Page 29 of To Love A Spy
Lynsley reminded himself not to underestimate the man. Napoleon was known for choosing men based on their ability, not their birth.
“Seeing as all looks to be in perfect order, there is no reason to waste your time in formalities,” went on Levalier. He refolded the Lynsley’s documents without a second glance. “I shall have my secretary take care of all the perfunctory paperwork.”
“Excellent,” replied Lynsley. “President Madison is anxious to reach an accord on the trade of goods between our two countries.”
“As is the Emperor, Monsieur Dagget.,” said the minister.
“Speaking of which, how goes his Eastern campaign? I heard rumblings in Caen that the Imperial army was in full retreat from Russia. Is it true that he is headed back to Paris?”
Levalier’s smile turned a tad pinched. “War often requires a shift in strategy. Our Emperor is a master tactician. I assure you, there is nothing to worry about.”
“I devoutly hope not. But can’t you do something about the Peninsula? The British are becoming a cursed nuisance, especially that pesky fellow, Wellesley.”
“Marmont will deal with Wellesley,” said the minister tightly. “One sometimes suffers small setbacks in the course of a campaign.” He paused. “Has your capital recovered from the British invasion? We heard that the redcoat forces torched much of the city, including your White House.”
“Bloody British,” muttered Lynsley. “The sooner this interminable war is over, the better.”
“Indeed, indeed.” Levalier recovered his composure. “It soon will be.”
Deciding that he had been irritating enough for the moment, Lynsley polished his spectacles on his sleeve and then took several sheets of paper from his coat pocket. “I have made a short list of the topics my government would like to discuss?—“
Levalier interrupted him with a low laugh. “My dear Monsieur Daggett, much as I admire your work ethic, it will be at least a few days before we can begin our discussions.”
“Why the delay?” he grumbled.
“I must arrange the schedule with my other colleagues, and that will take time.” He gave a Gallic shrug. “What is your hurry? You are in Paris,non? Why not enjoy all of the sumptuous splendors that our city offers.”
“Hmmph,” Lynsley pulled a face. “My wife will no doubt be delighted to do as you say. She talks of nothing but French fashion and fripperies.”
“We Parisians are renowned for our sense of style.”
“And my wife is renowned for her ability to spend money like a drunken sailor.” He flicked a mote of dust from his sleeve. “I suppose that is the price one pays for marrying a bewitching beauty. Still, it is not always easy to keep her amused.”
As he had hoped, Levalier looked intrigued by the mention of an attractive lady. “Well, we must see to it that your wife—and you—are not bored during your stay here. There is a party tonight at Monsieur Dubouffet’s mansion off rue de Rivoli. Thecrème de la crèmeof Paris will be there. I hope you will join us.”
“Thank you. I daresay we shall,” said Lynsley after a brief hesitation.
“I look forward to meeting Madame Daggett. She sounds like a lady who can bring a man to his knees.”
“That she can,” murmured the marquess. “That she can.”
Chapter Seven
“Turn.” Madame Violette tapped the tip of her scissors to the table. “Now the other way.” A pause. “Lift your arms.”
Stripped to her shift, Valencia felt like a filly on sale at Tattersall’s famous horse market. “Ouch,” she muttered, as the team of seamstresses continued their poking and prodding into every inch of her flesh.
How did highborn ladies put up with such embarrassing indignities? she wondered. Perhaps because they had been trained since birth to accept their role as brood mares for the blooded stallions of theton.Demure and docile.She gave an inward wince. That was likely the sort of female Lynsley would eventually marry. Duty would demand that he sire an heir. And the marquess was not a man to ignore his responsibilities.
Indeed, Valencia found it strange that he had put off breeding. By now, most men of his age and title would have bowed to tradition and set up a nursery. As a peer of the realm, he would be expected to make a match based on bloodlines, land and money.Privilege begat privilege.
For her, it was a world far more foreign than France.
“That is enough, madame.” With a wave of her pattern card, the modiste signaled that she had finished putting Valencia through her paces. “You may relax for a moment.”
Valencia flexed her shoulders. Why her thoughts kept spurring to intimate musing on the marquess was puzzling. And provoking.
“With a bit of lift here, and here . . .“ Madame Violette’s measuring stick touched under Valencia’s breasts. “We will have every lady in Paris green with envy.” The modiste pursed her lips. “Speaking of which, you must promise me to burn that puce gown. From now on, you are to wear only shades of emerald, seafoam or indigo blue.”
