Page 35 of To Love A Spy
“Not really. She called for a scale and stripped.” Levalier bared his teeth in a smile. “And won.”
“They sound like females who were not afraid to flaunt their individuality,” mused Valencia.
“Ah. An interesting way of seeing it, Madame Daggett.” Levalier took a sip of his wine. “So you believe a lady should be allowed a certain amount of freedom?”
“Like you, sir, we Americans fought a war to break away from the strictures of the past.” She leaned in closer. “Why should men get to have all the fun?”
The minister wet his lips. “Why, indeed?”
Valencia turned her attention to the movements taking form on the ballroom floor. “Dancing appears quite fashionable as well.”
“Oui, Parisians love to dance. It is more than a fashion, it is an obsession. Right after the Terror, there were balls everywhere—in former convents, in the Elysee Palace. Even in the graveyards. In St. Sulpice cemetery, the people laid boards over the headstones and danced until dawn.” He gave a glance atthe waltzing couples. “Perhaps you would care to take a turn in the next set, madame?”
“I would rather see some of the other rooms,” she replied. “I don’t move very well on the dance floor.”
“Forgive me if I have touched on a sore subject.” He gave a delicate cough. “I could not help but note that your leg appears to trouble you.”
“An old riding accident,” said Valencia. “I hardly notice it anymore. However, some people are put off by a limp.”
“Rest assured, it does nothing to diminish your loveliness.”
She tapped her fan lightly against his arm. “La, I see the Gallic reputation for gallantry has not been exaggerated.”
He gave a mock grimace. “It is impossible to speak too highly of your charms, madame.”
The exchange of pleasantries continued as they moved from the ballroom to the adjoining salon. Keeping a smile on her face, Valencia pretended to give the minister her full attention. Her eyes, however, were making a surreptitious study of her surroundings.
Liberte. Egalite. Fraternite.As far as she could see, the grand slogan of the Revolution had effected little change in human nature. Hereditary titles might have been abolished, but the rich and powerful still set themselves above the masses. The sparkle of precious jewels, the rustle of lush silks, the bubbling of costly champagne—the haute monde of Paris lived very well indeed.
Her gaze lingered on a gilt framed paining on the far wall. “A Da Vinci?” she remarked.
“Yes. Our host served for a time in Lombardy, where he oversaw the talks which worked out the financial settlements involved in ending the armed conflict.”
“And when he returned, he brought back a collection of art,” she said dryly.
“The spoils of war,” said Levalier with a small smile. “It is a fact of life. And I like to think that we French are pragmatic as well as poetic.”
“A practical combination.” Valencia looked to a circle of men and women gathered near the marble fireplace. “But let us not talk of this interminable war, sir. It is so very depressing, and I wish to enjoy my stay here in your splendid city.”
“But of course. A lady should not be subject to such a topic. Come, I will introduce you to some of my friends, who will see that you never have a dull moment in Paris.”
Levalier drew her into the center of the group and made a show of announcing her arrival. “While I discuss affairs of state with the lady’s illustrious husband, I am counting on you,mes amis, to show Mrs. Daggett all the pleasures of Paris.”
Valencia carefully noted each name as the gentlemen bowed over her hand.Dumont, Hillaire, Mersault . . .Not that she needed any introduction to the man she and Lynsley sought. She would recognize Pierre Rochambert the instant those amber-gold eyes turned her way.
The ladies were not quite as effusive in their welcome. Still, she soon had a number of invitations for the next few days. Tea at the Pavilion of Hanover on boulevard des Italiennes, a stroll in the Tulleries gardens, shopping in rue St. Honore, a visit to the Louvre Museum.
“And you and your husband must come to the Comedie Francaise on Thursday evening,” said Madame Gervaise, a petite blonde who had been introduced as the wife of merchant. A very wealthy merchant, judging by the size of the sapphire nestle in her cleavage. “We have a box, and the great Joseph Talma is performing.”
“Thank you,” she murmured. “I adore the theatre.”
“And you must come as my guests to a small supper afterward,” added Monsieur Mersault. “My friend Rochambertkeeps the best chef in town and his entertainments are known for the sumptuous spread of delicacies.”
The champagne was like a thousand little swordpoints prickling against her tongue at the mention of their quarry’s name. Valencia swallowed her excitement and smiled. “What a treat! How could Thomas and I say no.”
Lynsley slanted a look to the archway at the far end of the ballroom. Valencia had been gone for some time. There was no cause for concern, he reminded himself. It was not as if he were letting a lamb loose among wolves. She was trained to deal with dangerous predators.
Yet he couldn’t help remembering that for all her formidable skills, she had fallen prey to a vicious attack. Not for any weakness on her part. The marquess felt his jaw tighten.The fault was his. He should have anticipated the trap. He should have had someone watching her back.
