Page 19 of Lord Ashley's Beautiful Alibi
He entered the grain market and inhaled the aromas of fresh grasses. An oldvendeursat tallying his morning sales to theboulangersandpâtissierswho made the city’s baguettes and pastries.
Kane came alone. His French was good enough to haggle and authentic enough to inspire confidence in Parisians who regarded the British with critical eyes.
“Bonjour, monsieur,” he bade thevendeurwho worked on his long, worn leather ledgers. Two muscular fellows sat on each side of him. The cash from the day’s sales must be in the papier-mâché boxes strapped to the poles behind the three. “I am here to ask this morning’s price for barley.”
“Gone.” The accountant took one look at Kane and scowled. “Come back tomorrow.”
“Whom do I speak with if I wish to buy more than a day’s supply?”
He turned up his head, his eyes small and unforgiving. “Why?”
“I amMonsieurWhittington, and I wish—”
“Anglais?” he asked with a smirk.
“Oui, monsieur.I am with the British—”
“Thieves.”
Kane was not insulted, but even more pleasant.“Je suis désolé, monsieur.I assure you, I am here to buy and pay a good price.”
“Why?” asked one of the husky bodyguards, rising to his feet, his hands coming out of his pockets at the ready.
“We British like to eat and drink, just like you.”
“Not selling you a thing. We need our own.”
Kane had predicted a wise vendeurwould not allow him to buy wheat. But this was the season for spring barley. “I understand. But do you have barley today you have not yet sold?”
Thevendeurpursed his lips. “You have coin?”
Money always spoke loudly. Kane contained his grin. “I do.”
“How much?”
“How much do you have for sale?”
“Are you buying large amounts through the financiers?”
“I am,” Kane assured him. The man really wished to know if Kane was buying for the clandestine market. Caught, the man would lose his position. He appeared old and wise enough not to wish that. Besides, Bonaparte had called for an end to the corruption by the previous directors that had destroyed distribution of grain and driven up the price to absurd levels. The French financiers had come to heel, seeing Bonaparte’s wisdom to keep prices reasonable. No one wanted a return to the mobs and the guillotine because people were starving. “I wish to buy tons to put on barges to sail up river to the Channel,monsieur. And legally, too.”
“The tax,monsieur, is twenty-two percent.”
“I know.” Kane would pay even more, if this fellow had his way.
Thevendeurglanced at his comrades. The two nodded at him.
Kane saw his advantage. “Perhaps we four could go to the café just there and share a glass of wine?”
That was when Kane saw a flash of brilliant black curls beneath a tiny, fashionable bonnet of apple green. The woman who hurried onward had breasts that bounced beautifully intime with her hurried step. The lady’s self-satisfied smile was defined by the pout of her luscious lips.
Those lips were the ones he had dreamt of for more than two years.
He curved his own in a grin and murmured to himself, “I have you.”
Chapter Five
Countess Nugent livedon Île Saint-Louis, the tiny island in the middle of the Seine. The sumptuous house, five stories tall, was once owned by her lover, the old Duc d’Orleans.
