Page 28 of To Love A Spy
“Very good, sir.” The valet held out an ebony walking stick and high crown beaver hat. “Shall I arrange a visit to a tailor for you as well, sir, in order to replace the trunk of clothing lost during the voyage.”
“Yes,” he replied. That should explain their lack of luggage to curious eyes. “I shall need more than what I possess right now to make the proper impression on our hosts.”
It was only a short ride from his residence to the French Ministry. Lynsley stepped smartly from this carriage and marched up the steps, ignoring the shouts of the startled guards. Americans were, after all, were known to be unintimidated by pomp and protocol.
“Monsieur!S’il vous plait. . .”
Deciding that the man who emerged from the front office looked important enough to notice, Lynsley came to a halt. “Daggett,” he announced brusquely, waving his credentials in front of the fellow’s nose. “Representing President Madison. I assume you are expecting me. Indeed, I would have been heredays ago, but the roads in Normandy are even worse than the cart tracks of Connecticut. Are they always that bad?”
“Er, yes, monsieur. That is, no, monsieur.” Flustered, the man eyed the packet of papers as if it were a rattlesnake.
“Well, don’t just stand there, sir. Inform Mr. Levalier that I am here, and ready to begin our talks.
“Er . . .”
Lynsley repeated the request in execrable French.
“No need to shout, Monsieur Daggett. I understand English.”
“Then what is the problem?” demanded Lynsley.
“Monsieur Levalier is presently in a meeting with a minister from the Palais de Justice. If you would care to wait in my office, I shall tell his
secretary—”
“I don’t care for it at all,” he interrupted. “But I suppose I shall have to cool my heels for the present.” Lynsley allowed himself to be ushered into a small, wood-paneled room and promptly assumed the chair behind the desk. “Now, run along. I haven’t got all day.”
“Oui, monsieur,” muttered the man as he shut the door with a snap.
Lynsley allowed a twitch of his lips. Mr. Daggett was fast on his way to earning a reputation for boorish behavior. A fact that suited his purposes nicely. No one would wonder that his lovely young wife found Frenchmen considerably more charming.
His smile quickly thinned to a grim line. If only he could find a way to avoid involving Valencia in this dangerous deception. But no amount of pacing the previous night had led him to an alternative plan. Rochambert had a weakness for beautiful women. And so, duty demanded that he exploit the advantage—no matter his own personal feelings on the matter.
Loath though he was to admit it, Valencia was going to be a powerful weapon against the Frenchman. Her sultry looks, hershapely body gave him an edge in the deadly game of cat and mouse. She would serve as a distraction.
Drawing a deep breath, he forced his jaw to unclench.A distraction.Such things did not usually concern him. Over the years, he had learned how to discipline both mind and body to the rigorous demands of his job. The sense of single-minded purpose had become second nature.
Until now.
Strangely enough, this mission had stirred a more primal passion. One that might be far more dangerous than gunpowder or steel.
Perhaps Mrs. Merlin had been right to warn him about allowing an assignment to become too personal. It was, after all, one of the first tenets they drummed into their students. Emotion was the greatest enemy of all.
“Monsieur Daggett.”
Sharpening his scowl, Lynsley looked up.
“Monsieur Levalier will see you now.” Apparently the first administrator had had quite enough of the obnoxious American, for it was a young clerk who stood nervously in the doorway. “Please follow me.”
“Hmmph. It’s about time.”
Backing up quickly, the clerk led the way down the marbled corridor and up a flight of stairs.
“Ah, Monsieur Daggett.” Levalier rose from his massive desk and came forward to greet him. “Pardon, pardon for making you wait, sir. Allow me to offer you some refreshments. The perhaps you would care to present yourself to our Foreign Office and receive an official greetings.”
Lynsley gave a brusque bow. “I prefer not to stand on ceremony, sir. I’ve already been delayed in my travels. If you don’t mind, I should rather get down to business.”
“But of course.” Levalier gestured for him to have a seat. Everything about the minister was soft—his fleshy hands, his silky voice, his pomaded curls, his superfine coat. Everything save for his razored smile.
