Page 9 of Lord Ramsey's Red-Headed Ruin
He was too confident, this dashing British devil. She raised her chin, defiant, wounded by her failure to learn anything in the cafés or the wine cellars about a fact so valuable. “I suppose you have the answer?”
“I do. We will go to a town where such talk is usual, even for a lady.”
That made her mouth water. “A depot?”
“We visit a town that sends supplies to many depots.”
Her nerves sang with excitement. “What town?”
“Charleville.”
“The armory north of here that makes muskets,” she said, admiration escaping her.
“And pistols. After we have an idea of numbers manufactured, we travel to towns that receive the shipments and confirm receipt.”
“Such as?” she led him on, excitement thrumming in her ears at knowledge of the numbers of all those weapons.
He shrugged. “Sedan. Verdun.”
She huffed. He spoke of dreams. “Impossible. You and I will be obvious. We will be arrested by a gendarme and sent to Paris for Fouché and Vaillancourt to throw us in prison!”
“Two are always better at subterfuge than one.”
“Say you!” She shook her head at his self-importance.
“I do.” He inhaled, his sky-blue eyes so menacing with his intent. “I have devised a ruse.”
“More than pretending to be married?” She had to pick at him.
“One must. Marriage is such a small lie. I have a distant cousin who lives in Charleville. He was, years ago, the mayor. He owns the green grocery, the blacksmith shop, and a saddlery. He is gregarious, well respected. You and I will visit him and learn all we can.”
Her heart leapt at the prospect. Yet she knew the next problem. Even if she got information, what would she do with it? Her own network was gone. Destroyed by her flight from Vaillancourt. “Why? Why do that, unless you will take the information to London, to Scarlett?”
“My primary job is to keep you safe. I go nowhere unless you do. Until and unless you decide to go to London, the informationabout pistols and muskets and uniforms and anything else remains right here.”
She was torn. “Then why go to Charleville at all?”
“Unless you decide to go to London, going to Charleville is a journey to pass the time or to amuse you. But eventually on our journey, I predict I will meet one of my colleagues and give him what we have learned.”
There were others here in France, spying on the government. She had long thought it so, but it comforted her to hear it from another. “Just like you.”
“Oui, madame.” He gave her a sad smile. “And you.”
Without doubt, his presence was a gift. He had the same objectives, and he worked for the country most opposed to Bonaparte’s regime.
She knew how valuable his suggestion was. “That kind of intelligence about supplies is what every foe would want.”
“Exactly,” he said, “it is the kindyouwould want. The kind you would love to pass on to whomever is your control agent. In lieu of that, what better to do than aid me in my investigations?”
Wild with regret that she had to leave Paris and her work, she clamped a hand to her mouth. A sudden sob rose and tears fell from her eyes. She dashed them away.
His expression fell to compassion, and she had the urge to fall against him and accept all his help and succor. But she stood her ground, sniffing back her remorse. What was wrong with her? Crying like a girl? She hated the appearance she was weak and frightened. Once more in control of herself, she said, “Vaillancourt has ruined me.”
“On the contrary, I am here,” he declared with a blunt finality that froze her tears, “and I will ensure he never does.”
She believed him. Why it was so came to her with the hot blue flame of truth in his eyes. He decreed it would be so, and thusher future was changed. She was part of what he envisioned, and she walked amid his truth. His inescapable command.
At least for now.
