Chapter Six
London, England
Inès closed her book and slid her tiny reading glasses off. Resting her head on the back of the winged chair, she closed her eyes. She could see him.
Halsey. His image walked and smiled and never left her brain. Too tall, too muscular, too strongly sculpted of Gallic nose, sharp cheek, and lantern jaw, he had become an obsession.
How was he so devil-may-care? So nonchalant in his interactions with her?
There was such a mystery in his character that she’d been reading Debrett’s discussion of his ancestry and finding that it was no surprise his blood ran so pure.
That his estates ran to the south in Sussex and Kent, and to the north near the Scottish border.
That his fortune derived from farming, shipbuilding, and mining.
She rose to tend to her teapot on the far table. She poured her brew and wished for a petite glass of her brother Luc’s fine Sancerre. Dear Luc. He wallowed in his cell in La Force. No wine or tea for you, mon cher. Only me between you and Madame La Rasoir National. Vaillancourt be damned.
Halsey was a preoccupation to which she had no time to devote. Nor his sturdy-looking friend, either. Sir Raphael Durham. That man had not been pleased that I appeared and intervened in their meeting.
Neither was I happy to have found the disturbing Earl of Halsey. He was too savvy, a mind reader.
She had referenced them both in Debrett’s—men of lineage so renowned for so many centuries that they both owned piles and piles of houses, mines, cottages, and God knew what else.
She had planned to find a different sort of man here in London. Someone necessary to her cause. Someone with access—and yes, someone so devoted to her that he let her have loose rein. Someone who was concerned with policy and progress, not agents and secrets and runners.
Gus and Amber thought she was on a marriage hunt.
Innocent enough, that gave her reason to dance and entertain any man she wished.
The problem is that, at the moment, the only one I wish is this Halsey.
This earl. The tenth of his line. With good Norman ancestors and others from the Perche near the city of Chartres.
Only one came from the Loire valley, but she had been a count’s daughter.
None of that matters. Aristocrats have never drawn me. Yet I find him compelling.
“Inès?”
She turned toward the door of the library.
Gus stood on the threshold.
“Come in, please. I pour tea. Would you care for any?”
“I do, thank you.” Gus came and took the settee closest to Inès’s chair and open book. “I don’t wish to disturb you,” she said as she noticed the small notebook. “I can drink my tea and leave you to it.”
“Please stay. I am finished for today, I think.”
Gus took the cup and saucer from her hands. “I notice you’ve decided to do some genealogical work.”
“I have.”
“Anyone interesting?”
“A few.” Inès did not wish to be obvious about her needs.
Plus, she had tried to complement her searches for eligible men with backgrounds of others whom she knew were influential.
Even those who remained in France. One in particular, whom Inès had met and admired, was Gus’s aunt and the woman who had adopted Amber after her parents’ deaths.
“Your Aunt Cecily is an English countess. Her husband, Earl Nugent, has a long pedigree.”
“A sad marriage. Arranged.”
“Debrett’s lists her husband’s death as only weeks after their wedding.” Inès resumed her chair. “What happened to her after his death that she is now living in Paris?”
“After her husband died, Aunt Cecily was sent to Brighton for her mourning. Her family had a small house there and she remained for over a year. She became good friends with the prince regent, and then a few months later, he sent her to Paris to the old Duc d’Orleans with a special introduction.”
“Sounds interesting. Why was that?”
Gus fixed her with a telling look.
“Ah, I see.” The lady had become pregnant. “She and the prince had a close friendship.”
“But their interest dwindled, for whatever reason, and she went to Paris to live.”
“She had money to do this? To live on her own?” Women had to have means to set up house alone, especially if they went abroad. Like me.
“It would seem so,” Gus said, her brows knitted. “I never asked too many questions, as I did not wish to be intrusive.”
“You were happy with her,” Inès stated as a fact that had always been apparent to her.
“Very much. She saved me from the monastery orphanage and saved Amber from living with relatives who were strangers to her. We both had a good life with my aunt. She gave us everything she could, including a superb education and a fine introduction to Parisian society and love.”
Inès recalled her own childhood, with many of the same qualities. “All necessary.”
Gus put down her tea and stared into her eyes. “I wish we had more news of your brother.”
“It’s difficult to get word out of any French prison.” Even my superior lacked any information about Luc when he escorted me to Jacques Durand. “Vaillancourt keeps La Force locked up tight as a nunnery.”
“When you told us of Luc’s imprisonment, Kane wrote to his man in Paris to try to learn about Luc’s condition.” Gus sounded apologetic. “But Kane learned only that Luc is still there.”
Kane’s man was renowned. An Italian named Corsini, the fellow stayed in the shadows yet ran the French network, and some said even the German and Italian. “It was good of him to inquire.”
“You must not despair.”
Gus meant well, but Inès pressed her lips together.
“I try not to. But it is difficult. I look around at all I enjoy now here and I ache for him. He was doing his duty only. Working the vines, making fine Sancerre, when Fouché demanded new taxes on our estate.” I’ll not mention all the work Luc did for the resistance.
I am not supposed to know. But he would let slip a fact here or there.
Neither of us noted them, but let the moment pass by.
Like the time Luc and I recognized Amber with Lord Ramsey in St. Germaine when she was hiding from Vaillancourt.
Or the time I had to break my line of command and meet you, dear Gus, in a bathhouse in Montmartre.
To tell secrets or carry them is a risky business.
“You are well out of France now. Safe. Here.” Gus grinned at her. “Are you ready to look at that house in St. James’s?”
“The one near Green Park? I am!” And it was true.
Inès had seen four potential rental houses in the past weeks, but none appealed.
This one was situated near shops and a large park where many strolled each day.
“I want the excitement of a place of my own. I saw the list of furnishings in this house we visit this afternoon. The arrangement of rooms looked good to me. The size of the house is just enough. But I will turn the morning room on the first floor into my private salon. I hope that set of steps out to the rear means the prior owner has planted a garden. If not, I will make one.”
“That’s the spirit! What do you say we leave at one o’clock?”
“Perfect.”