Page 103 of To Love A Spy
“Too long.” The elderly lady moved with surprising speed to envelop her former student in a heartfelt hug. “Welcome home, Valencia,” she murmured, a glint of tears winking from behind the lenses of her spectacles.
Lynsley cleared his throat with a cough. “Speaking of home, Valencia and I had a notion that maybe she could spend part of her time here. Perhaps teach a class or two, given the recently depleted ranks, we need to get the new master class of Merlins up to snuff in a hurry.”
“True,” agreed Mrs. Merlin. “I sense that Britain’s need for our special warriors is only going to become more pressing as Napoleon seeks to make up for his set-backs in Russia.
“As you know, I have a small country estate close by, which would make the arrangement work quite well.” He allowed a twitch of his lips. “Apparently my bride does not care for the idea of living in London as a titled lady of leisure.”
Valencia smiled too. “I don’t think I would make a very good Society wife. I need to be useful.” She made a wry face. “And I can’t quite picture myself making the rounds of morning calls, discussing the latest fashions and foibles of theton.”
“I think it a splendid suggestion,” said the headmistress. “I can think of several subjects where your expertise and experience would be invaluable for the students.”
“Perhaps a course on life after active duty.” For a moment, Valencia’s eyes sparkled with humor, then darkened to a deeper intensity. “It is something they all must face, and the transition is not always easy.”
“Growing old gracefully?” suggested Lynsley.
“We could schedule it just before yoga class,” murmured Valencia
His shoulders flexed. “It seems the schedule for the coming term is shaping up rather nicely.” He winked. “Just so long as you are home in time to fix my supper.”
Mrs. Merlin watched the play between them with an enigmatic smile. “A very good suggestion—the class, that is. Somehow I think your personal staff can manage to keep you fed, Thomas.”
“You had had better not be expecting me to wait on you hand and foot,” said Valencia.
The headmistress smothered a laugh in a shuffle of papers. “Speaking of the curriculum, Thomas, I do have several administrative matters we ought to go over, but perhaps you would rather put it off for a few days.”
Lynsley pursed his lips. “Actually, we are leaving after the wedding for a visit to my brother’s estate. So it would be best to deal with them now.” He glanced at Valencia. “Do you mind, my dear?”
“Of course not.” She rose. “In the meantime, I think I shall have a look around.”
“Savannah heard that Lord Lynsley’s carriage rolled through the front gates less than an hour ago. I wonder if we’re really in for trouble, now that he’s back.” Verona made a face as she unrolled her fencing kit. “I don’t dare hazard a guess. The marquess was certainly acting awfully . . .”
“Horny?” suggested Marco with a waggle of his hips. “Who could blame him? Wherever he plucked up that ladybird, she certainly had a fine set of . . . feathers.”
“Ssshhhhhh.” Verona kicked him in the shin. “Show a little respect for your superiors,” she muttered. “I’m in enough trouble as it is. You are going to get me plucked of every privilege for the foreseeable future. Because of you and your damn rescue plan, I’m already stuck mucking out the stalls until the end of the month.”
“Ididsay I would help.”
“Aye. And quite a concession it was,” snapped Verona. “I’m touched that you would deign to risk getting manure under your manicured nails.”
“As well you should be,bella.” Marco gave a flourishing wave. “These hands are precision instruments. They play a lady’s charms like a fiddle.”
“Trust me, they won’t be pulling atmystrings.” She slid a chamois over the blade of her foil. “By the by, have you any idea who she is?”
“She?”
Verona whirled around at the wolfish growl.
“Whatsheare you talking about?” asked the head fencing master. His lips curled in a lecherous leer. “
“Lord Lynsley’s, er, female companion,” she replied.
Marco was far less discreet. “Si, si. When we found him in France, he was sequestered with a tall, dark-haired beauty.” The accompanying hand gestures were more than eloquent in explaining the circumstances. “But then, the marquess is said to be a master at forging strategic alliances. Apparently, old age hasn’t blunted his skills.”
Allegretto Da Rimini grinned. Like Marco, he was Italian, and in his prime the man known as IlLupino—the Wolf— had been the most feared blade in all of Europe. Despite the slashesof silver at his temples, he was still a master of steel—and sexual innuendo.
But instead of making his usual lewd comment, his expression turned thoughtful. “Tall, dark-haired, you say . . . Did she have emerald eyes and walk with a limp?”
Verona shook her head. “I couldn’t tell.”
