on this trip. You see, this is his first diplomatic mission for President Madison.”
“An honor, to be sure. I am sure that he merited it,” said Rochambert smoothly.
She shrugged. “No doubt. He certainly spends enough of his time on it. When he is not engaged in talks with you and your ministers, Monsieur Mersault, he is studying an endless array of papers.”
Mersault chuckled. “In my experience, ladies are no more fond of documents than they are of weapons. We shall have to see that you are not bored to death, eh, Pierre?”
“Oui—but of course,” replied Rochambert with a smooth smile. As his gaze slid from the peak of her curling topknot to the plunging décolletage of her new Parisian gown, his brow furrowed ever so slightly. “Have we met before?’ he asked slowly.
“Have you ever been to Charleston, monsieur? Or Boston?” asked Valencia.
“Non, I have traveled extensively across Europe but never to the New World.”
“I did not think so.” She let her words hang for a moment in the air before adding, “I would remember it very well had we encountered each other in the past.”
His lips parted, revealing a peek of pearly teeth. “So should I. Strange, there is something familiar about you.”
She batted her lashes. “Perhaps it is my Mediterranean blood.
“Spanish?” he asked.
“La, however did you guess?” she teased.
Rochambert laughed. “Your name, to begin with.”
“Yes, my grandmother was from the city of Valencia. My mother thought it pretty enough to use as my middle name. I’ve always disliked Elizabeth—it sounds so stiff and formal.” She took a sip of her champagne. “Actually, Thomas prefers it as well. He thinks it has an exotic ring.”
“Ah.” Rochambert eyed her from over the rim of his wineglass.” So your husband likes exotic things?”
Valencia made a coy face and fluttered her lashes. “Really now, monsieur, you cannot expect me to reveal my husband’s deepest, darkest secrets to a stranger, can you?”
His nostrils flared slightly as he drew in a breath. Did he scent a challenge? Men like Rochambert were predators at heart. They couldn’t resist the thrill of the hunt.
“Then I shall have to make sure we become better acquainted,” he replied softly.
Valencia didn’t reply, leaving it to his imagination to interpret the arch of her brow.
Time to disengage from the enemy.
Lynsley was right. A frontal assault against a man of Rochambert’s cunning and guile would never work. To have any chance at victory, they must keep him off guard. She would give the marquess no reason to accuse her of disobeying orders.
Snapping her fan open, she turned and tapped one of the passing Hussar officers on the sleeve. “Ah, there you are, Capitain Parquand. You simplymustfinish telling me about the exhibit of Spanish paintings at the Palais de Luxumburg.”
Rochambert was forced to make room for the young man to bow over her hand.
“Pray, excuse me, monsieur,” she said, taking care that their eyes did not quite meet.
“Until later, Madame Daggett,” he murmured.
She didn’t look back, but sensed his gaze following her for several moments.
