Page 30 of The Rebellious Countess
“Nothing.” Elias ground out between his clenched jaw. “Hag likes to cause trouble.” The silent warning he delivered with his declaration made Tomás stiffen. Tension filled the tavern as if they had suddenly discovered a keg of gun powder hidden under the bar with a lit fuse attached to it. Each of them staring at the others as they waited for one of them to be brave enough to cut the fuse…or let it explode.
As the victim of a fortune hunter, Máira’s anger was firmly seated in his hands.
Espionage, however, was a different story altogether. That was unpardonable treason. If she heard correctly, Hag was delivering a death sentence…to Elias—and to her as his wife. If anyone heard Hag’s pronouncement, Elias would be dead within the fortnight. Her death would probably come much later, after experiencing unthinkable torture.
Dear heavens. Perhaps she shouldn’t discount all the ways she could die a gruesome death.
“She’s your wife. She has a right to know the type of danger you face, and what kind of vengeance she may face.” There was something in Hag’s voice that spoke from experience, as if she too had walked in the shoes of the spouse of a spy, and she’d paid dearly for her husband’s profession.
If there was a bright spot—Hag was still alive.
“You’re a spy?” she whispered.
Elias sighed. “Please stop saying that word before you get us both killed.”
Eight
Mr. Greasley,
The Earl of Astley was captured in the Bay of Biscay. He was on board a merchant ship from America, and claimed to be traveling to France in search of a stolen piece of jewelry for his wife. I will be taking him to Le Mont-Saint-Michel. I need you to broker a ransom of fifteen thousand pounds. Your cut will be one thousand pounds. Once I receive the balance, your debt is paid and the earl will be returned to England—in a box.
Maximilien de Danton
—A letter from the Prince de Wagram, also known as the Minister of War and chief of staff to Napoleon Bonaparte. Recovered from the pocket of dead double agent Henry Greasley.
It was time to explain everything to his bride, whether he wanted to or not. Since theConfiancehad left port, Hag didn’t have any other guests staying at the inn, and she and her ever-loyal henchman had moved across the room to allow him to explain what he must. He should not have discounted Hag’s past and how she might react to Máira’s unwittingparticipation in this mission. Yet he found it somewhat astonishing the past would stir any emotion other than mere annoyance in Hag.
Throughout the years of cold indifference, he hadn’t suspected a moment of emotion until Hag looked into his eyes and said,She’s your wife.In those three words he saw every tear she never allowed to drop, every cut to her heart she’d seared over with the heat of her anger. Until the day her husband died with a noose around his neck, Hag had been the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes upon. He just hadn’t realized her grief still tore at her to this day. He’d truly believed she had moved past it.
Now, he realized the danger in allowing Hag to see a kindred spirit in his wife, because for however short their marriage would be, Máira deserved the truth. “The Earl of Astley needs my assistance here in France.”
Máira gasped and covered her mouth with the same delicate hand she’d wrapped around his cock not an hour earlier. “Simon?” She asked.
His stomach flipped uncomfortably when she used the earl’s Christian name, and he narrowed his eyes. “Yes. Do you know him?”
“Of course I do.”
Of course she did. Everyone knew of the earl, but not everyone knew him well enough to use his Christian name. He waited for her to explain. When she gave him no more information, he found it difficult not to infuse animosity toward the man he was to rescue in his next question.
“How well do you know him?”
“He often dines with us when we are in town.” Once again, her answer gave him less than he’d asked for. He waited for her to elaborate. Waited for his wife to say she knew the earl on a more intimate level. The muscles in his chest twitched with hisdesire to punch something or someone with Simon Clark’s jaw. He didn’t want to hear it, yet every ounce of the man he was told him that one look at Máira and the earl couldn’t help but want more. Her lips. Her neck. Her décolletage…
Merde. He was usually good at interrogations, quietly waiting for a prisoner to fill in the blanks as he stared them down. He could use none of his interrogation techniques with her, and he found himself becoming increasingly more impatient.
His next question escaped through clenched teeth. “Why would an earl frequently break his fast with you and your sisters?”
Her adorable brow puckered in consternation, as if it was ridiculous for a husband to ask such a question. “He’s Ross’s best friend.”
“I see.” No. He didn’t see at all. Did men of thetonoften visit friends’ homes first thing in the morning? If a gentleman was to eat his morning meal away from his home, wouldn’t it be with his mistress? Not that Elias could afford to keep such a woman, but the earl certainly could. And of course, now he wondered how much he dared share about why the earl had been kidnapped in the first place. The last thing he needed was for the mission to become fodder for the Blair sisters to discuss with various guests over a meal.
“Elias. Please tell me what has happened to Simon.” The imploring look in her beautiful blue eyes was enough to undo him.
“Astley was kidnapped and is being held for ransom by French authorities.”
“No!” Her hushed denial of the truth as her fingers covered her mouth spoke volumes to how well she knew the earl.
He knew the earl by reputation alone—if one included having seen the caricatures in gossip rags of the earl’s exploits withwidows and women of questionable morals. Or of the images of the ladies of thetondropping like a litany of flies at his feet as he walked through a ballroom. The Earl of Astley was a consummate rake and gambler. Until Elias had been given this assignment, he’d no idea Astley had any worth beyond his title.
