Page 81 of To Love A Spy
To that end, Lynsley had gathered a few choice samples from Tobias Daggett’s government documents. The chance to acquire American secrets should be compelling, especially ones concerning its intentions of Western expansion. All of Europe knew that Napoleon was very concerned about the vast territories bordering Mexico, now that Spain was under his thumb.
It was, mused Lynsley, a dirty trick to play on Mr. Madison. However, the American president was a clever man. He and his Congress had shown themselves able to defend the young republic against outside forces . . .
The front door of the mansion opened and a liveried footman escorted him up the stairs.
Rochambert was waiting in his private study, clad in a brocade dressing gown and tasseled Turkish slippers. Raising a glass of brandy in salute, he asked, “A drink, Monsieur Daggett?”
Lynsley shook his head. “I am here for business, not pleasure,” he growled.
“Do you never relax? I noticed that you did not linger long at the Palaise Royal last night, either,” purred the Frenchman. He made atssskkingsound. “You Americans are far too serious. Or perhaps you find pleasure enough in the marriage bed.” A lazy wink. “I must say, Madame Daggett is certainly a tasty-looking morsel.”
He ignored the provocation. “I assume you read my note. Is your Emperor hungry for a look at what I have to offer?”
“That depends, Monsieur.” Rochambert sat on the edge of his desk and appeared to be thinking it over. “Very well, I shall have a look.”
Lynsley made a surreptitious survey of the surroundings as he untied his case and withdrew a sample document. “If you wish to know the innermost thoughts of the president and his cabinet, it is all here. But it will cost you.” He named a high price. “The information is accurate, and can’t be gotten anywhere else. So it should be worth a great deal to your Emperor.”
Rochambert studied document for several long moments. “Naturally, I have a few questions.” Looking up, the Frenchman was quick with a number of probing queries.
Smiling inwardly, Lynsley answered them all smoothly. As a master of interrogation techniques, he had anticipated every angle and had rehearsed the perfect replies.
Pursing his lips, Rochambert read over the document one last time, then set it down. He named a figure considerably less than the price demanded.
Lynsley made a counter offer.
Without replying, the Frenchman walked across the room and opened a wall safe. Though muffled by soft leather, the chink of gold was audible as he sorted through its interior.
In the moments that Rochambert had his back turned, the marquess flicked a look around the room, making mental note of places where a valuable object might be hidden. However, his instincts told him the thing he sought was kept somewhere else.
“A down payment,” said Rochambert as he returned and tossed down a purse. “I’ll buy the rest when I see them, assuming they are of the same quality.”
“Be assured that they are,” said Lynsley.
“I will let you know when and where to bring them.”
The marquess knew the haughty reply was a dismissal and turned away with further words. But as he reached the doorway, Rochambert added, “By the by, how is your wife feeling? Does she often take atumble?”
The sneering sexual innuendo was crudely done. Still, Lynsley felt a welling of rage rise in his throat. However, he masked his emotions with a chill smile as he looked back at the Frenchman. “She is quite recovered, thank you. I have warned her again about the danger of not watching her step on unfamiliar ground. I believe she won’t make the mistake again.”
“And yet, some woman have trouble reining in their impulses.” Rochambert spun his letter opener between his palms. “Madame Daggett appears to be a woman who can’t resist a challenge.”
Their gazes clashed, a silent shiver of steel against steel.
Lynsley didn’t flinch. “Be assured, Rochambert. Certain things in my possession are available to the highest bidder. And certain things are not for sale at any price. Do I make myself clear?”
“Quite, monsieur.” The Frenchman lifted his glass of brandy to his lips, a malicious gleam lighting his eye. “However, if something is offered for free . . .”
The marquess left Rochambert’s taunt to trail off in a soft laugh.
He who laughs last . . .The Frenchman’s hubris could be turned against him, of that Lynsley was sure. And that moment couldn’t come too soon.
Valencia chuffed a sigh of relief as she climbed into the carriage. As she had feared, the afternoon had been a tedious bore. However, the time had not been wasted. Sumptuous cakes and confections had been served, and yet several of the ladies had been more hungry for gossip than sugar and buttercream. Between dainty bites they had asked probing questions about her and Lynsley—the discord had, of course, been noticed—and so she had been able to hint that the relationship was not all sweetness and spice. The whispers of strife would no doubt reach Rochambert’s ears quickly . . .
“And then be turned to our advantage,” Valencia murmured aloud. Flexing her shoulders, she leaned back against the squabs. Waiting was becoming more and more difficult. “I am trained for action, not sitting around swathed in silks and satins.”
Hurrying up the townhouse stairs, she inquired whether Lynsley had returned, and was quickly directed to the main parlor by the nervous-looking footman.
A bad sign, thought Valencia. The premonition was quickly confirmed by the marquess.
