Page 60 of To Love A Spy
He ignored her response. “Secondly, we must be sure that the formula has not been passed on to the Ministry of War. From what we know of Rochambert’s character, we can assume that he will want to take all the glory for capturing such a momentous prize. But we must be sure. And that will require a more intimate acquaintance with the man than we have now.”
“You need not lecture me like a raw recruit.”
“Ours is a complicated relationship?—”
A wry laugh suddenly interrupted him. “Thatis putting it mildly,” said Valencia, a small smile tugging at her lips. The movement, however tiny, seemed to break the tension between them. “I apologize for my earlier outburst. I—I suppose my nerves are a bit strained.”
“Understandably so,” he replied. “It can’t be easy to flirt with that spawn of Satan.”
Her lashes flickered in the dappled shadows. “Merlins aren’t meant to have it easy. I would make love to the Devil Himself if that is what the job requires.”
The idea of Valencia in bed with Rochambert sent a stab through his gut. Come hell or high water, he would see that it never came to that. “Right now, you need not sacrifice more than a smile or two. Just lead him on a little, and then we shall see where to go from there.”
“I trust you had a pleasant drive.” Levalier smiled as one of his footmen opened the carriage door and offered Valencia a hand down.
“Quite,” she replied. “Thomas and I find everything about France so very interesting.” She paused a fraction. “Though I fear we don’t always agree on our impressions.”
“Monsieur Daggett does seem rather serious,” murmured the minister. “Does he never relax and enjoy the pleasures that life has to offer?”
Valencia stiffened her hand on his sleeve. “I suppose that would depend on how you define ‘pleasure’, monsieur. A rapid promotion to a position of power would no doubt bring a paroxysm of pleasure to my husband.”
Levalier’s brows gave a knowing waggle, indicating he hadn’t missed the sarcasm in her voice. He reached out and plucked a lush bloom from one of the ornamental urns. “Americans must lean to stop and smell the roses,” he said, offering her the flower with a wink. “Rush, rush, rush. They are always so impatient. And for what?”
“A good question, monsieur.” She wondered whether Lynsley had been right in remarking that her body language spoke loudly about the state of her emotions. Levalier’s speculative look seemed to say he had no trouble in reading the telltale signs of marital discord.
Though the flare of anger had died down, a lingering heat still burned her cheeks. She might be an open book, butLynsley’s moods were impossible to decipher. The man was an enigma. His mind a cipher, coded in some lordly logic that only he could unlock.
Out of the corner of her eye, Valencia saw the marquess veer off to join the group of men standing by the stone pergola. Levalier was more chivalrous in taking his leave, pressing a kiss to her gloved hand before leaving her to mingle with the ladies.
She listened with only half an ear to their twitterings about fashion and the latest tidbits of gossip. Her gaze kept returning to Lynsley.Like a moth to a flame.Though today, he had been ice rather than fire. It was strange—she imagined that most people would not think of him as a man of extremes. Indeed, his aura of unshakeable calm was rather intimidating.
And intriguing. At least to women. Valencia saw she was not the only lady whose gaze was surreptitiously following Lynsley. His charcoal coat and dove grey trousers stood out in stark contrast to the flamboyant finery of the Frenchmen. In profile, he looked harder, harsher.
Madame Noilly whispered something to her friend and both ladies tittered.
Did most ladies do nothing but scheme and speculate about sex? She bit back a scowl and watched Lynsley exchange words with Rochambert.
“Come, you must allow me to show you through the hothouse, Madame Daggett.” Mersault materialized by her side. “It was built by Thibaut and Vignon and is one of the largest outside Kew Gardens. The length is over 150 feet.”
Valencia eyed the immense glass structure. “Very impressive.”
“It houses a superb collection of dahlias, amaryllis and mimosa, along with tropical fruits like tangerines.” He opened the door, and drew her inside. “Along with Josephine’s prized collection of roses.”
The warm air was redolent with the scent of damp earth.
“And of course, there are prize specimens from all over the world. Much of the specimens from Baudin’s expedition to Australia are here, much to the chagrin of our Museum of Natural History. But then, a husband must indulge his wife, and Napoleon was very good about allowing her to pursue her passion for botanicals.”
“I have heard that he even allowed her to order plants from Lee & Kennedy, one of England’s largest plant dealers.”
“True. The English navy permitted her specimens to pass through the blockade, as a courtesy.”
Valencia looked around at the profusion of lush blooms. “It is heartening to see that beauty can still bloom during times of war.”
Mersault paused before a large bronze statue, it head crowned with vines of deep green foliage. “Josephine said Rousseau was her inspiration for gardening. But as we have seen over the last decade, nature in its primitive state can be both beautiful and wild.”
“Man is not really noble savage?” she remarked, curious to hear his thoughts.
“I think very few people are motivated by noble sentiments, madame. What about you?”
