Page 48 of To Love A Spy
“Thank you for keeping me from going astray,” said Lynsley. “Next time I shall bring a compass to keep me on course.”
“This way, monsieur.” Auberville backtracked past the copyroom and took a sharp left.
Lynsley’s senses went on full alert. This route, he knew from a previous reconnaissance, was even more convoluted than the one he had chosen. However, for the moment, he followed along in silence, curious to know where all this was leading.
After descending a short flight of stairs, and turning again down what looked to be a deserted stretch of storage rooms, Auberville finally spoke up again. “Forgive the detour, Monsieur Daggett, but I feel it is my duty to warn you.”
“Yes?” murmured Lynsley. He kept his voice neutral, though he was inwardly cursing. The last thing he needed was to become tangled in yet another knot of political intrigue. Were there factions within the Ministry? He would have to play this very carefully.
“It is a rather delicate matter.” Auberville cleared his throat in some embarrassment. “Concerning your wife.”
“Pray, do go on,” he said evenly.
“Pierre Rochambert appears to have taken an interest in the lady. Have a care—he is a dangerous man.”
“Rakes abound on both sides of the Atlantic,” replied Lynsley. “It is not the first time a man has made eyes at my wife.”
“You do not understand, Monsieur Daggett. Rochambert is a rake, yes. But more than that, he is . . . ruthless.” Auberville’s voice dropped to a whisper. “The rumors would make your hair stand on end. If I were you I would steer far clear of his social circle. He is not a man to be trifled with.”
“Nor am I,” said Lynsley slowly. “In building a shipping business, I have encountered a good many cutthroats and rapscallions. I’m not intimidated by men like Rochambert.”
“Ah, but you should be. The fellow is a devil, but he has friends in very high places.”
“I see.” Lynsley considered the information. “Might I ask why you felt compelled to tell me this?”
The other man squared his shoulders. “I consider myself a gentleman, monsieur, and have a certain code of honor,” he said with a sniff. “Rochambert thinks himself above the rules—any rules, be they legal or moral. I think it only fair that you know what you are up against.”
“A sporting chance, as the English would say?”
“In a manner of speaking,” said Auberville.
“I believe that your meaning needs no translation,” answered Lynsley slowly.
“Bon. Then I will lead you back to the foyer.” The minister resumed walking.
“Thank you,” murmured Lynsley, falling in step beside him.
Auberville replied by picking up his pace. The echo of the sharp, staccato clicks echoed through the corridor. They did not speak again until the minister stopped short in shadows of an archway and gestured for the marquess to turn right up ahead.
“From here, you are on your own, monsieur.”
Chapter Twelve
“Forgive me for missing supper, said Lynsley as he entered the library. “The meeting at the Ministry ran late, and then I decided to observe the pattern of evening traffic around Place St. Germaine.”
Valencia looked up from the book she was reading. “Did you discover anything of note?”
“The Café Benoit serves a very forgettable claret,” he replied dryly. “Aside from that, I consider several hours passed in watching the daily routine of the local residents time well spent. It is always a wise strategy to know the lay of the land.” He moved to the sideboard and poured himself a glass of cognac. “How was your afternoon?”
“More interesting than I expected,” said Valencia.
His brows arched in amusement. “So, have you found that you have a weakness for fancy plumage after all?”
“Such fripperies seem even more absurd after watching the others agonize over which shade of cerise to choose.” She paused. “But it was worth the effort, seeing as Rochambert joined the shopping party for a short while. By the by, his taste in colors runs to rather gaudy shades of blues and greens.”
“Our friend does appear to be quite a peacock.” The marquess settled into one of the leather armchairs. As they had no social engagement scheduled for the evening, he had shed his coat and cravat. Untying the strings of his portfolio case, he slid out a sheaf of papers.
“He certainly struts around with his proverbial tailfeathers in the air,” muttered Valencia. “Thinking that every female around him will be blinded by his beauty.”
