Page 71 of To Love A Spy
She doubted that the marquess ever took wild risks. Even when forced to play a high stakes game, he kept his head and did everything possible to make the odds in his favor.
A strumpet sidled up to Lynsley and rubbed herself up against his thigh. She was quite pretty, and he took a moment to look down at her décolletage—which even at a distance appeared to cut clear down to her navel. Then politely shook his head.
Valencia let out a breath. Only to draw a harsh gulp as the whore moved on to the man behind him. The marquess’s movement revealed gold glimmer of hair.
So, Pierre Rochambert was part of the party.
Lynsley had failed to make mention of that. He had let her carp on about condoms and brothels, all the while knowing he would be spending an intimate evening with their enemy.
Damn his lovely, lordly eyes.
Did he think her too weak to help? Too inept?
Valencia sat for the next two hours, seething in silent frustration. The cold crept up through the rope soles of her shoes, curling her toes, numbing her legs. Would that it could dull the ache in her chest. Clenching her arms across her breasts, she hunched closer to the stone parapet. She wasn’t sure whether to feel angry or hurt.
It would serve him right if she left him to fend for himself. Here she was freezing her arse, while he was likely warming his . . .
By some perverse magic, Lynsley suddenly appeared, strolling out of the inner courtyard. Exiting theCour d’Honneur, he waved off a hackney cab and began walking.
Valencia swore under her breath. He ought to know better than to venture anywhere on foot. Parisian streets were notoriously dangerous after dark.
The sense of foreboding was now like a sliver of ice skating down her spine.
Pushing back from the sooty stone, she crossed to the adjoining roof. As the marquess turned down the side street, she spotted a man stepping out from between two buildings, Tugging down the brim of his hat, he set off in the same direction.
It might be coincidence, but she was taking no chances.
Snaking through the chimneypots of slumbering shops. Valencia followed along, keeping her eye on the street below. Halfway down the block, the stranger was joined by two other shadowy shapes. Gangs of desperate men were rampant throughout the quartiers, many of them former aristocrats or priests reduced to robbery to survive.
Valencia allowed no more than a small twinge of pity. They were violent, vicious thieves, who would slit a man’s throat for asou.
The marquess seemed blithely unaware of the peril stalking his steps. His pace was leisurely, as if out for a Sunday stroll. Too much to drink? Or too sated with sex to be aware of his surroundings? He had never before appeared so careless.
She debated whether to call a warning, but decided against alerting the raggle-taggle ruffians on his trail.
Swinging up and over the ledge of a private townhouse, Valencia catwalked across the slate roof tiles and dropped lightly down to the top of a garden wall. Moving in a low crouch, she hurried along its length. She was now abreast of the three men. They had spread out across the cobblestones, in readiness to angle an attack on the unsuspecting figure ahead.
They moved swiftly, silently, eyes intent on their quarry. The only sounds echoing off the buildings was the soft slosh of the sewage stream and the yowl of an alleycat.
She gauged the distance and jumped.
Thump.
Rolling with a feral quickness, the ruffian slashed out with his knife but she easily dodged the blade. A hard knee to his groin drew a scream as he dropped headfirst into the ooze. She darted back as the second man spun around and aimed a kick at her head. Her hand caught his boot and jerked him off his feet. He fell with a bellowing curse. His pistol clattered to the cobblestones and fired. Smoke and sparks erupted as the bullet ricocheted off the brick, sending up a shower of shards.
“Bloody hell.”
Valencia looked around to see that third attacker lay motionless at Lynsley’s feet, his neck bent at an unnatural angle. Vaulting the body, the marquess rushed to her side.
“Dammit, we must be gone this instant.” Swearing another oath, he grabbed her arm. “You can’t be seen.”
He looked around grimly. The shot had already set off several cries of alarm.
She seized his sleeve and pushed him into the sliver of space at their back. “Follow me.” From her study of the maps, she had memorized the way back to their quartier through the maze of alleyways.
After coming out on the adjoining street, they raced on for some minutes through the sharp twists and turns, ducking low,squeezing sideways, scrambling at a dead run over walls of refuse. She didn’t care to think what was squishing beneath her feet.
After a sprint across a deserted square and yet another darting traverse of a narrow lane, Lynsley finally showed signs of easing the pace. Hugging close to the crooked walls, he slowed to a walk, then suddenly stopped in a pool of shadows. Above the wheezing of her own lungs, she heard the growl of his breath scrape against the stone. He didn’t sound winded at all. There was a rougher rasp to his tone.
