Page 20 of To Love A Spy
“Don’t believe everything you hear, Jack. The account has likely become much exaggerated.” Valencia turned to the dingy floating in the surf. “Come on, we don’t want to miss the tide.”
“Right-o, Madam Val.”
She heard the rasp of another chuckle rise above the splashing water.
“She’s ain’t yer usual female, eh, Tommy?” went on her friend. “Tis a rare one could make the men of these waters take orders, but not many ‘o us would dare disobey.”
“Aye,” murmured Lynsley. “She is definitely a force to be reckoned with.”
Chapter Five
“Your note said to expect you two days ago.” The door opened a crack. “I was beginning to think the plan had been called off.”
Lynsley shaded his eyes from the beam of the lantern. “A spot of bad weather slowed me down. Sorry to be late.”
The head of his network in Normandy motioned for the marquess to step inside the abandoned shepherd’s shelter. As Valencia materialized from the mists, his brow shot up. “I was under the impression you were coming alone.”
“Change of plans, Jalet. Due to the storm, I had to improvise,” replied Lynsley. “Any trouble on your end?”
“No, everything went smoothly on this end. Our men had no trouble in waylaying the American consul’s coach on a deserted stretch of road outside of Cherbourg,” said Jalet. “Mr. Tremaine and his wife are now our guests at an isolated farmhouse near here, though I daresay they are none too happy about the change in their travel plans.” His mouth twitched faintly. “The accommodations are not quite as luxurious as those of the Mansion de Magret in Paris.”
“I’m afraid they will have to accept our hospitality for a fortnight longer, before boarding a schooner for Jamaica,courtesy of His Majesty’s Royal Navy. By the time they return to Washington and register an official complaint, our mission will have served its purpose.”
Jalet looked curious, but knew better than to ask any questions. “I’ve a hay cart waiting in the lane to take you to our guests. From there, the traveling coach is ready to depart whenever you are ready. I assume you are anxious to make up for lost time.”
“Correct.” Lynsley slanted a sidelong look at Valencia, wondering if he was setting too grueling a pace for her. Her face was drawn, and the shadow smudged beneath her eyes looked drawn in with charcoal. Quite likely she hadn’t slept since hauling him back from the dead.
She was already moving for the opening in the stones. “What are we waiting for? Let’s go.”
He would have to keep an eye on her and watch that she did not push herself too hard. Quite likely she would hike to hell and back on her bad leg if she thought it would bring her a measure of redemption. She had no need to prove anything to him.
But to herself . . .
Lynsley set his mouth in a grim line and hoped he had not made a grave mistake. Not that she had allowed him any choice. The mission demanded that he risk whatever was necessary to have a chance at success.
“Right. We have lost time to make up for.”
A bumpy ride over the winding track brought them to a whitewashed stone house and adjoining barns, set amid several acres of hayfields and apple orchards. Surrounding on all sides by rolling forestland, it was indeed far off the beaten path and unlikely to attract prying eyes.
“A good choice,” remarked Valencia, as she removed her cloak and shook the straw from her hair. The sun had now risenabove the trees, showing a wisp of smoke curling up from the chimney. “I do hope we are in time for breakfast. I’m famished.”
Jalet grinned in Gallic appreciation as he caught a first look at her face and figure. “I shall have our cook make up a hearty repast,mademoiselle.Fresh eggs, smoked ham, warm baguettes and our famous Normandy cider.”
Lynsley felt his own stomach growl. “By all means, let us dine first, and then we shall greet our American guests.”
“Mr. and Mrs. Tremaine are not early risers, sir,” said Jalet. “But I shall inform them that their presence is requested in the parlor.”
They made quick work of the excellent meal while Jalet went off to arrange the interview. Lynsley was glad to see that a touch of color had returned to Valencia’s cheeks as she finished the last bite of buttered baguette and pushed back her plate.
“What do you intend to tell the consul?” she asked.
“Oh, I shall be very diplomatic,” he replied. “I shall?—”
A stentorian shout penetrated through stone and solid oak, indicating that Mr. Tremaine was in a different frame of mind.
“It is an outrage that you demand we come downstairs us at the ungodly hour! Once again, Idemandto speak to the person who has perpetrated this vile kidnapping!”
“Americans tend to be rather grouchy before they have had their morning coffee.” The marquess rose. “Ready?”
