Page 88 of To Love A Spy
“Who are you?” he repeated.
She clenched her jaw.
“Silence? Yes, I remember that about you,” he sneered. “Most women scream like a stuck pig when the blade bites into their flesh. But you—you never uttered a sound.” The knifepoint slowly lifted and circled the tip of her left breast. “I always wondered how it was that a woman was my adversary that night. But lately, I have heard the strangest rumors. Rumors about a special flock of women warriors.”
Slowly but surely, he sliced away a scrap of silk from her bodice. “The Merlins, eh? Well, I shall take pleasure in finally plucking your feathers.”
She willed herself to keep a poker face.
“But first, I want to know exactly who you are working for. I want the name of the man who controls the clandestine operations for the British here in France.” Rochambert paused, seeming to savor the thought. “The Emperor will pay a fortune for that information.”
“The British?” Valencia shattered her silence with a harsh laugh. “The sodding pricks at Whitehall cast me off like soiled laundry when I was no longer any use to them. I have no love lost forles Beefsteaks. No, I work strictly for myself these days.”
“Oui?And how does Daggett fit into the game?”
“There is no reason not to tell you. He really is my husband,” she replied. It was worth a bluff. “After you left me crippled, I wasn’t much use to the British anymore. So I went to the Caribbean, where I chanced to meet Daggett. He decided my skills might prove useful in helping him rise to a position of power in the American government, so we struck a bargain.”
A flicker of uncertainty clouded his gaze. “Why come to me with the American documents?”
“Revenge of a sort,” she admitted. “I knew, of course, that you were one of Napoleon’s favorites, so it seemed logical that you would have the authority to take advantage of an opportune offer.” She paused. “By the by, how did you know it was me?”
“Your eyes,cherie. Even obscured by the mists and your mask, their shape and spark were memorable.” He bared his teeth in the same serpentine smile she had seen so many times in her nightmares.
“I see. A miscalculation on my part.”
His mouth stretched wider. “Far more formidable people than you have tried to outwit me,cherie. None have succeeded. “But do go on. I am curious as to how you and Daggett meant to try it.”
Valencia thought for a moment, then continued improvising. “Once you had paid handsomely for the secrets, the plan was for me to seduce you, then steal them back from your library while you slept. Thomas would then resell them to someone in the Ministry. Part of the deal would be a favorable trade agreement. And so, we would return to America with both money and a good deal of political coin to parlay into future profit.”
“Very clever,” said Rochambert. “In many ways, you are a woman after my own heart.”
How very true.And if she had to crawl back from Hades to do it, she would see that it ceased to beat, thought Valencia. The Frenchman had caused enough evil. It was high time to stop him.
“But you would never have succeeded in getting at the documents. No one can get at my private—” A curse cut off his boast as he felt in his pocket and discovered that his keys were missing. “Why, you little bitch!”
She glanced at the clock. Had she given Lynsley enough leeway?
“You should have left well enough alone.” Rochambert struck her, a hard blow to the face that knocked her to the carpet. “This time, I’ll finish the job of mincing your flesh into pieces for pigeon pie.”
She pretended to be stunned as he wrenched her to her feet. At this moment he was confident that he held the upper hand, for after all, this was the second time he had her at his mercy. But she was no longer the downy chick who had fought more with her body than her brains. Older and wiser, she would not make the mistake again of trying to best him with brute force.
She would have to prove herself more than a match in cunning and guile.
A frisson of doubt prickled along her scar. Failure was a palpable fear, searing a trail of fire against her flesh.
“Come,” added Rochambert roughly. “Let us see just how far Daggett is willing to bargain in order to keep that pretty little throat in one piece.”
Mention of the marquess gave her the strength to shove such trepidations aside. She had bested bitterness and the black abyss of self-loathing, all because Lynsley had believed in her and refused to allow her to disappear into the depths of despair.
While there was still a breath in her body, she would fight like the devil to prove worthy of his . . . friendship.
The first imperative, decided Valencia, was to keep Rochambert guessing about the nature of her relationship with Lynsley. “You are much mistaken if you think he’ll lift a finger to save my skin,” she mumbled as he dragged her down the corridor. “My partner is ruled by pragmatism, not passion.”
“I know a thing or two about lust,cherie,” snarled Rochambert. “Monsieur Daggett—or whatever his real name—is not so detached from your fate as you claim. And not only that, I see something else in his eyes. He hates me, and I find myself wondering why.”
“An act,” she said.
He slapped her again. “I think not. But let us set the stage for a confrontation and see how the scene plays out.”
