by Лорен Уиллиг
Ballrooms and musicales were no way to get to know someone; a few words of conversation, and then the patterns of the dance pulled you apart again. With Mary, there had always been a dozen eager swains clamoring to drag her away again. It was nothing like the artificial intimacy of a mission, the long hours spent poring over a map or a code, the thrill of a shared adventure.
Except that there was nothing artificial about Letty. Geoff had never, in all his perambulations through high society and low, ever met anyone quite so entirely herself, so completely immune from pretense. She couldn't dissemble if she tried. And she had tried. Watching her attempt to bandy double meanings with Lord Vaughn would have been enough to make Geoff laugh, if he hadn't been so blazingly angry with her at the time. And tonight…Despite himself, Geoff grinned at the memory of Letty disclaiming any familiarity with the English language. She would never make a spy.
It wasn't that she didn't try. She did. But every single thought that crossed her mind blazoned itself on her face, like a medieval clock with all the workings out in the open. Her preferred method of solving a problem was not to tiptoe around the edges of it, but to barge right through. Effective, for the most part, but about as subtle as a rampaging bull. After a decade of dwelling among people who changed their aliases more frequently than they changed their linen, Geoff found it oddly refreshing.
But it made his original conclusions regarding her role in their elopement harder and harder to justify.
And if he had been wrong…that meant he had wronged her. Rather badly.
Voices—English voices—caught Geoff's attention. With reflexes honed by hundreds of midnight missions, he slid seamlessly up against the wall, a shadow against shadows. A few steps more and he would have gone too far, bypassing the half-open door of a darkened dressing room, no different from a dozen other unused dressing rooms. Except that this one, despite the lack of lamps, was currently in use.
It might have been an assignation, but the sounds involved were not those of pleasure.
As Geoff positioned himself to the side of the doorframe, he heard the first voice say, "She is becoming a distinct liability."
The speaker wasn't Vaughn.
It was a woman's voice, low-pitched, grating in its tonelessness. From his vantage point next to the doorframe, Geoff couldn't make out the speaker. The door opened in, not out, and she was somewhere to his left, behind that inconvenient slab of wood. But he could picture her features, their classical perfection at variance with the flat tones of her voice. High cheekbones, skin as white as any poet could desire, sultry black eyes, and a come-hither smile.
The Marquise de Montval. The Black Tulip herself.
Her companion detached himself from his seat at the vanity and strolled dangerously close to Geoff's hiding place. The cane swinging from his right hand was as unmistakable as the marquise's voice.
"A bit of an exaggeration, surely," replied Lord Vaughn, in tones of intense boredom. "My dear, you must control these tendencies toward hyperbole. They don't become you."
The marquise ignored him. "She never had the skill for it."
"Not everyone has your…talents."
"My talents have been hard-won."
"Believe me," said Lord Vaughn wearily, "no one knows that better than I."
"I don't know why I tolerate you, Sebastian."
"Because"—Lord Vaughn smiled sardonically over the head of his cane—"without me, you would still be rotting in London."
"I didn't need your help. I would have gotten out of that myself."
"Not nearly so expeditiously. Nor with so little trouble to yourself. Bribing the guards with your body isn't much in your line, my dear. Unless your fervor for the cause has changed you in more ways than one."
"It might have been more pleasant to have remained in prison. Certainly the company would have been more genteel."
"As you will. You always did have low tastes, Teresa. Robe-spierre, Danton, Marat…not a gentleman amongst them."
"If all gentlemen are of your ilk, I'll take the rabble."
"But only if they come clothed in silk. Much as it enlivens my existence to be insulted by you, did you have a purpose for this little tкte-а-tкte? Or could you merely not resist an opportunity to get me alone in the dark? For old times' sake, as it were."
"Don't flatter yourself, Sebastian."
"If I don't, who will?" Vaughn's tone changed, and from his vantage point behind the door, Geoff could see his posture change, the lazy line of his back go taut, as he asked, "Do you really mean to eliminate the girl?"
"Unless you can suggest another way."
"'If it were done when 'tis done, then it were well it were done quickly,'" quoted Vaughn meditatively. It was unclear whether the words were question or command.
"Tonight," said the Black Tulip softly.
The word reverberated through the quiet room.
Unfortunately, a reverberation of an entirely different kind filled the corridor. The quiet hallway rumbled under the weight of a large piece of scenery, being rolled by a full complement of burly stagehands.
"He would have to have an elephant," one of them grumbled, as Geoff flattened himself against the wall rather than be run down by a remarkably one-dimensional pachyderm on wheels.
His companion's answer was indecipherable over the clatter of the rough trolley.
Geoff used the confusion to slip sideways into the dressing room. It was too late. The birds had flown, leaving nothing behind but the smell of greasepaint and a dozen unanswered questions. Who, Geoff wondered grimly, were they planning to eliminate? The first name that came to mind was Jane's. Or, as they knew her, Miss Gilly Fairley. Wherever Jane and Miss Gwen had gone, he hoped they were watching their backs.
But the marquise had indicated that whoever the unnamed nuisance was didn't have much talent for the game. Which led, unerringly, to Letty.
Vaughn had recognized Letty from London, of that much Geoff was sure. Her clumsy charade as Mrs. Alsdale wouldn't fool a child—but it might spark the suspicions of a pair of paranoid French spies. The marquise's pride must be smarting at having been caught by an amateur like Henrietta; she wouldn't want it to happen again. To be caught once by an amateur might be accounted carelessness, but to do so twice meant a quick trip to the inner reaches of the Temple Prison.
Geoff started down the corridor at something close to a run. Although she didn't know it yet, Jasper was the least of Letty's worries.
* * *
"Put those curtains back at once!" Letty snapped at Jasper, sounding uncannily like Miss Gwen. Letty tugged on the heavy crimson drapes, but once down, the fabric showed no desire to be pushed back again.
"In a moment," Jasper said soothingly.
Letty didn't feel soothed. Jasper was advancing on her in a way that made Letty long for Miss Gwen's parasol, or any other object with a sharp point. Her reticule was too flimsy to do any damage.
Edging away from the curtains, which veiled a direct drop into the pit below, Letty moved carefully around the first row of seats, her back to the wall. She kept her voice calm and low. "I was just going to visit my friend, Miss Gilchrist. You can accompany me if you like."
"You can't mean to run off so soon." Jasper swung neatly over the first row of seats, pinning Letty against the wall. "Not when we're finally alone."
"That," replied Letty sternly, sounding like every governess she had ever had rolled into one, "is exactly why I'm running off."
If she had hoped that would deter Jasper, she was mistaken. He ran one white-gloved finger down her cheek. "Your modesty does you credit."
Letty jerked away, ducking under his arm. "I'm not modest. I'm married. To your cousin. Remember? Geoffrey? The man who just walked out that way?"
"Ah, yes. Geoffrey."
"Yes, Geoffrey," repeated Letty with some asperity. "I realize that you two aren't exactly the best of friends, but I would appreciate it if you could find some other toy to fight over. May I go now?"
&nb
sp; Jasper made no move to release her. "He doesn't appreciate you. Not like I do."
"Mmph," said Letty, partly because she couldn't think of any answer to that which wouldn't be hopelessly impolitic, and partly because Jasper's buttons were digging into her chest.
Jasper leaned closer, his breath stroking her cheek. "Why do you cling to your sham of a marriage?"
Letty twisted her head to the side before his mouth could complete its path to her lips. "It has to do with a little thing called vows."
Jasper smiled at her as the serpent must have at Eve. "If he doesn't honor them, why should you?"
"Just because all your friends drove their carriages off a bridge, would you drive off a bridge, too?"
"He doesn't love you, you know."
Letty scowled. It wasn't exactly news, but it still wasn't pleasant to hear it, especially not in that pitying way, and not from Jasper. Most marriages weren't contracted for love; it wasn't as though their situation were strange or unusual…at least, not in the lack of a love component. She would admit that botched elopements and spy rings weren't all that commonplace, even among the more eccentric reaches of the ton.
"Look at the way he makes up to Miss Fairley, right in front of you. Look at the way he kisses her hand, the way he whispers in her ear—" Jasper suited action to words.
Letty wriggled as far away as she could with the wall behind her and a beefy arm on either side of her.
"I don't want to discuss this."
"Don't be angry," Jasper wheedled. "I yearn only to worship you."
Letty put both hands against his chest and shoved. "All the best worship is done from afar. You might want to try it."
Jasper chuckled, but it sounded a bit forced. "Your cleverness is one of the attributes I admire most in you."
Letty crossed her arms protectively across her chest before he could make a show of admiring any other attributes. "What do you want, Captain Pinchingdale?"
"Why, for us to be together." Jasper favored her with a leer for form's sake, but it lacked conviction. "What a pair we would make, you and I. If only there were no impediment…."
Jasper looked significantly at Letty from under his long, thick lashes.
"What do you mean?"
Jasper shrugged, muscles moving under his regimentals in a way that had undoubtedly been the downfall of many an undiscerning young lady. "Accidents do happen. Hunting accidents, carriage accidents, the wrong sort of mushroom…"
Jasper's attentions took on a new and sinister cast as Letty pictured a carriage listing to the side on a heavily traveled road; Geoff stricken with convulsions at the dinner table; a freak fire in his bedroom, while the new heir shook his head mournfully, and mouthed platitudes about the tragedy of it all.
An attempt to seduce his cousin's wife was one thing, murder quite another.
"I can see you have given this a great deal of thought."
"Anything for you, my sweet."
"And once this…accident"—Letty had trouble choking out the word—"has happened, what then?"
"Why, then," Jasper said, and ran his tongue along his lips, "then we take our rightful places at Sibley Court. I as viscount"—he held out a hand to her—"you as my viscountess."
Letty regarded the proffered hand with undisguised revulsion.
"Is this before or after the bailiffs cart me away for murder?"
"How droll you are, my love!" Jasper chucked her under the chin just hard enough to be more punitive than affectionate. "No one would ever suspect the viscount's devoted wife. Not on their honeymoon."
"No, of course not," murmured Letty, wondering which part of his anatomy she should kick first. Did the great oaf actually believe that she was so overcome by his manly charms that she would go along with this?
Jasper pressed his advantage. "Wouldn't you like to have revenge for all the ways he's wronged you? All the times he's slighted you? Think of it: a young, adoring husband. All the jewels you like. Parties, balls…"
"Eternal damnation."
"A minor concern, surely, with all you stand to gain. I'm offering you…me."
"Let me get this straight," Letty said slowly. "Just to make sure I haven't missed anything. I get to do away with my husband—"
"You can pick any means you like," Jasper offered generously.
"—while you stand safely out of the way, keeping your hands clean."
"Safer for both of us that way," Jasper assured her.
"And then"—Letty clasped her hands together and favored Jasper with a look of wide-eyed adoration—"you get to run through Geoffrey's inheritance, while I'm strung up for murder."
Listening to tone rather than words, Jasper started to nod before he realized that he really shouldn't.
"How could I refuse such a generous offer?"
"You don't understand," urged Jasper, showing a distressing tendency to grovel. "You've gotten it all wrong. I'll adore you. I'll cherish you."
"You mean you'll cherish your new income. Especially once I've been dragged off to the gallows."
Jasper opened his mouth to protest, but Letty cut him off.
"What on earth made you think I would go along with this? Did you really think I was that stupid? Never mind," Letty added hastily. "I don't want to know the answer to that."
Jasper's confident expression wavered. "Does this mean you're not going to cooperate with me?"
"Can I make myself any clearer? I find you repulsive. Your morals are beneath contempt. Your selfishness sickens me. Your conversation is tedious. And," Letty finished viciously, "your sideburns are unbecoming!"
Selfishness didn't bother Jasper, but his hair was sacrosanct. Jasper's expression turned ugly, all attempts at charm abandoned. "You don't understand."
Letty made no effort to hide her loathing. "I understand all too well."
"Why should he have everything when I have nothing? It's not fair. It's never been fair."
"Don't talk to me about not fair," retorted Letty. If he wanted unfair, she could give him enough unfair to make his perfectly tended hair stand on end.
Jasper wasn't listening. His face was contorted with three decades of resentment. "He doesn't deserve any of it. Not like I do. Mother always said…"
Letty took a step away from him, tainted just by proximity. "What have you ever done to deserve anything? Have you cared for the land? Have you made sure the fences are in repair and the agent isn't cheating the tenants? Have you stayed up all night with a sick cow?" Letty hadn't, and she was fairly sure her husband hadn't either, but she was running out of examples. She decided to quit before the agrarian imagery got out of hand. "Have you ever, in your life, thought about anything other than gratifying your own needs?"
"Oh, so that's what this is about. Saint Geoffrey, always above reproach. Not so saintly, is he? At least, not when it comes to…women."
Letty itched to fling his words back in his face, but there was no way she could do it without jeopardizing the mission—and how perfectly ironic that would be, to convince her husband of her unreliability by being too quick to defend him!
Letty bristled. "That's none of your concern! He's still worth ten of you—twenty of you! And if you had any sense, you'd go home to London and crawl back into your hole like the miserable little serpent you are before someone takes a machete to you."
Jasper looked her up and down from head to toe and back again, all five feet of her. Letty resisted the urge to stand on her tiptoes.
"You?" he asked, with palpable disbelief.
"Don't tempt me," spat Letty, feeling rather as though she could gleefully grab up a machete and swing it, if one were at hand. "Stay away from me. And stay away from my husband. Or, by God, I will do everything in my power to make your life more of a misery than it already is."
Whatever spirit had moved her Saxon ancestors back in the days when horned helmets were still au courant had hold of Letty. Little she might be, but Jasper slunk back a step under the force of her glare.
Letty
lifted her chin, exuding disdain like the Dowager Duchess of Dovedale. "I believe we've said all that needs to be said. Good-bye, Captain Pinchingdale."
Letty swept grandly out of the box, every inch of her body quivering with indignation.
How dared he! That miserable, crawling, miserable…Letty was too angry to think of adjectives. How dared he!
It wasn't nearly as satisfying the second time.
Heels clicking angrily against the Portland stone of the corridor, she stomped toward the stairs, still seething. She wasn't sure what made her angrier, the threat to Lord Pinchingdale or the fact that that miserable, crawling…thing had actually assumed she would go along with his disgusting designs. Would fling herself into his arms, no less!
"'I'm offering you…me,'" Letty mumbled in savage imitation of Jasper's self-satisfied tones. "Revolting!"
Did he think she would be that pathetically grateful for any attentions shown her that she would just rush out and bump off her husband?
"I should have kicked him," muttered Letty. "No, too easy. I should have shoved him off the balcony and called it an accident."
Just thinking of his hideous, rubbery lips shaping the word "accident" made her feel as though she had rolled in pig slop. Letty rubbed her hands up and down her arms as though she could wipe off the taint of his touch.
"Abominable!" she fumed.
"Well, really," she heard someone say, as a pair of ladies passed her on the stairs, "I didn't think the first act was all that bad."