Page 85 of To Love A Spy
“The next time you say it,ma cherie, you shall be panting, pleading for me to pleasure you.”
Teasing her palm along his length, she inched back. “Let us return to the main gallery I have an idea of how to deal with my husband.”
Rochambert looked loath to delay his seduction, but gave a tight smile. “Do it quickly,cherie. I am not used to waiting for what I want.”
Valencia gave him another teasing caress. “La, be assured you will soon get what you so richly deserve.”
“I shall hold you to that promise,” he said, stopping to seize her in a long and lush kiss.
As he pawed at her breasts, Valencia feigned a moan of pleasure—and eased the key from his coat pocket.
“Ah, there you are, m’dear.” Lynsley stumbled slightly as he entered the private gallery. “My, my, m’dear, you’ve taken quite an interest in art lately.” His words were badly slurred. “And it appears that French figurative painting has become a particular favorite.”
“Really, Thomas. There is no need to make a scene,” replied Valencia coolly. “Mr. Rochambert was merely showing me his collection of Baroque paintings.”
“Ballocks,” snarled Lynsley. “The man was all but mounting you in full view of anyone who cared to look into the room. I warn you, I won’t allow your wanton behavior to ruin all I have worked for.”
“Perhaps if your lovemaking was as finely honed as your greed, your wife would not have to look elsewhere for companionship.” Rochambert cocked a malicious smile as he looked from the marquess to her. “By the by, did you know your husband is selling your country’s secrets to me? So any lecture on honor from his lips isn’t worth a dribble of spit.”
With a roar of rage, Lynsley lunged for the Frenchman.
“Stop it!” Darting in between the two men, Valencia grabbed the marquess by the shoulders and forced him back. “For God’s sake, none of us wishes a sordid scandal.”
“Quite right,” said Rochambert. “A duel with a diplomat would displease the Emperor. So I shall refrain from handing you your prick on a platter, Monsieur Daggett.”
Lynsley answered with a foul-mouthed curse, but made no move to resume his physical attack.
“Please, Pierre,” she warned in an undertone.
“Pierre, is it now?” growled Lynsley. “Does the intimacy extend to letting the mongrel shove his paws up your skirts?”
Valencia tightened her grip on the marquess’s lapels. “Do get a hold on your temper, Thomas,” she counseled. “You know you are wont to overreact when you have too much to drink.”
“Hmmph.” He relaxed slightly.
“That’s better.” She patted his chest, coyly winding the tail of his cravat around her little finger. “Come, let me take you back to the supper table. I daresay a littlecrème caramelwill sweeten your mood.”
Lynsley’s voice ratcheted up to a querulous whine. “I need another glass of champagne.”
“Yes, yes, and I shall see that you have it.” Slanting Rochambert an sidelong look, she mouthed the word “later” as she slipped her arm around Lynsley’s waist.
His mouth curling in contempt, the Frenchman nodded.
“This way, darling.” A harried sigh covered the whisper she breathed into his ear. “The key to the door is in your pocket. There’s a brass box in here. I think it holds what we want”
Lynsley swayed against her. “Are you sure?” he asked in the same hushed tone.
Valencia hesitated a heartbeat before replying. “Yes.” Raising her voice, she uttered a sharp oath. “Pierre, help me get him out of here, before he pukes all over your priceless Oriental carpet.”
“Merde.”Rochambert grabbed the marquess’s other arm and hustled him none too gently toward the main door of the side salon. Lynsley hung like a dead weight between them, somehow managing to tangle legs with the Frenchman just as they reached the threshold.
Rochambert struggled to keep the marquess’s flailing feet from soiling his immaculate fawn-colored trousers as they hustled Lynsley iut into the alcove of thesalle.“One spot and you are a dead man, regardless of the Emperor’s ire,” he muttered, jerking Lynsley upright.
Valencia quickly nudged the private gallery door closed with her hip. She, too, could improvise. Lynsley’s playacting was proving a powerful diversion. A last little maneuver on her part should keep the Frenchman distracted.
“I can try to hold him if you need to find your key.” She knew that the La Chaze locks snapped shut on spring loaded mechanisms. “But please hurry. I fear he is drooling on my new satin slippers.”
“Non, not necessary.” The Frenchman grunted in disgust. ““Here, let me try to rouse him.” A sharp slap punctuated his words. “Alors, Daggett. Listen carefully—to avoid an unpleasant scene, I suggest you depart by the side stairs. One of my servants will summon your carriage.”
