Page 50 of To Love A Spy
This spiritual side added yet another complexity to Lynsley’s character. Lud, the man had more facets than a fine cut gemstone. Intricate planes, crafted so subtly that many were invisible to the naked eye.
“Which likely didn’t last long,” she said after a moment. “Somehow I doubt you were there to admire the scenery.”
As always, he artfully dodged the question of his clandestine activities.
“In contrast, the holy shrines of Jerusalem are surrounded by a cacophony of sounds and smells. Mullahs call followers of Islam to prayer, Jews kneel before their Wailing Wall and church bells summon the Christians to Mass. The smoke from sizzling meats swirls with the scent of Eastern spices . . .”
Valencia set her book aside and inched forward in her seat. Such faraway places were only names or engravings on a printedpage until now. Lynsley filled in the stark black and white with great, glorious brushstrokes of color.
“Constantinople,” she murmured, mentioning the city that had always captured her imagination. “Have you been there?”
Lynsley didn’t seem to mind this line of questioning. His face relaxed as he regaled her with descriptions of his exotic travels, from the Empire of the Turks to the jungle of the Mogul princes to the lacquered splendor of the Forbidden City, the legendary seat of the Chinese rulers. Perhaps the armchair journeys took his mind off the pressures of the current mission.
Whatever the reason, it was utterly fascinating. She could live to be a hundred and never grow bored of hearing about the world beyond her own sphere of war and death. It was little wonder that his descriptions of saffron silks and mulberry saris seemed so threaded with color and texture. Her life was cloaked in unrelenting black and white, its only softness the occasional shade of grey.
Sighing, Valencia drew her knees to her chest. Coals crackled, and the candles burned with a fire-gold light, kindling a mood that was cozy.
Comfortable.
It was all an illusion, of course, created out of deceptions and lies. Yet shedidfeel comfortable with Lynsley, something she would have dismissed as impossible just a few short weeks ago.
So the mission had accomplished something meaningful, though Whitehall would not see it that way. The gentlemen who made the life-and-death decisions did not give a damn about the human side of any assignment. They would gladly sacrifice her heart or her head—along with any other part of her anatomy—if it served their purpose.
Lynsley was different. Through the fringe of her lashes, she watched the play of light on his face. The austere chiseling of his long, lean features cut a sharp contrast to the subtle shadingsof nuance in his eyes and his smile.Flint and flesh. Even at his most stern and solemn, the marquess never lost his essential humanity. He looked like a man capable of feeling pain and regret. Of feeling loss and longing.
Of feeling love?
Her heart gave a tiny hitch. Had Lynsley ever been in love?
“The beauty of Constantinople is seductive.” His sigh stirred Valencia from her reveries. “I should have liked to spend more time exploring its treasures, but our group moved on to the deserts of Palestine . . .”
She forced herself to pick up the thread of his narrative.
“Where I unwittingly offended a Bedouin sheik by eating with my left hand at his welcoming feast—the ultimate insult in Arabic culture,” he went on. “The head of the British Mission offered him my head on a platter, but apparently the sheik preferred goat, rather than pig.”
“I can’t quite imagine you ever making a social faux pas,” said Valencia. She tried to picture him as a callow young junior envoy, awkward and unsure, and did not succeed.
“Good Lord, more times than I care to count. Books and lectures can only teach so much. In the field, one tends to learn by trial and error.”
“True.” She thought back for a moment on some of her earliest assignments. “The same applied for our physical training. It’s all very well to master a spinning back flip off of the Academy’s practice wall, but if one doesn’t factor in the seaweed and slime of a harbor breakwater, it throws the timing off. My first job was in Lyme Regis, and I was lucky to escape without breaking my neck. It took twenty stitches to close the gash in my scalp, but live and learn. I never made that mistake again.”
A smile crept to her lips as she recalled her roommate’s brush with death. “But that was nothing compared to Savannah’s gaffe in bed with the Polish double agent in Cracow. Language classhad not taught her the local dialect for intimate moments, and he soon saw through her charade. Fortunately she was more skilled with a stiletto than with her tongue.”
Lynsley made a face. “Lord, if I had known any of this, my hair would no doubt be entirely grey.”
Valencia laughed. “It wasn’t really all that bad. We’re well-schooled. When push comes to shove, we know how to improvise.”
His mouth curved upward, but the corners were pinched and his gaze grew clouded.
Damn.This interlude was offering a rare glimpse of the man behind the stone sphinx mask. She did not want him to retreat into himself just yet.
“Like the time Geneva was sent to recover the jewels stolen from Lord Butterfield’s home by his French mistress.” Valencia continued her musing. “She came back with not only the earl’s heirlooms, but with the diamond medallion reported missing by the Prussian ambassador. You allowed her to keep it, saying that like a Royal Navy captain, the Merlins ought to keep the prizes captured in battle.”
“Her skills helped avert an embarrassing incident for the Prime Minister.” Lynsley’s expression lightened somewhat at the mention of the past mission. Unlike many, it had been highlighted by a number of humorous scenes. “I saw no reason to return it von Furtzen. I doubt he was the rightful owner, and besides, it looked much better on Geneva than on him.”
Valencia exaggerated a sigh. “We were all green with envy. I had never seen anything like it. A clear, colorless stone, and yet it seemed to glow with a magical fire.
“In Greek, the diamond is calledadamas—unconquerable force—since it defies flames and never becomes heated,” mused the marquess. “The ancient philosopher, Pliny the Elder, believed it to be the most precious of all human possessions, fitonly for kings. He thought the sole source was some mysterious mine in the middle of India.”
