by Connie Mason
“Very well, then. We’ll move tomorrow.”
“Stay until after Grandmamma’s soirée,” Reed said. “That will give the servants time to prepare for your arrival.”
“Very well, I’ll agree to those terms.”
“Now that that’s settled, shall we go in to luncheon?”
Fleur shook her head. “I can’t face them right now.”
Reed didn’t press. “I’ll have a tray sent up to you.”
“Thank you.”
Reed hesitated. “Fleur, I . . . ”
“Go, Reed. There is nothing left to say. We both must forget the intimate part of our relationship and concentrate on finding our traitor.”
Not bloody likely, Reed silently vowed. He wasn’t ready to let go of Fleur.
The day of the soirée arrived. Peg helped Fleur into a fashionable bronze silk gown shot with silver; its high waist, scoop neck and tiny sleeves accented the slim shape of the skirt and her lithe figure beneath. Peg cleverly arranged her hair in a tumble of curls, held in place by a silver snood. At Fleur’s request, Patsy didn’t powder her hair, unlike Helen and Violet, who both sported elaborate powdered coiffures topped by huge ostrich feathers. It was all Fleur could do to keep from laughing.
On the other hand, Reed looked magnificent in a black superfine coat and breeches that molded his muscular torso and legs and other attributes. His pristine linen and meticulously tied cravat were perfection itself. They all waited in the hall for the town coach to be brought around.
The ladies piled inside the coach when it arrived. Reed chose to ride Ebony rather than cram inside the already crowded vehicle. When they arrived, they were announced by the butler. The drawing room was bustling with activity. Judging from the murmur of voices, Fleur deduced that French was the language of choice for the majority of the guests.
They headed toward the dowager, where she presided over the salon from her thronelike chair. Duvall appeared like magic and whisked Helen and Violet off to meet his fellow émigrés. Fleur recognized an acquaintance of Pierre’s standing across the room, and she split from the group to greet him while Lisette gravitated toward a cluster of her countrywomen.
“Monsieur Barbeau, how nice to see you again,” Fleur greeted. “How long have you been in England?”
“Countess Fontaine,” Barbeau said, kissing her hand. “It is wonderful to see you alive and looking so well. I heard your husband . . .” He gave a Gallic shrug. “So many bad things happened. Please accept my condolences for your loss. I just recently arrived in England.” He shook his head. “The turmoil in France is dreadful, just dreadful. Count Dubois and I arrived together. We fled across the channel in the dead of night. I do not believe you have met René. Count Dubois, allow me to acquaint you with Countess Fleur Fontaine.”
Dubois, a haughty young man with aristocratic looks greeted Fleur with a flourish. “Countess, how fortunate you did not share your husband’s fate.”
“You knew Pierre, my lord?”
“Non, I did not have the pleasure. Are you French? Somehow you do not have the look of a Frenchwoman.”
“I am English, my lord. I moved to France with Pierre after we were wed.”
Another couple joined their group. As they conversed together, Fleur attempted to judge their character. Were they grateful to England for offering refuge? As Fleur progressed from group to group, conversing, laughing, she began to realize how difficult her mission was going to be.
Many of the émigrés wore masks, not real masks but inner masks that shielded their private thoughts from the world. Could one of them be a spy? Her gaze sought Reed and found him. He was staring intently at her, eyes narrowed, his expression unreadable. She didn’t see what had drawn his censorious attention until she realized Count Dubois had attached himself to her as she moved from group to group.
When Gallard Duvall approached and greeted her warmly, Dubois appeared discomfited, jealous even.
“I was not aware that you knew the countess, Duvall,” Dubois said.
“She is a guest in my cousin’s home,” Duvall answered. “I see her on my frequent visits to Lady Helen Harwood and Lady Violet Dewberry.”
“Ah, oui, I remember now. Your cousin is the Earl of Hunthurst. You are his . . . friend, Countess? Perhaps his chère amie?”
“You insult me, Count Dubois,” Fleur huffed indignantly.
“Forgive me, it was wrong of me to assume.”
“For your information, I am a house guest of the earl’s sister-in-law.”
Leaning close, Dubois said, “I understand Hunthurst recently returned to London from abroad, that he inherited the earldom from his deceased brother.”
“It is not my place to gossip about the family,” Fleur bit out. So saying, she stomped off. She didn’t like Dubois, didn’t even look back to see if he recognized the cut direct she had just given him.
“What happened?” Reed asked when he caught up with Fleur. “Did you learn something damaging about one of the émigrés?”
“Count Dubois was more than a little curious about you. I . . . didn’t like his attitude.”
“Did he insult you?”
Fleur noted Reed’s clenched fists and the hard glint in his silver eyes and bit her tongue. Her assignment wasn’t to make Reed jealous or force him to do something irrational.
“No, I just don’t like him. I’m not particularly fond of Monsieur Duvall, either, but that doesn’t mean either of them are suspect. I need more information before accusing anyone.”
“I don’t want you to put yourself at risk,” Reed growled.
“Do you or do you not want your traitor?”
“You know I do.”
“Then don’t interfere,” she said.
“Ah, there you are, Countess. I was looking for you.”
Fleur smiled at Monsieur Barbeau. “Have you met his lordship?”
“Non, I have not had the pleasure.”
Fleur made the introductions.
“I would be pleased if you would join me for a carriage ride through the park tomorrow, Countess,” Monsieur Barbeau invited.
Fleur thought for a moment, then said, “I’d be delighted.” She gave him the Park Avenue address. She could wait one more day to move. “What time will you call for me?”
“Does two o’clock meet with your approval?”
“It does,” Fleur replied.
Barbeau beamed. “Until tomorrow, Countess. A pleasure to meet you, Hunthurst.”
“Do you think that’s wise?” Reed asked through clenched teeth.
“How else can I infiltrate their inner circle? I have accepted this assignment, and I intend to see it through.”
“Porter doesn’t expect you to place yourself in harm’s way.”
“Leave off, Reed. I can take care of myself. Look to your own safety. If you’ll excuse me, I see Lisette standing quite alone and must attend her.”
Reed was reduced to watching Fleur from afar while she flitted from group to group, conversing and flirting, or so it appeared to him.
When his grandmother beckoned to him, he went to her side immediately, reluctantly pulling his gaze from Fleur.
“You seem disgruntled, my boy. What is bothering you?”
“You know I don’t enjoy these events, Grandmamma. I’m here because the ladies required my escort.”
“You’ve paid more attention to Lady Fontaine than you have Lady Violet. Never say you are infatuated with the widow. She wouldn’t be my choice for you, Reed, you know that. Anyone who remained childless after five years of marriage is not for you.”
Annoyance darkened Reed’s brow. “I’m not ready to wed yet, Grandmamma. Even if I were, Violet would not be my choice.”
The dowager patted his arm. “Do not take offense, dear boy. I know you haven’t fully recovered from your unpleasant ordeal in France yet.”
“Just so,” Reed muttered. Grandmamma didn’t know the half of it.
Reed spent what remained of the afternoon observ
ing Fleur from afar. Shortly before the guests started leaving, Violet sidled up to him, winding her arm in his.
“Don’t you think it’s time you turned your attention in another direction?” she purred.
Annoyed, Reed stared at her. Was he that obvious? Had everyone noticed his preoccupation with Fleur? “I wasn’t aware I was paying attention to anyone in particular.”
“I know Fleur is your mistress, and I don’t hold it against you, but this has to stop if we are to be wed.”
Reed removed her hand from the crook of his arm. “I don’t recall proposing. Though I have nothing against you, Violet,” he said, softening the blow, “I advise you to set your sights on another.”
Violet sent him a coy look. “I shan’t give up on you, Reed. I’m determined to have you for a husband. Fleur may have saved your life, but she isn’t worthy of you. One wonders how many men she has consorted with in her line of work.”
Reed went rigid. Rage consumed him. How dare Violet disparage a courageous woman like Fleur! No one knew how close she had come to losing her life for her country.
“Fleur’s line of work was saving the lives of Englishmen. I wonder how far you would go to save a man’s life.”
“I’m not without honor, Reed,” Violet huffed.
Reed was too angry to reply. “Would you please collect Helen and Lisette while I bid Grandmamma goodbye? It’s time we took our leave.”
“Wait, Reed. Forgive me for speaking my mind about Fleur. I admit I’m jealous of your attention to her, but I did not mean to judge her harshly or discredit her courage.”
Reed nodded curtly and strode off. He made his farewells to his grandmother and searched the crowd for Fleur. He saw her in a corner conversing with Gallard Duvall and, to his astonishment, Henry Dempsey, another of Porter’s operatives. What was he doing here?
He asked his grandmother how Dempsey had ended up on the guest list, only to be told she didn’t know whom he was talking about. Reed didn’t press the dowager even though Dempsey’s appearance had taken him aback. Resolutely, he set off to break up the cozy threesome.
“I hate to intrude, Dempsey, Duvall, but the ladies are ready to leave,” Reed said. “I’ve come to collect Fleur.”
“A pity,” Duvall said, squeezing Fleur’s hand in farewell.
“A pity indeed,” Dempsey concurred. “The countess and I were just becoming acquainted.”
“Another time, perhaps,” Fleur said, pulling her hand away from Duvall with some effort. She bid them farewell and took her leave.
“I’ll join you in a moment, Fleur,” Reed said. “I wish a private word with Dempsey.”
“Allow me to escort you to the door,” Duvall said, catching up with Fleur.
“What are you doing here?” Reed asked once he and Dempsey were alone.
“The same as you,” Dempsey said, refusing to elaborate. “I understand Porter believes one of the émigrés is a spy and therefore a threat to our country.”
“Porter has it wrong,” Reed contended. “I believe . . . ” His sentence slid to a halt. “It doesn’t matter what I believe as long as we are both working toward the same end. How do you know Gallard Duvall?” he asked, abruptly changing the subject.
“I intruded upon the conversation between Countess Fontaine and Duvall and introduced myself to him. I tried to meet as many émigrés as possible today. The countess is a lovely woman, isn’t she? I understand you and she are an item.”
“You understand wrong, Dempsey. We’ll talk later; the ladies are waiting for me.”
Reed strode off, his mood considerably darker than it had been a few minutes earlier. He didn’t appreciate Dempsey’s attention to Fleur. Though Reed knew Porter was conducting a search for the traitor or double spy, he wasn’t aware that Porter had involved Dempsey. He didn’t know a great deal about Dempsey and was inclined to suspect anyone who knew about the operation.
Reed joined the ladies in the foyer and escorted them to the coach waiting outside the door. Once he saw them safely into the coach, he mounted Ebony.
Violet poked her head out the window. “Aren’t you coming home with us?”
“I have some business to attend to,” Reed answered as he rode off.
“Well!” Violet exclaimed, settling back against the squabs. “That certainly was rude of him. Sometimes I don’t understand Reed.”
Fleur rolled her eyes and shared an amused glance with Lisette.
“Did you enjoy yourself, Fleur?” Helen asked. “You must have felt right at home among those poor displaced émigrés.”
“Those poor displaced émigrés, both men and women, have survived the Reign of Terror, something you cannot begin to understand.”
“I don’t care to understand.” Helen sniffed. “Of course I feel sympathy for those people, but their problems are not mine. I understand your involvement with them, Fleur, but they are not really your people either. Gallard Duvall, of course, is another matter. He’s family.”
“I was wondering,” Violet said thoughtfully, “how long you intend to remain with us? I should think you’d be eager to visit your home in the country.”
“Lisette and I plan to leave Hunthurst soon,” Fleur informed them. “Peg is packing for us as we speak.”
“Oh, you’re leaving us?” Violet asked brightly. “I cannot say we’ll miss you. Does Reed know?”
“He does. I have already told him of my plans. We’ll be moving to a nearby townhouse in a day or two. I am not ready yet to leave London.”
“May I ask where in London you will be living?”
When Fleur gave Reed’s address, it took but a moment for the two women to understand the significance.
“You’re moving to Reed’s townhouse?” Violet shrieked. “Whore! Witch! You cannot have Reed. I’ve waited a long time for him.”
Before Fleur could defend herself, Violet struck, digging a shallow groove in Fleur’s cheek with her long fingernails. Fleur was not one to take abuse lightly. She struck out at Violet, slapping her across the face. Mouth agape, Violet reared back, cupping her reddened cheek. But before the fight got out of hand, the coach stopped and the coachman opened the door. Fleur spilled out the door first, with Lisette hard on her heels. Screeching like a wounded cat, Violet stumbled from the coach, supported by Helen.
“Reed will hear about this,” Helen called as Fleur ran lightly up the steps and disappeared through the front door.
Meanwhile, across town, Reed was shown into Porter’s office. He had ridden straight to Whitehall from the soirée.
“What is it, Hunthurst? You look upset,” Porter said.
“Did you assign Henry Dempsey to Operation Traitor?” Reed asked without preamble.
Porter frowned. “To my knowledge, Dempsey hasn’t received a new assignment. Why do you ask?”
“He was at Grandmamma’s soirée. He hinted that you had asked him to take part in our investigation.”
Porter drummed his fingers on the desk. “I may have mentioned the investigation to him. Perhaps he’s as eager to find the traitor as you are.”
“Perhaps,” Reed agreed. “Have you considered that Dempsey, himself, might be the traitor?”
Porter laughed. “You’re looking for the traitor in the wrong place, Hunthurst. I personally vouch for each and every one of my operatives. They have been thoroughly investigated before being brought on board, just as you were.”
Still not convinced, Reed merely grunted. The meeting ended as abruptly as it had begun. Reed rode home in a contemplative mood. How in bloody hell was he going to find a traitor with so many suspects to choose from?
As he rode around to the stables behind the manor, he heard an explosion. Moments later he toppled from his horse and knew no more.
Chapter Fourteen
Reed awakened in a dark, cold place, a place where pain and the specter of death vied for his attention. He attempted to move and found his arms and legs shackled. He gnashed his teeth and waited for the bite of the lash.
Suddenly his arms and legs were free. Fearing he would find himself in hell, Reed forced his eyes open. He smelled her unique scent before the mist clouding his eyes cleared enough to see her.
Fleur.
“What happened?” Reed groaned.
The hand that touched his face was cool and reassuring. “John Coachman found you near the stables,” Fleur explained. “He heard a shot and went to investigate. You were lying on the ground, blood seeping from your temple.”
“Nothing serious, my lord,” a male voice intoned. He turned toward the voice and recognized Doctor Freeman, the family physician. “Whoever shot at you missed the target,” the doctor continued. “The bullet grazed your temple; lots of blood and some pain but not fatal. Once the headache passes, you’ll be as good as new, except for the shallow wound along the right side of your head.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” Reed said, testing his arms and legs to make sure they still worked.
“You fought the doctor while he tried to patch you up,” Fleur clarified. “Two servants had to hold you down.”
She searched his face. “Where were you just now? You struggled so fiercely.”
Reed glanced at the circle of people surrounding him. No one was close enough to see him shudder or hear him whisper, “I was in hell. Will I never escape that horror?”
“What did you say, Reed?” Violet asked, pushing Fleur away to reach his side.
Reed waved her question aside. “Nothing of importance, I assure you.”
“I was so worried about you,” she said, clasping her hands against her heart. “Why would anyone want to hurt you?”
Reed would like to know the same thing.
The doctor cleared his throat. “We should allow Lord Hunthurst to rest.” He motioned to the footmen. “Help his lordship to his bed. I’ll be up in a moment to give him something to ease the pain.”
Reed started to protest, but the sharp pain in his head when he sat up made him more amenable to following the doctor’s orders.
“Please listen to the doctor,” Helen urged. “I’ll send a message to Gallard. He will be such a comfort to us while you’re recuperating.”