Page 44 of To Love A Spy
Chapter Eleven
“What activities have you planned for the afternoon,” asked Lynsley the next morning at breakfast.
“Shopping for bonnets with Madame Levalier and Madame Benoit,” replied Valencia. “With what you give me to spend on fripperies, His Majesty could fit out a four-deck ship of the line.”
“You will look far more elegant sailing down the streets of Paris,” murmured Lynsley.
She blew out her cheeks. “It seems like such a waste of blunt. Not to speak of chip straw and ribbon.”
“It is a small sacrifice to make, considering the stakes.”
“I did not mean to whine,” she replied. “I am simply unused to being so . . . frivolous. Especially after all you have spent already.”
He regarded her with a hooded gaze.
Inscrutable as always, she thought. How unfair. No man should be graced with such lovely, gold-tipped lashes.
“You don’t care for fine clothing and costly jewels?” murmured Lynsley after a moment. “I thought perhaps you had softened your objections to such feminine pleasures.”
“I’ve little use for such things in my line of work,” she replied somewhat sharply.
“Consider the indulgences as part of the job.”
“I would rather be designing a way to penetrate Rochambert’s residence than the trimmings for a poke brim bonnet,” she muttered.
The marquess pushed back his plate and rose. “The Romany tribes have a saying—revenge is a dish best served cold.”
“I’ve waited ten years,” she said softly.
His jaw hardened. “Let me remind you again that this mission is not a personal vendetta, Valencia. If you cannot remain dispassionate?—“
“Damn it, I know what my duty is.” She, too, rose. “Have you any cause for complaint?”
“No, but I expect you to curb your impulsive tendencies while we are here in Paris,” he said, suddenly raising his voice. “I’ll not have you compromise my work.”
Surprise rendered her mute for a moment.
“Word that we quarrel in private will be useful to out charade,” he whispered.
Of course, she thought. Lynsley never lost his temper enough to miss an opportunity to further their chance of success.
It did not require much skill at acting to slap her serviette down upon the table and stalk from the room.
Valencia was still fuming as her carriage drew to a halt in front of Madame Fournier’s chic little shop. But as she stepped down to the pavement, she smoothed her scowl into a smile. She would show him that she could match his stoic self-control, she vowed.
“Madame Daggett, how delightful that you could join us!” Madame Levalier looked up from a rainbow assortment of ribbons as the door opened. “Come, you must help me choosea band to match these sweet little cherries.” She waved a thick cluster of artificial fruit. “Pierre is being such a tease, the naughty man . . .”
Through the display of satin cabbage roses, Valencia caught sight of Rochambert.
“He is pressing me to pick chartreuse,” continued Madame Levalier. “But I fear the color isde trop.What is your opinion?”
Valencia moved to her side. “You must show me the other choices.”
Madame Levalier fanned a handful of colorful snippets across the countertop. “Voila! I simply can’t decide!”
To Valencia, they all looked far too garish, but she took her time, pretending to give the matter serious consideration. “I vow, it is a difficult decision,” she finally murmured. “But seeing as Monsieur Rochambert recommends the chartreuse, I think we must trust his eye.”
“Merci,madame.” Rochambert flashed her a wink. “Are you always so agreeable?”
