Page 86 of To Love A Spy
Lynsley’s eyes fluttered open. “Leaving my wife to seek solace in your arms?” Wrenching free, he staggered sideways and threw a wobbly punch that missed Rochambert’s chin by a mile. “You, sir, are a scoundrel. And you, madam, are a slut.”
His shouts were beginning to attract the attention of the other guests. Several people were already gathering to observe the commotion.
“Daggett, you go too far—” warned Rochambert.
“As far as I’m concerned, I can’t go far enough to escape from the two of you.” Weaving an erratic path, he staggered out tothe main corridor and disappeared into the darkness of the side stairwell..
“Cochon,” muttered the Frenchman. “Your pig of a husband is playing a dangerous game,cherie. He has no idea who he is dealing with.”
“I hope you will forgive me for allowing Thomas to spoil your soiree.” Valencia pinched her voice to a note of sharp resentment. “He will sleep for two days, then wake and act as if nothing happened.”
The anger in Rochambert’s eyes flickered to a different sort of heat. “That gives you ample time to apologize for your husband’s bad manners.”
“I daresay I can come up with a show of suitable contrition.” She flashed a sultry smile. “Send your guests home quickly and give the servants the rest of the night off.”
Lynsley crouched in the shadows of the side portico, watching the guests file out to the waiting carriages.So far, so good.The plan of ending the party early seemed to be going as scheduled. But the idea of Valencia alone with a murderous miscreant had him counting the seconds.
To rush would be a grave mistake, he reminded himself. She was tough, and trained to handle any threat.She was a Merlin.
Still, his hands were shaking as he checked that the small equipment bag was strapped snugly to his back. He had stripped off his evening clothes and was now clad all in black—dark shirt, dark trousers, a loose jacket fitted with a number of hidden pockets. And weapons, of course.
Not that he wouldn’t kill Rochambert with his bare hands if need be.
Flexing his fingers, he knotted a pirate style scarf around his head and tugged the silk low on his brow. Lordly scruples wereunder wraps from here on. Like a bloodthirsty buccaneer, he would give no quarter.
No mercy.
The front door of the mansion closed, and the faint scrape of a bar being slid into place signaled that the last of the party had taken their leave. Shaking out a thin coil of rope, Lynsley tossed the iron grappling hook up to the steeply pitched slates of the mansard roof. It caught in the decorative stonework, and after testing its hold, he rose, swift and silent as a hawk.
He had wedged a shim in thesalle de mangerwindow, preventing the brass lock from catching. A flick of his knifepoint would allow him entry. From there, he had mapped out a route to the art gallery using his knowledge of the floorplan to take advantage of all the nooks and shadows. By now, he knew every square inch of the mansion by heart.
Including the master bedroom suite, replete with a bristling array of whips and chains.
No—he would not allow his mind to go there.
Valencia had unequivocal orders not to enter that room. Lynsley prayed that she would obey. She had given him her word, but in the heat of battle, resolve sometimes gave way to a far more primal emotion.
A thrust of his blade opened the latch.
After closing the casement, he ducked under the long table and cracked open the door. Silence shrouded the darkened corridor. A single scone flickered at the far end, casting swirling patterns over the ornate carvings of staircase. The only other sign of life was a sliver of light showing from under the door of the main salon.
Lynsley forced himself to pass without a pause.
Timing was key.There was not a moment to lose. The plan called for Valencia to spend no more than half an houralone with Rochambert before withdrawing to the appointed rendezvous spot.
But as an experienced agent, he knew all too well how plans could go awry.
“Ah, alone at last.” Valencia perched a hip on the arm of the sofa. “Pour us a glass of cognac.”
“I would rather taste your honeyed sweetness on my tongue.” Threading a hand through her hair, Rochambert pulled back her head and covered her mouth with a bruising kiss. “And that is just the beginning of all the ways I shall take pleasure in your flesh.” His voice was rough as he released her. “I’ve a book in my bedchamber from India. A manual of all the exotic positions a woman can use to satisfy a man.”
“TheKama Sutra—oh, yes, I am familiar with it.” Valencia watched his lips curl into a wolfish smile. “ But what’s the hurry? As you know, one of the little lessons in its pages is that anticipation adds to the climax.”
“I have waited long enough,” he rasped.
“A little longer won’t kill you.” She slipped free and danced to the sideboard. “Let us toast to the coming night.”
“You like to tease?”
