Page 93 of To Love A Spy
He grinned through soot-smudged lips. “My reputation is likely blackened beyond repair. However, I am hoping you will keep it to yourself.”
“Your dark secrets are safe with me, Thomas.”
His reply, if he made one, was swallowed in the scorching wind. Hot and heavy as dragon’s breath, its roar was deafening as she scrabbled her way down the side of the mansion. The building next door burst into flames, and sparks were spreading from roof to roof.
“Hold up.” Lynsley joined her on the archway ledge. They were low enough to see the upturned faces of the crowd. People were pointing, their voices a cacophony of cries. A woman fainted and was hustled aside by a group of soldiers, who set to clearing a space on the trampled ground.
“You will have to jump!” called the captain, after having his men stretch a blanket between them as a safety net. “We will catch you.”
“Bloody hell.” Lynsley made a rapid assessment of the surroundings. “He’s right. We have no choice. But it’s rather like leaping out of the fire and into the frying pan. Our cover won’t stand the heat of official questioning, and I don’t really fancy finishing out the war in a French prison. That is, if they don’t hang us for murder.”
“We’ll find a way to fly the cage,” said Valencia, though the appearance of a second troop of soldiers did not auger wellfor their chances. “Once we’re on the ground, I can fall into a ladylike swoon, and we can slip away in the confusion.”
“It’s worth a try,” replied Lynsley. Shielding his face from the fire, he suddenly turned and edged closer to the open windows.
“Thomas!”
He pulled the sheaf of papers from his coat and threw them into the flames.
“T—the manuscript?” she asked as he returned to her side.
Lynsley watched the sheets swirl and sizzle into naught but ashes. “We can’t be caught with such incriminating papers.” He allowed a grim smile. “And in truth, I think it’s for the best. The world does not need a weapon of such mass destruction.”
“Madame! Monsieur!Allez, allez!”
He winked. “Ladies before gentlemen.”
A groan hitched in his throat as the wind caught Valencia’s skirts and twisted her in the mid-air. An instant later, she spun awkwardly into the waiting blanket, barely catching its corner.
A soldier scooped her into his arms as the captain waved Lynsley on. “Hurry, monsieur! Before it’s too late.”
Lynsley needed no urging. The wooden windowsill was crackling into a jumble of red-hot coals.
Valencia. He would jump through flaming hoops to reach her. Throughout this hellish ordeal, she had never lost her inner fire. Indomitable, in spite of her frailties. That was true courage—to soldier on through pain and self-doubt.
His feet hit the taut stretch of wool and he bounced up through the smoky air. The Academy taught resilience and resolve but she was no longer a student. Life outside the ivy walls had shaped her, sculpted her into who she was now. A woman of extraordinary grace and grit.
He cared deeply for all the girls he had taken under his wing. But Valencia . . .
Lynsley landed hard, the force dropping him to his knees. “Where is madame?” he exclaimed, trying to pull free from the soldiers who took hold of his arms. “Let me go! I must see to my wife.”
“The lady is safe,” said the captain. “My men are ministering to her needs. In the meantime, monsieur, I would like to ask you some questions.”
He coughed. “Please, can’t it wait until I have some water, and assure myself that my wife did not injure herself in the fall. You know women—they are such emotional creatures. And . . .” Improvising on the fly, he added, “mine is in a most delicate condition.”
The officer looked a little embarrassed, torn between chivalry and duty. “I—I am sorry, monsieur, but my orders are quite clear. Until the source of the fire is determined, everyone seen leaving the mansion is to be kept under strict surveillance?—”
“Quite right, Captain. But Monsieur Daggett is a distinguished diplomat. I can vouch for his credentials.” Georges Auberville, one of the French diplomats they had met during the negotiations, elbowed his way through the line of guards, flashing an official document thick with ribbons and sealing wax. “As you see, I am from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. He and his wife are to come with me. ”
The officer studied the parchment for some moments before handing it back. “All seems in order. I suppose I must be guided by your authority.” He ordered his men to make way. “Your wife is across the street, Monsieur Daggett. You both were extremely lucky to escape the blaze.”
“Indeed,” murmured the marquess.
“And accept my best wishes for the felicitous event. If the child is a girl, you may consider naming her Paris.”
“Thank you,” said Lynsley gravely. “Naming a female after a city? It is an interesting idea.”
“Lady Daggett is with child?” asked Auberville in a low voice as they crossed the cobblestones.
