Page 1 of The Dreaming Beauty
Chapter 1
London
June 22, 1814
Lying and truth telling hadone thing in common: motivation. Marcus Taylor had a knack for digging beyond a story, peeling back its layers of subtle clues, and deciphering the truth. He sat in a small retiring room across from Berry Newell, a British historian and travel writer for theMorning Times, who had recently returned from a visit to Elba Island. A ball was happening on the other side of the door in honor of Lord Kerrigan’s recent marriage, and a string quartet played a lively reel. Marcus did his best to tune out the laughing and chaos produced by the festivities. He had not come for social purposes but on special invitation to conduct an interview with the man in front of him.
Marcus kept his posture relaxed, his arms and legs unfolded, his features soft. The key to learning motivation, and ultimately to uncovering truth, was to approach it as a friend, not as an inquisitor. “It must have been something to meet the imprisoned emperor. What was it like speaking to Napoleon?”
“Just as one would expect. Even as a defeated man, he exudes power and authority.” Newell’s wiry frame sat rigidly in his seat, his keen dark eyes assessing Marcus. Marcus had been suspicious of the man’s loyalties since the moment he had cornered Newell at the card tables, feigning to be a zealous devotee to the writer’s work. Newell would be even more guarded if he knew the Dark Rider, now also known as the Masked Baron, stood outside the open window, listening to their every word.
“I can only imagine.” Marcus kept his voice casual. “One knows not whether to cower before or revere Napoleon. You say he boarded theHMS Undauntedto celebrate King George’s birthday? What a party that must have been.”
“The emperor knows who is in charge now.” Newell had his elbow on the arm of the chair, and he tugged on his black mustache. Marcus made a mental note of the gesture and the unconvincing tenor of the man’s voice. The subtleties of tone, physical expression, and word choice were the manifestations of the soul. The sliver of good in a person’s core, no matter how wide or small, must depict itself in some way, even when lying—and the pull of the mustache was a telling clue Marcus had patiently waited for. Poor Berry Newell’s deception of loyalty to King George and their regent was unraveling.
It was time to change tactics and dig a little deeper. “How I envy you and your travels. To have seen the great Napoleon and spoken to him! What a tale for your posterity.”
Newell’s shoulders tightened. “I am not married.”
Marcus snatched at the common ground offered to him. “Alas, neither am I. Men like you and I have no time for such things. Someone has to live the lonely life and sacrifice home and hearth so this world might meet progress.”
Newell’s shoulders lowered a fraction and then another. “You’re right. Leaders in every walk of life must rise up and separate themselves from their counterparts so that others can see a new age.”
Finally, the man’s motivation of social change had been revealed. Spies were always a problem, but Newell was the kind of person to gather supporters against the English monarchy. There was enough unrest without rabble-rousing and championing the cause of the French. Marcus sighed as if he were disappointed. “Napoleon was one of those men, and now look at him.”
“He still is,” Newell said. “Why, if he were to walk on British soil, Prinny would be embarrassed at how popular the Frenchman was. I don’t know if Captain Tower or Colonel Sir Neil Campbell arranged the birthday party on theUndaunted, but even the British elite respect power when they see it.”
No noticeable signs of lying. Newell did not know who invited Napoleon on board. Still, with all the espionage in the last decade, one could not be too careful. One last question. “Was our esteemed emperor among friends? I do hope he was treated properly.”
“Indeed. He was chummy with a sailor who boarded with him on his original trip from Fréjus to Elba.”
“I would have liked to have heard what he said.”
Newell repeated all the things he had overheard that night and even included a few phrases made off-ship. Minutes passed, and Lord Cadogen—absent of his Masked Baron charade—slipped in through the window with whisper-quiet movements that Newell took no note of, before disappearing behind the long velvet curtain. The action was Marcus’s cue to end the interview. He wrapped up their conversation, insisting that Newell find a young lady to partner him in the next set.
“I cannot thank you enough for humoring me tonight,” Marcus said, standing. “I grow bored at these events, longing to know what is happening on the Continent.”
“Anytime, my friend.” Newell slapped him on the back and exited the retiring room.
Marcus slipped out after him, circled the dancers in the ballroom, then reentered the retiring room. The door closed immediately, and he turned to find Lord Cadogen already behind him.
Marcus stepped back in surprise. “I never get used to how eerily quiet you can be.” He shivered and moved to take the seat he had vacated only minutes before.
“I never get used to how easily you make friends with a man and get him to tell you all his secrets. We have taught each other all we can, but it seems we will always envy what does not come naturally to the other.” Cadogen slipped into the chair across from Marcus but adjusted it so he could see both the window and the door.
Marcus noted the careful position and shook his head. “You haven’t changed even without your mask.” The slow smile that crossed his friend’s mouth was wider and easier than normal. Marcus’s brow furrowed. “I retract my words. The important parts are still there, but somethingisdifferent about you.”
“Indeed, much has changed. Now that everyone knows the Dark Rider’s identity, I have to walk around with my face exposed day and night. You don’t know how it has hindered my efforts to intimidate people.”
“I thought your latest use of a hooded cloak provided an ample disguise.”
“It’s boring. And not conducive to social events.” Cadogen relaxed back against his seat, and Marcus took note of it.
“There’s more you’re not telling me.”
Cadogen chuckled. “You’re getting better at your job. I do have news. Andalin is expecting.”
“Congratulations.” Marcus grinned, truly happy for his friend who had nearly lost all his family and devoted his life to seeking out one injustice after another.
