Page 82 of To Love A Spy
“Ah, there you are, my dear,” said Lynsley in a low voice. He motioned her to join him by the windows overlooking the street, where the noise from the traffic would help hide theirvoices from any prying ears. Their private servants were already standing by his side, looking grim-faced.
“I was just explaining that we had an unsettling incident happen here earlier this afternoon while Perkins and I were out running some errands for His Lordship,” said Bailin. “Our steward went down to the wine cellar, and somehow the door snapped shut and tripped the lock, trapping him for nearly an hour before his absence was noticed.
Perkins gave a huff of skepticism. “And during that time, your bedchambers were searched. The other servants claim they were all engaged in various tasks and did not see any intruders.”
“Aye,” muttered Bailin. “My questions were met with Gallic shrugs. No one saw anything, or so they claim”
“Has the break-in been reported to the authorities?” asked Lynsley.
“Aye, sir. An inspector came by, but he spent most of his time interrogating me,” answered his valet.
“I think we all know this is no random street crime,” said Valencia slowly. “Though whether they are suspicious of us, or simply want to see what American secrets they can steal is uncertain.”
The marquess stared out the window. “The longer we play at this charade, the more dangerous it becomes. We must make a move.”
“And soon,” added Valencia.
He nodded, his brow furrowing in thought as he contemplated the play of gold-flecked light on the limestone sill. “I shall have to think on what it should be.”
“As to that,” she said quickly. “I have an idea.”
His gaze swung around—reluctantly, or so it seemed to her. “I have a feeling that I’m not going to like it.”
“Probably not. But we all know that emotion can never be allowed to interfere with the planning a mission.”
A tiny muscle twitched as Lynsley tightened his jaw.
“Rochambert is hungry to get me into his bed. I think I should feed myself to his lust.”
“And then?” asked Lynsley tersely.
“I shall either drug his wine or cut his throat, and then search his private quarters. I’ve heard whispers among the other ladies that he banishes his servants to the attics when he has a female guest. Apparently he has a taste for rough play.”
“Absolutely not.” The marquess’s voice was no louder than a whisper but it carried an unmistakable note of command. “I’ve begun a game of my own with our quarry, tempting him with American secrets.” He explained about offering to sell the captured documents. “That’s where I was this morning. He’ll want more, and soon. I have a feeling what we want is in the library, and once I have a chance to reconnoiter a bit more?—”
“But you just said yourself that Rochambert will set the time and place for your next meeting. There is no guarantee when it will be arranged, or whether it will be at his mansion.”
Silence.
“However, we do know that he will be at home the day after tomorrow—and that we will be dancing and dining in his elegant residence.” Rochambert was hosting a fancy soiree, and they were among the invited guests. “It presents a perfect opportunity.”
“You can’t simply waltz into his arms,” said Lynsley. “To have any chance of success, a plan would have to be choreographed down to the last little intricate step.”
Valencia didn’t bat an eye. “I assumed you would have it no other way.” A discreet nod dismissed Bailin and Perkins. “So, here is what I have in mind . . .”
A half hour later they were still in a verbal duel.
“There are too many unknowns,” insisted Lynsley.
“A Merlin is trained to improvise,” she countered. “Damnation, we shouldn’t be fighting over this, Thomas. How many times have you reminded me that we must be dispassionate about making our decisions? It’s our duty to do what is best for the mission.”
“To hell with duty,” he growled. “I cannot in good conscience let you try something so dangerous.”
“If the roles were reversed, would you allow me to offer such an argument?”
His stone sphinx face betrayed a crack. “It’s . . . different.”
“Why?” pressed Valencia, allowing him no quarter. “If you say it is because I am a female, I swear, I shall slice off your . . . tongue.”
