Page 19 of To Love A Spy
“It’s all arranged,” she murmured to Lynsley, who was stretched out on her sofa.
One eye opened in an instant, its clear, calm blue color caught in the flicker of moonlight. She doubted he been sleeping, though he looked remarkably refreshed for a man who had been fished from the violent seas only a day before.
“Excellent,” he murmured. “When do we shove off?”
“Now,” she replied. “There’s no time to waste. We have to meet our man in one of the south coves. It’s a half mile walk from here.”
He rose, wincing slightly.
“Will you manage?”
“A little stiffness is all—the ravages of old age.” he replied with a wry smile. “It will wear off in a trice.”
“I’ll just be a moment.” Ducking into her bedchamber, Valencia changed into a dark shirt and trousers.
Lynsley eyed the outfit as she reappeared and threw a black cloak over her shoulders. “Kept the old uniform?” he murmured.
“It comes in handy at times,” she said. Heading for the kitchen, she quickly filled a small canvas bag with food and drink. “Follow me.”
Beneath a dappling of pale moonlight they threaded through the woods behind her cottage, and found the narrow path skirting the cliffs. Valencia was grateful that Lynsley seemed content to travel in silence.
Everything had happened so quickly—she had yet to sort out her conflicting emotions. A part of her warned that she was a fool to be stepping back into the past. She had cobbled together a comfortable life for herself. Why risk losing all she had worked for?
And yet, a part of her was bubbling with excitement at the prospect of heading into battle.
The way became steeper, and she gave up trying to make sense of her decision. She would not think of the past or the future. Only the present.
“Watch this section of rocks, sir. The footing is treacherous.” Her own limp forced her to slow as she traversed the loose scree.
Behind her, the marquess moved with a cat-like stealth. Whatever his official duties, he clearly didn’t spend all his time behind a desk, she mused.
As they came closer to the small crescent beach, she signaled for him to stop and then scanned the surrounding rocks. Spotting a dark shape deep in the mizzled shadows of the cliffs, Valencia hurried down the last few steps. Despite his fondness for French brandy, Jack Durfee could always be counted on in a pinch.
Pebbles crunched underfoot as the fisherman and part-time smuggler stepped out from the shelter of the outcropping. In the scudding light, he looked to be cut from a solid block of granite, though like the stones, there were a few rough edges.
His voice for a start, which sounded like the jangling of rusty anchor chains.
Valencia answered his greeting, then gestured at Lynsley. “This is my friend, Tom.”
“In a spot ‘o trouble, are ye now, Tommy?” Jack gave a throaty chuckle. “Don’t worry mon. If anyone can steer ye clear o’ the revenue men and Home Fleet, it’s me.”
Lynsley did not bat an eye as a beefy hand clapped him on the shoulder. Returning the man’s grin, the marquess answered in the guttural slang of the Southwark slums.
Lud, thought Valencia. If the highborn heiresses of Mayfair could see him now—the polished, poised Lord Lynsley trading off-color quips with a fisherman who smelled of spirits and dead mackerel. No doubt they would all fall into a dead faint.
“I got wot ye asked for, Miss Val.” Jack passed over a small burlap sack. “It will cost something extra, though.”
She nodded. A quick glance inside showed the two naval pistols were the latest models.
“I threw in the power and bullets at no extra charge.”
“Thank you. I hope you did not run into any difficulty with Captain Taft and his men,” she said.
“Heh, heh, heh.” Jack’s laugh grew louder. “The crew is four sheets to the wind in yer tavern. The captain gave them a night’s liberty as reward fer catching O’Hanlon and his men.”
“Then maybe I shall be able to afford your exorbitant price,” she replied dryly.
“We all heard it’s you who deserve the credit,” he added.
