Regency Spymasters 01 - Spy Fall (4 page)

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.”

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 thick 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.

Mari appeared by his side. “What do you think?”

He had not seen her since supper yesterday, after which she’d retired remarkably early. He had no idea if she’d made an appearance at breakfast this morning. He rarely did himself, preferring to keep to his bed at such an ungodly hour. “At least they haven’t lost their gondola,” he said. “I can only hope their landing is smoother than yours.”

She raised a dark, shapely brow. “Perhaps you could manage not to end up under the balloon this time.”

Appearing to lose all interest in him, she perched her hands on her hips and watched the descent with the practiced eye of a professional. She’d tied her hair again in that haphazard knot with loose dark strands slipping its tenuous bonds. Her obvious indifference to her appearance spoke of a natural confidence he found alluring.

“I shall endeavor to stay out of its way,” he said. “Although I’d have no complaints about ending up under
you
again
.
”

“
Cochon
,” she said, not appearing to pay him much mind. She moved a few steps in front of him, her focus on the balloon. He took advantage of her distraction to look his fill, sending up a silent prayer of thanks that she had nothing else to wear but yesterday’s breeches, which gave him an excellent view of the subtle roundness of her sweet little arse.

His prick twitched with interest. Her trim form certainly had womanly curves in all the right places. Someone had gotten her a new white shirt, Sarah maybe, given the way the tight fit outlined those plump breasts and the fact that the servant girl was considerably less endowed than the parachutist.

His fierce attraction to Mari disconcerted him. He enjoyed plenty of swiving, but there was something about the French angel that made him hunger for her. Perhaps it was because she seemed unconquerable, and he loved a challenge. Whatever the reason, Mari’s natural sensuality drew him like a magnet.

The balloon swooped down. One of its inhabitants—a tall, dark-haired man with spectacles—threw out a cable and anchor as it neared the earth. The wicker gondola hit the ground with a scraping thump before rebounding several feet and coming down again, hopping like a giant rabbit. The moment the car made its final thud, acquiescing to earthly bonds, a second man, with coloring similar to that of his companion, only shorter, with a more wiry frame, leapt out with easy agility.

Mari ran forward, all long legs and liquid movement, and grabbed some of the cable. She and the men worked in tandem; they threw down the anchor and tethered the balloon to the ground with rapid efficiency. Sand-filled ballasts were tossed into the center of the gondola to weigh it down.

The boat-shaped basket was larger than Cosmo would have expected, about six feet by four feet. It appeared to be made of interwoven rattan and willow with leather bindings. The sides were thigh high, and there was a seat at each end of the gondola, leaving space for ballast in the middle.

With the task of grounding the contraption complete, the rangy man in spectacles jumped out of the basket and pulled Mari into his arms with a laughing familiarity that made Cosmo want to snap the man’s knees.

Smiling, she ran her fine-boned hand over the dark stubble on Spectacles’s cheek. “You look like a peasant,” she said in French. “I should not allow you to kiss me with this face.”

Were kisses something she dispensed regularly to this man? The second fellow, with the wiry frame, put his arm around Mari’s waist and bussed her cheek. She favored him with the same easy smile the first cull had received. “The landing was excellent,
n’est-ce pas
?”

Spectacles rounded back to the wicker car, putting things to rights. “The hydrogen works perfectly,” he said. “But we still must work on the parachute oscillations.”

“I have been thinking of this,” Mari said, and the three of them launched into a discussion in French about parachute vents. Both men were obviously French. Cosmo didn’t bother trying to follow their conversation. He was too busy noticing how comfortable she seemed chatting with Wiry’s arm around her waist. Was she allowing him to bed her? Or maybe she was knocking both of them. They courted risk and danger together. It made sense that they might engage in other activities as well.

Ire shot through him, surprising him with how strongly he disliked the image of Mari Lamarre naked with any man—other than him, of course. As a rule, he didn’t share his women, but it was laughable to feel proprietary about one he’d known for barely a day. Linking his hands behind his back, he cleared his throat. “Won’t you introduce us, Mademoiselle Lamarre?”

“
Bien sûr
.” Laughter lit the rainbow of color in her eyes. “Monsieur Dunsmore, this rogue is Marcellin,” she said, tilting her head toward Wiry, whose arm remained draped around her waist. “And that other scoundrel is Maxim.”

“Welcome to Langtry, gentlemen,” he said stiffly. “I do hope you will be comfortable here.”

Challenge sparked in Wiry’s—Marcellin’s—eyes. “We won’t be staying long enough for that.”

Mari threw an arm around the man’s shoulders. “Marcel, this is the excellent news I must share.” They were almost the same height, as Mari was rather tall for a female. Their coloring—dark hair and olive skin—was also similar. “The Marquess of Aldridge has been most generous. He is offering us the use of his property.”

Spectacles, who she’d introduced as Maxim, leapt out of the gondola and walked over to them. “We are to prepare for the exhibition here?”

Mari nodded. “There is even a cottage at our disposal.”

Our
? Cosmo didn’t care for the direction of this conversation. “We can easily continue to accommodate you at Langtry House, mademoiselle.”

She smiled broadly, baring the slightest gap between her front teeth, which he hadn’t noted before. “That is most generous of you, but there is much work to do,” she said. “I will sleep with the boys. We are sure to be engaged late into the night.”

No doubt. The heat of irritation gathered in his chest, but there was something about her sly grin, and the unusual multitude of colors in Marcel’s eyes, which happened to be the exact same shade as Mari’s…

“Great gods,” he burst out. “Mari. Marcellin. Maxim. Were your parents not aware there are twenty-five
other
letters in the alphabet?”

The three of them exchanged the type of knowing grins that come from a lifetime of shared experiences, the kind he used to share with Elinor.

“I suppose we should not tell him about Marielle,” Maxim said.

“Or Mariette,” said Mari.

“And Mélisande,” Marcel added.

“By Zeus,” Cosmo said. “How many of you are there?”

“Just the six of us.”

“Lord help your parents if your sisters are anything like you,” he said to Mari, cheered by the confirmation of the sibling bond between her and the men. “Shall we go inside and make you known to my father? He is most anxious to discuss aerostation with you.”

“Aerostation?” Mari lifted a brow. “Not said with disdain?”

“I wouldn’t want to be taken down by an army of
M
s,” he said. “A smart man comprehends when he is outnumbered.”

Marcel’s shrewd glance slid between Cosmo and Mari. “
Bon.
It is good for you to understand there are limits,” he said in a voice edged with warning, “because we Lamarres always look out for our own.”

“How will you stop the oscillations?” Aldridge asked as they waited to go into supper a few evenings later.

Marcel took a drink that Boyle proffered on a silver tray. “Mari thinks to add another hole at the apex of the canopy.”

They stood about in the salon awaiting Mari’s appearance. Cosmo tapped his foot with impatience. Since her brothers’ arrival two days ago, he’d seen far too little of the parachutist. All three
M
s spent most of their time working in the barn, which had been converted into a temporary workspace for their use. It was strange, but he’d missed her company. At least she’d kept her bedchamber in the main house, ultimately deciding against joining her brothers in their cottage quarters.

Of course, keeping her chamber ensured that she retained access to the house, and to his father. He’d noted Mari’s subtle but keen interest in Aldridge. The previous two evenings she’d played chess with the old man after supper, and the marquess seemed to greatly enjoy her company.

He sensed that she didn’t present any immediate physical danger to his father. If he’d had any doubts at all on that score, the parachutist would already be out on her arse. Whatever she was after, he wouldn’t allow her to harm Aldridge. Since Elinor’s death, his father’s health had declined and, of late, something seemed to be weighing heavily on him. Concern for the older man was what had prompted Cosmo to follow him to Dorset for the summer.

It was possible Mari wanted Aldridge for marriage, although Cosmo didn’t perceive that motive in her. He’d detected no coyness or flirtation in the parachutist’s interactions with his father. Her manner was one of polite, respectful interest. Unlike her manner toward him, for which Cosmo was grateful. The last thing he wanted from his fallen angel was polite courtesy. He rather enjoyed being on the receiving end of that whip-like tongue of hers.

It would, however, make sense for Mari to court Aldridge as a benefactor to help finance her perilous enterprise. Few men in England had deeper pockets than the Marquess of Aldridge.

“The boat certainly is elaborate,” Aldridge said, referring to the balloon’s ornate gold and blue wicker basket.

“Unfortunately, it is a necessary frippery,” Maxim said.

Marcel nodded. “Not everyone sees aerial excursion as the science demonstration it is.”

Mari’s throaty voice sounded from the doorway. “They desire a spectacle, so we must provide it.”

Cosmo’s mouth went dry. As far as he was concerned, the best show in the metropolis stood a few paces from him. His fallen angel had thrown off the breeches in favor of a deep-green silk gown that did wonders for her form. With her dark hair pulled up, the deep décolletage revealed a long, slim neck and honey-satin skin draped over curving shoulders. Her breasts were as lush as he’d imagined—pale, plump, and rounded to perfection. Suddenly, he didn’t care what the parachutist was up to, as long as she continued to favor them with her presence. He could only hope her scheme involved seduction.

“Mademoiselle Lamarre.” Aldridge bowed. “You are certainly in good looks this evening.”

She curtseyed, the movement like flowing water. “
Merci
, my lord.” She shot an edged look at her siblings. “I have Maxim and Marcel to thank for it.”

The
M
brothers exchanged the sort of rapscallion glance common to young boys involved in mischief. Maxim’s mouth twitched with restrained mirth. “You look decidedly…feminine…sister.”

“
Belle.
Like a real lady,” Marcel complimented with an admirably serious expression, betrayed by the spark of laughter in vivid eyes so like his sister’s.

Ah, the gown had not been Mari’s choice. The brothers had decided to have a little amusement at her expense. Dismissing them with an elegant turn of her neck, she spoke to his father. “You were speaking of the exhibition, my lord?”

“Indeed. Your brothers were lamenting the need to add ornament to what is essentially a scientific undertaking.”

“It is most regrettable that the public comes for the spectacle,” she said, “and not the science.”

Cosmo shook his head with disgust. “Seeing a fellow creature exposed to danger is not entertainment enough for the masses?” He set his empty glass on a marble-topped end table with a clank. “How is it, gentlemen, that your father allowed Mademoiselle Lamarre to pursue such a perilous vocation?”