Page 16 of Love Unraveled
Gaston knew Liverpool was walking a fine line in parliament. The regent had appointed him prime minister despite the lack of support from the lower house. It was not surprising he was aging. The pressure to prove himself worthy of the position must be wearing.
“Go on,” Gaston said, his irritability shifting to empathy. “What would you have me do?”
“Exposing the traitor in the Home Office was an exceptional feat, one we would not have accomplished had you not orchestrated the entire scheme to entrap him. Miller would still be undoing our work. But there has been another leak.”
“You suspected there might be a second.” Gaston was not surprised. Miller was no intellectual prodigy. Gaston, too, had always thought Miller had been dancing to someone else’s fiddle.
“I wish I’d been proven wrong. But yes, someone is working for the enemy, and I want him.” Liverpool rubbed his forehead with a knuckle before continuing. “It could be someone in the Home Office, and we’re watching, but so far there are no indications of it being an insider there.”
Gaston wasn’t sure where he came in if they were already watching their own. He said as much to Liverpool.
“I hope I am wrong, but the traitor may be among the nobility. It’s the only thing that makes sense. Other than those who work for us, there is no access to important information except through select parliamentary committees. And the regent, of course. So far, we’ve been unable to narrow it down. But with your ears to the ground, so to speak, maybe you will hear something, or spot something, out of the ordinary.”
“If I find out who it is, I can declare myself for who I am?”
“You can declare yourself the new emperor for all I care. Find me the traitor.”
Three days later, Gaston was settled in bachelor quarters with a new identity. He’d kept his first name but had switched his last from Armand to Durand. And Gaston Durand was on a mission. To find the traitor and to claim the beautiful woman who currently looked like she might faint.
“Countess Tessaro,” he said loudly in impeccable English. He bowed formally and held her wide-eyed gaze as he straightened. “May I have this dance?”
Chapter Eleven
Nothing but dissembling,
Nothing but coquetry.
—William Butler Yeats, “A First Confession”
Like a stoneskipping through water, Sophia’s mind jumped from thought to thought. She broke Gaston’s stare and looked toward the back room. The duke would not be happy to return and find her on the dance floor. But if she spurned Gaston, it would make a scene. She was used to being the center of attention, but this was different. She was not in control. She wanted to yell at him to go away, yet her body yearned to be held in his arms again. But that way lay insanity.
“I do not dance with strangers,” she said, smiling for the gossips to see she was unaffected, and testing his temperament before deciding on a manageable course of action.
“Of course,” he said evenly. “Let me introduce myself. Seigneur Gaston Durand,al vostro servizio, mia signora.” With an elegant roll of his wrist, he bowed again, smiling charmingly when he straightened and held out his hand.
Ladies nearby should be offended by his brashness, but instead, they audibly sighed and flapped their fans rapidly. Sophia’s anxiety gave way to anger. She wanted to slap Gaston. At her service indeed. And his Italian was irritably impeccable. He was putting on a grand show, and now she would have to play a part in it, whether she wanted to or not. She’d deal with the duke, and her emotions, later.
She sighed dramatically. “Since we are no longer strangers, I must accept, no?” She forced a light laugh as she extended a gloved hand, far too aware of the warmth of his as he gently tugged her from her chair and led her onto the floor. The waltz set was not yet done, and unlike the duke, Gaston pulled her close.
“There is no Raimondo to see me to the door, so you might as well stop fighting me,” Gaston said into her ear.
Sophia pulled her head back and smiled through gritted teeth. She did not know what bothered her more. That he had appeared tonight despite her dismissal of him, or that her body tingled where they touched, and she felt a flush of heat each time she glanced at him.
“You are too bold,” she said, and he grinned as they twirled.
“And you are too beautiful for your own good.” He leaned in closer and breathed lightly into her ear. “Or mine.”
She pulled back, ignoring her body’s reaction. “Why did you call yourself Durand?” She was not surprised he’d not used his title. It was probably gone along with his estate. However, the use of a different surname was perplexing.
Gaston raised an eyebrow. “Consider it a show of good faith. You seemed to fear a connection to me. This ensures none can be made.”
Sophia studied his face. She could not detect a lie, yet she remained unconvinced it was that simple. “I have no idea what game you are playing, Gaston,” she whispered, her heart beating a staccato that contrasted with the smooth, melodic notes from the orchestra, “but I’ll not be a party to your fun.” She smiled like a fool for the onlookers.
“Au contraire,ma chérie, Sophie…”
“Sophia,” she snapped as quietly as possible. “Countess Tessaro to you.”
The reference to the count hit its mark, and Gaston dropped his smug expression but only for the seconds it took to do a turn. He smiled flirtatiously, and curse her traitorous body, it responded.
