by Diana Quincy
Instead of the blistering retort he’d already come to expect from her, Mari answered in a considered tone, as though he’d just invited her to partake in a cup of tea. “Perhaps. Would that help assuage your guilt as well as your sorrow?”
Fury clouded his mind. She thought to bait him? Grabbing her around the waist, he hauled her lower body flush against his. “I don’t know. It might.”
He insinuated his hips against hers so she could feel the hardening jut of his prick. Yet she remained loose in his hold, her soft womanly flesh pliant against his taut body, wreathing him in the faint scent of lemon and cloves. He wanted to throw her to the ground and screw that calm self-assuredness right out of her. “What do you say, shall we give it a try?” he said harshly. “I’m rather talented in this area. You won’t be disappointed.”
“But you might be.” Her calm eyes held his furious gaze, the specks of color in them dancing to mesmerizing effect. “It won’t make you forget that your sister is lost.”
Stung, he released her. “Bugger off.”
He stalked away, shaking with anger. His mind went to the high water over the bridge that led to the village. It couldn’t recede fast enough for him. In that moment, Cosmo no longer cared what secrets Mari Lamarre carried.
He just wanted her gone.
Gulping a breath, Mari tried to force strength back into her legs. Dazed, she closed her eyes and swallowed, still tingling from the illicit feel of his arousal swelling against her flesh. Fire had shot down her limbs when he’d ground his hips against hers, leaving her legs shaky and herself confused. She hadn’t reacted to a man in this way since Pascal, and even he hadn’t made her feel so physically aware, her body tight with agitation and anticipation. Emotion clotted her chest at the memory of Pascal’s soft blue eyes and tender warmth. She blinked hard, forcing her thoughts back to the matter at hand.
Watching Dunsmore storm toward the manor in long, angry strides, she suppressed a twinge of sympathy. His sister’s death clearly tormented him, but developing empathy for the man could compromise her objectivity. She mustn’t forget her mission; she was here to protect her mother and sisters from the harm Aldridge could do them. She had to keep her focus. Her physical attraction to Dunsmore was dangerous because it might muddle her mind.
Ducking into the tree line, she doubled back. The mangled parachute could wait; her rendezvous with Marcellin could not. She quickly found the worn dirt path shaded by unruly, overgrown trees. Having committed a map of the area to memory, she strode in the direction of the bridge while contemplating what she’d learned so far. Aldridge appeared unwell. His relationship with his heir was a tense one. A conversation with Sarah, the servant girl who’d brought up Mari’s clean clothes after her bath, revealed that the marquess didn’t often leave the house. And he did not receive many visitors, except for his doctor, who came almost daily. Her first inclination was to like the old man, who projected an innate decency, but then traitors came in all forms.
Dunsmore, too, would bear watching. Because he spent most of his time in London, finding him in residence was an unexpected development. His grief over his sister’s death appeared genuine enough, yet he didn’t seem to hold France or England responsible for it. Just himself. Which made him a less likely suspect.
She emerged from the trees at a point where the path gave way to a grassy riverbank, which led to a water-swamped stone bridge with a single low overhead arch.
“Enfin.” A familiar male figure of medium height, with dark hair and a wiry frame, stepped into sight. “Did everything go as planned?”
“Well enough,” she answered in French, greeting him with a kiss on both cheeks, “given that my gondola detached.”
Marcel cursed. “Maxim, that idiot, must not have secured it well.”
“It was old and damaged. No matter, I’m in.”
He bent over to pluck a blade of grass. “You look very pleased with yourself. Have you found it already?”
“No.” She gave him a triumphant smile. “But I am an invited guest at Langtry House.”
Marcel whistled in appreciation. “You were supposed to break in. Instead, you’ve taken up residence in the aristo’s house.”
She nodded, thinking of how her mother would enjoy the irony of her daughter being the guest of one of England’s highest lords. Longing speared through her at the thought of Maman, whom she hadn’t seen in almost a year. She missed her mother’s warmth and easy laughter. Hopefully, once she completed this mission, she could return home for a visit. Turning her thoughts back to business, she said, “I don’t think we have to destroy the bridge.”
“Is that wise?” He chewed on the green sliver of grass. “You need a valid reason for staying there.”
“I think we have one. Aldridge is a great admirer of aerostation.”
“I don’t like it.” He frowned. “It’s a risk. Destroying the bridge removes any question of your leaving.”
“It also cuts the house off from visitors. It’s possible he isn’t sending the information out by boat.”
“Then why is he here on the coast?” The blade of grass bobbed from between his teeth. “Why not his castle in Oxfordshire?”
She shrugged. “I do not know. Besides, the old man is sick and his doctor can only visit if the bridge is passable.”
Marcel tilted his head at her. “Don’t go soft, Mari. If the old man dies, so be it. It might solve our problems.”
“Or it might not. If he has the document, it could very well fall into someone else’s hands.”
“I don’t like it.”
She toughened her tone. “I say we don’t destroy the bridge. Not yet.”
He shook his head with disgust. Marcel never got used to taking orders from her. “Very well. It’s your neck in the end. What do we do next?”
“Get Maxim and come to Langtry with the balloon.”
“Land on the property in the light of day?” He threw his hands up in a show of exasperation. “Just like that?”
“Exactement.”
“Et après?”
“I’ve got a plan.” All she had to do was make sure Dunsmore didn’t interfere with her goal. “Leave it to me.”
Both men came to their feet when Mari entered the dining room that evening. Dunsmore appeared to move more slowly so his father’s lack of agility would seem less apparent.
“Mademoiselle Lamarre, I’m so pleased you could join us,” Aldridge said from the far end of the long mahogany table.
“Thank you, my lord. I apologize for my attire.” She gestured at her breeches. “But I fear I have nothing else to wear.”
“No apologies necessary. With the bridge washed out, there’s no getting to the village seamstress to secure suitable attire.”
The butler entered and went to the marquess. Excusing himself, Aldridge turned away from the table to consult with the man on some matter they discussed in murmurs too low for Mari to overhear.
Dunsmore came over to pull out her chair. “I confess this is the first time I’ve dined with a woman wearing breeches,” he said lightly in her ear.
“I can only imagine what the women you consort with usually wear,” she said, taking her seat.
“Or not wear,” he murmured, his lips briefly touching her ear. “To my eternal delight.”
Straightening, he moved away at an easy stride, settling against the carved back of his dark wood chair. But he’d already made his mischief. The raton had her picturing his brawny form in a state of undress, opposite an equally indecent woman. With just a few insinuating words, he’d managed to stir a physical response in her. Clearly, he’d put away any distress she’d caused him earlier in the day.
When Aldridge returned to the table, Toby—the man who’d brought up the water for her bath—served the first course. “I hope you don’t mind that we dine in an informal style here at Langtry,” Aldridge said as Toby placed his soup before him. “We keep to simple meals.”
Nothing about the hand-painted porcelain
plates edged with gilded braiding, or the crystal goblets sparkling with reflections of candlelight, struck her as informal. She felt utterly underdressed, and as out of place as Robespierre would have been dining at Versailles.
Aldridge continued. “We’re rarely in residence; hence we keep a small staff.”
“Quite right,” Dunsmore said between spoonfuls of soup, his dark, burnished hair in sharp contrast to the chamber’s melon-colored walls. “We’re a cozy bunch here at Langtry House.”
Four servants, to be exact, as Mari had learned earlier from Sarah, the young maid, but daily workers often came up from the village. That meant many people came and went from the estate, which opened up more possibilities than Mari cared to contemplate.
“And with the bridge washed out, we’re rather isolated at the moment,” Aldridge said.
“No way out and no way in.” Dunsmore tossed a mischievous gaze in her direction. “We’re left to find imaginative ways to entertain ourselves.”
Mari seized her opportunity. “Not exactly.”
Aldridge paused while cutting his mutton. “Beg pardon?”
“I, for one, did not make use of the bridge. I expect my fellow aeronauts to come for me posthaste, to assure themselves of my safety.”
“It’s going to be raining parachutists all over Langtry?” Dunsmore cast a look toward the window. “I do hope none of them put a hole in the roof.”
“No, I am the lone parachutist.” Mari focused her attention on Aldridge. “However, I expect the balloon pilot and his first mate to attend me soon.”
Aldridge’s countenance brightened. “You mean to say they’ll land the balloon here?”
“I do apologize for the intrusion,” she said. “But we must go to Barnsley.”
“Barnsley?” Dunsmore intoned. “Egads, why would you go there?”
“It is rather out of the way,” Aldridge said.
“That is why we have chosen it. My uncle has organized a spectacular jump for me near Grosvenor Square in a few weeks.”
“So the French have chosen to invade through the air.” Amusement laced Dunsmore’s words. “Diabolically clever plan.”
“It is a demonstration of friendship, now that the peace treaty has been signed.” Mari prepared to reel them in. “We require a large open space in which to practice for the exhibition.”
Aldridge leaned forward with palpable enthusiasm. “Of course, you must stay here.”
That was easier than she’d anticipated. “I would not choose to impose.”
“It is no imposition at all,” Aldridge said. “I would be most pleased to watch your endeavors. Do say you’ll persuade your fellow aeronauts to stay.”
Dunsmore emitted a sigh. “Am I to understand you’ll repeatedly cut yourself loose from a balloon in preparation for this folly over Grosvenor Square?”
“The balloon will ascend from the parade ground of St. George’s Volunteers near Grosvenor Square,” Mari said.
“It is settled then.” A smile of genuine warmth softened the heavy lines in Aldridge’s face. “We have a comfortable cottage on the property. Your fellow aeronauts are welcome to take their ease there for the duration of your stay.”
“You are most kind.” Feeling a surprising kinship with the older man, Mari mirrored his smile. “I will see if they are agreeable to altering our plans.” Scooping up a bite of pigeon pie, she savored its moist, rich taste, satisfied with what she’d accomplished in one day’s work.
After dinner, Mari contentedly left the gentleman to their port and cigars. Determined to seize the opportunity to explore the house, she made her way down the parquet-floored corridor to the study near the back of the house, where she’d first met Aldridge. The absence of the usual number of servants in a manor this size worked to her advantage. A great deal more could be accomplished without worrying about prying eyes.
Reaching the heavy wooden door, which had been left slightly ajar, she stepped inside the study and closed the door behind her. Fire snapped in the hearth, its shadows dancing against the damask wallpaper. She trod noiselessly across the worn Aubusson carpet, its vibrant jewel tones muted by time, and past Gothic-style, glass-fronted bookcases, pausing to study the portrait of a young woman hanging behind Aldridge’s stately rosewood desk.
Fragile looking in a flowing white summer dress, she posed with one elbow resting atop a low dresser, laughter tingeing her gray, light-filled eyes. She looked away from the artist, toward the window, which gave her skin a translucent glow and emphasized glimmers of gold in her honey-colored hair. This, then, must be Elinor Dunsmore.
Pulling her attention away from the dead girl’s portrait, Mari rounded the desk and opened the top drawer. Moving with all haste, she methodically searched each drawer, sorting through papers and other documents looking for the list. She opened the ledgers she’d noticed while meeting Aldridge earlier in the day, and examined rows of neat columns, but noted nothing out of the ordinary.
Replacing each book precisely where she’d found it, Mari knelt to check the construction of the desk more thoroughly, searching for hidden compartments where important documents could be secreted. The latch clicked in the door, making her heart jump. She dropped to the floor in a silent fluid motion, curling up under the desk just as the door pushed open.
“There’s no need for you to stay. I know you prefer the diversions of the capital,” Aldridge’s voice said.
“Anxious to be rid of me, are you?”
“As you can see, I am quite well. I don’t need looking after.”
“I find this eagerness to see me gone most curious.” Dunsmore’s voice moved closer to her. “Considering you’re normally quite happy to divert me from the evils of Town.”
“Once the bridge is passable, you should make plans to depart.” A slight thump near the vicinity of the window suggested that the marquess had seated himself at his chess table. Mari exhaled. At least he wasn’t coming to take his place behind the desk. “I need to put certain affairs in order.”
Dunsmore’s voice tightened. “You could allow me to help.”
“No. This is something I must do on my own.” A long exhale weighted Aldridge’s response. “Old business only I can settle.”
“Meaning you don’t trust me to help relieve you of the burden. Whatever it is.”
A significant pause. “This is a matter of extreme delicacy that requires a reliable hand.”
“Which I am naturally ill-equipped to manage.” Dunsmore’s boots moved in muted thuds across the carpet toward the door. “I’ll see you in the morning, sir.”
“Where are you off to?”
“I doubt you really want me to answer that.”
“Stay away from the French girl. She’s a guest in this house, not one of your strumpets.”
“I agree.” The door pulled open. “One might even say that handling Miss Lamarre is a matter of extreme delicacy. How fortunate it is that seduction is one endeavor at which I am admirably reliable.”
The door pulled shut, followed by the sound of boot heels clicking away on the parquet floors. Aldridge’s hacking cough filled the silence left in Dunsmore’s wake. Then a chair scraped and the chess table groaned. Aldridge was using it to help himself stand. Heavy steps padded across the room and stopped. She heard the clink of glass, followed by the sound of sloshing liquid. Footsteps sounded again, this time in the direction of the desk. Mari held her breath. The marquess’s tall, black, gleaming boots moved into view, their dark tassels swinging as though waving at her.
Still holding her breath, Mari made herself as small as possible. No easy task, given her long legs. Everything went still, until Aldridge’s voice broke the silence.
“I know what you want.”
Chapter Four
Mari’s heart careened to a stop. She remained silent, waiting for him to say more, but he just stood there, unmoving, facing away from her. Why he didn’t turn around?
“I’ll do it for you.”
The words were thic
k with anguish. Do what for her? And why wouldn’t he turn to face her? Then she realized Aldridge wasn’t speaking to her. He addressed the portrait.
He was talking to Elinor.
“I won’t fail you this time. I’ll put it to rights. I vow it, even if it means doing the unthinkable.” He stood there for a few minutes before shuffling away. Sounds of the door being pulled open and then shut were followed by the marquess’s boots tapping across the floor, clicking farther away with each footfall.
Stretching her cramped legs, Mari remained where she was, going over what she’d just overheard. Whatever Aldridge was up to, he didn’t trust his son with it, which could explain why he wanted Dunsmore gone. Perhaps he didn’t care to involve his son in his scheme. Or maybe he didn’t trust his heir not to make a hash of things. More perplexing was the possibility that Aldridge’s unauthorized possession of the secret list somehow involved Elinor, who was long dead and well beyond her father’s help. It didn’t make any sense. That Aldridge felt guilty was plain, but what exactly did he need to put to rights for his long-dead child?
Tomorrow, she’d begin gathering information about Elinor Dunsmore. She needed to determine whether there’d been something about the daughter that had driven her seemingly honorable father to betray his country in the worst way imaginable.
“It’s coming! They’re here!” Sarah ran out of the kitchen door to watch the hot air balloon descend.
Wiping her hands on her apron, Mrs. Godfrey followed the servant girl, staring up at the massive striped confection with rounded eyes. “Glory be.”
Cosmo, just back from a late-morning ride, had wandered out of the stables with the grooms behind him.
“It’s flying,” said one of the older grooms. “Never thought I’d see the like.”
Using one hand to shade his eyes, Cosmo peered up at the contraption. Not being a balloon enthusiast, he’d never seen one descend. About thirty feet in diameter and forty-five feet high, the aerostatic vehicle was an imposing sight, even in the wide swath of open space. Bold vertical stripes of cerulean blue and yellow silk shimmered in the daylight, unmuted by the black netting covering the balloon. Something so blatantly extravagant and manmade seemed unnatural among the birds and clouds.