Page 15 of Love Unraveled
“A lemonade, please,” she said, her breathlessness only partially faked.
He bowed and turned, heading to the back room, where refreshments were at the ready. She was aware of eyes upon her so resisted looking the opposite direction. She pretended to watch him longingly. When she nonchalantly turned the other way, her distress became all too real. Eyes were no longer on her. They were following the course of a man cutting his way through the crowd. A man heart-stoppingly resplendent in his finery.
Gaston! Mon Dieu!He was heading directly toward her, unflinching in his gaze. What was she to do now?
Chapter Ten
Call me however what thou wilt—I am who I must be.
—Friedrich Nietzsche,Thus Spake Zarathustra
Gaston’s father hadbefriended Lord Liverpool by accident. Twenty-three years ago, Jenkinson—as Liverpool had been known then—was on his grand tour of the continent when his traveling coach broke an axle. Were it not for Gaston’s father, André Armand, the Marquis de Lyon, Jenkinson and his companion would have been overtaken by the gang who had set the trap to stall the coach.
As Liverpool often told the tale, André Armand had been riding in the hillside when he’d spotted the bandits. An exacting marksman, the marquis had taken the cap off the lead culprit and calmly informed him, if he continued in his pursuit of the company in the coach, he would next take off his head. Apparently, the man had needed no more proof than the hole through his cap, and he and his men had scattered back into the Italian hillside.
Liverpool and the marquis had spent the night at a localtavernaand had become fast friends. When the riots had broken out in Paris and the slaughter had begun, the marquis had turned to Liverpool for aid, and he’d come through. He’d helped set the marquis up in Scotland. Gaston’s father had quietly lived there until his death nine years ago.
Gaston’s own acquaintance with Lord Liverpool had been equally unplanned. When he had finally escaped the dungeons atBitche, he’d tagged along with the British officer and returned with him on a smuggler’s boat to England. By that time, Jenkinson had become Lord Hawkley, had been active in parliament, and had had an eye on the Home Office position. When the marquis had introduced Gaston to Hawkley, Hawkley had been impressed by Gaston’s ability to switch between French and English with little hint of an accent. Gaston had cockily switched to Italian and German too, and Hawkley had become intensely interested in Gaston’s aptitude for languages.
Gaston had had every intention of returning tole Régiment de Bourbon,but Hawkley had insisted he would have a far greater influence in the outcome of the war through spying than he would have standing with a bayonet. Gaston was weary of fighting, so he’d not been averse to the suggestion. Hawkley had arranged a clandestine meeting with the Home Secretary, the Duke of Portland, and they’d made an agreement. Gaston could come and go from Britain, freely visit with his father, in exchange for information. He would be paid for his services, but they would not be registered. Everything he did would be off the books. In fact, in England, he did not exist.
Eventually, Gaston had answered to Hawkley himself when he’d become the secretary, and now he answered only to him as Prime Minister Lord Liverpool. Gaston was the man’s secret weapon, but he was tired of being secretive.
“I’m not entirely sure what you are asking of me?” Liverpool inched forward in his chair, put his elbows on the desk, folded his hands together, and waited expectantly. He was looking older. Tired. His eyes, always exceptionally large, were growing hooded, and the pouches beneath them gave him the air of a sad hound. But Liverpool was anything but morose. The man was well able to deal with any situation put before him, which was why Gaston had decided to ask for his assistance.
“I want a piece of my life back.” Gaston still stood, refusing to take a seat until there was an indication Liverpool was amenable.
“And you think you’ll find a piece of it in the drawing rooms of London?” Liverpool’s brow furrowed, and he shook his head slowly, still seemingly bewildered by Gaston’s request.
“It will not interfere with my work. I assure you, I can keep the two separate.” Gaston’s pent-up frustration clawed beneath his flesh, demanding release. “You owe me.” He’d said it more harshly than he’d intended, irritated more with his own short fuse than with Liverpool.
“And you owe me your father’s life, but that is not what we are discussing, is it?” Liverpool unclasped his hands and waved one at a chair. “Oh, do sit, Armand. We are not enemies.”
Gaston begrudgingly dropped onto the seat in front of the desk.
Liverpool sat back. “I am still waiting for an explanation for this sudden desire of yours to live a public life. What is this piece of your life you seek?”
Gaston debated lying, but there was no point in subterfuge. He didn’t know why Sophie hid her full past, but he would respect it. So long as he did not reveal Sophie’s French heritage, he would not be betraying her. Besides, what would it matter to Liverpool who Gaston was seeking out?
“The Countess Tessaro. We once knew each other. I’d like to regain her acquaintanceship.”
Liverpool’s face remained impassive.
“I would like to enter society as the marquis,” Gaston explained when Liverpool said nothing.
Liverpool shook his head. “The Marquis de Lyon is dead, preceded in death by his only son. It was a sacrifice you willingly made.”
“But it is a lie that can be undone. Reports of my death could be said to have been in error.”
“I suspect the error would be corrected quickly. There are many who would see you dead, Armand, if they knew who you truly were and what you’ve been doing all these years. You’ve always known you walked away from your name when you agreed to spy. At least until the war is over. As for the return of your title, that rests entirely on the outcome of the war.”
Gaston’s skin prickled as he suppressed his irritation. “Then give me a new identity so I might approach Sophie.”
Liverpool arched an eyebrow and tilted his head questioningly.
Merde, he’d not meant to use her French name. The prime minister was no fool. He’d caught it and could easily deduce Sophie might not be entirely who she claimed to be. Gaston bit his tongue before he could say anything else he shouldn’t.
“I’ll tell you what, let’s make a deal. All debts nullified on both sides if you can do one more thing for me. I could do with a feather in my cap right now.”
