“I suppose that memory of yours helps you learn languages. Who else have we got? The French Royalists are up on Braddy Street, two or three lots of them, mostly keeping an eye on each other. It’s hard to tell the Royalists apart. Sometimes they’re not even sure.”
“Is that all of them?” She felt profoundly tired. It was inconceivable so many men should interest themselves in her. It was sheer perversity. They could not possibly know what she carried in her head.
“One more. At the corner. See the crossing sweeper? He belongs to Lazarus.”
“Lazarus? Ah…the Lazarus of Adrian. The one he goes to steal from tonight. I do not know the name.”
“He’s not political. Lazarus rules the criminals of this town. He deals in precious objects. He’d sell the knowledge in your head, and you, to the highest bidder.” His grip tightened on her arm. “You would give him that knowledge within a short time. He is…skilled.”
“This is an interesting neighborhood.” She didn’t try to keep the fear out of her voice. Grey had brought her here to frighten her and deserved to know how well he had succeeded. “They will all speculate upon why I am in your headquarters, beautifully dressed and not held by any duress. That is what you want, no? To show them you have done me no harm?”
“Soulier will be relieved.”
“Do not be slighting. Soulier used to buy me meringues in the Boulevard St. Michel when I was small enough to ride on his shoulders. He took me to the opera when I was eight. I wore a white dress with a blue sash. He taught me how to pick locks. It will give him no pleasure to kill me.”
Within an hour Soulier would know she was here. He would wonder if she had become a traitor. Grey did this on purpose. So clever of him. “Let us go inside. I feel cold.”
Reams was still shouting and pounding the table when they returned, using English words she had not yet learned. Without glancing at him, she took her place at the table beside Galba and picked up her napkin to put in her lap.
“Oh good. You’re back. Your food was getting cold.” Adrian lounged in his chair, his expression benign. “And the colonel is repeating himself.”
Reams swung his head like an enraged bull, glaring up and down the table. “She goes with me. Now.”
She was certain Reams could not give orders to Galba. Almost certain. Why, oh why, had she never learned more about the British?
Galba didn’t raise his voice. “The jurisdiction is moot. Come, Colonel, sit down. Let us not fall out over one French operative whose usefulness is still questionable.”
She concentrated on looking like someone whose usefulness was questionable.
“Military Intelligence has priority. Damn it, she’s mine till I’m through with her.” Reams’s gaze crawled across her. His fingers curled hungrily. This was a man who had expended much imagination planning exactly how he would interrogate her.
Galba folded the wineglass between his hands. “Your organization will have access to all documents we obtain. But she remains with us.”
“I say—”
“This is England, Colonel.” Grey was rock and adamant steel. He took a step toward Reams. “This time, you don’t have a troop of armed men at your back.” He took another step.
Reams retreated. Only one step. But everyone had seen him flinch, as a dog before the wolf. They all knew he feared Grey.
“Damn you.” Panting and red-faced, he whirled and slammed his fist onto the table in front of Galba. Silverware rattled. Glasses danced. “You’d better get yourself another pretty slut to play with. You’re going to find out I do have the authority to take her.” He marched out, not glancing back, and young Giles jumped up to run nimbly to get the doors unlocked in his path.
“That’s got his truss in a twist, don’t it?” Doyle remarked amiably. “I hope you weren’t listening to none of that, Maggie, ’cause it weren’t polite.”
“Poisonous little beast.” Lady Markham, who was Maggie, took a sip of wine.
Annique let her breath out slowly. She felt as if she were made of ancient paper, ready to crumble at a touch and blow away in the wind.
Adrian talked in her ear. “Reams gets so few chances to harass beautiful female spies. He’s very disappointed.” He took one of her hands and began chafing it between his. “For us it’s routine. We abuse women most days of the week. And why am I the one holding your hand, when what you want is Grey, who…Yes, he will eventually show up.” Then Grey was beside her, and she turned toward him and buried her face into his waistcoat.
“He can’t touch you. It’s all bluster.” Grey stroked her hair. “Weren’t you listening to me when I said you were safe?”
“Robert, take her out of here,” Galba said.
“She’ll be fine. Give her a minute.”
“We can grant her few amenities, but privacy is not beyond our means.” Galba looked away. “Marguerite, I apologize for exposing you to this. You are aware of the exigencies that force me to tolerate Colonel Reams.”
Doyle chuckled. “Hell, Maggie don’t understand half them words the colonel says, do you, luv?”
“I most certainly do. I have learned many vulgar words from you.”
They were all so carefully not watching her. She could not collapse in fear and self-pity under the eyes of so many English agents, and an aristo. She ceased clutching Grey. “Do not concern yourself. I am most perfectly fine.”
He did not release her, however, for which she was inexpressibly grateful. “I’m sorry to put you through that. We had to show him you’re under my protection. Under Galba’s.”
“I am all complaisance to be displayed like a performing monkey.” She looked very hard at her plate. “Though I do not like loud, angry men arguing over who shall take me to his basement and torture me.”
“He can’t get to you,” Doyle said quietly. “He can’t get past us.”
“Mademoiselle,” Galba said, “I’m sorry we distressed you. We shall postpone the rest of this discussion.”
How polite he was. The noisy colonel with his many threats was the least deadly of the men in this room. Now she must face the others. “There is no purpose in waiting.”
“Perhaps not. Do you wish to retire elsewhere to eat in peace?”
“It is not necessary.”
“Will you try to drink the rest of your wine?”
She shook her head.
“I’m not trying to cloud your judgment. One glass of Bordeaux is unlikely to do that. No? And none of the rest of this will tempt you either, will it? Bring the wine, then, and let us go into the other room.”
Adrian pushed back pocket doors that separated the dining room from the study. This was the room where she had slept on a sofa earlier. Evidently she was to sit on the same sofa now. Grey had brought her glass of wine along. She did not drink any, but it gave her something to occupy her hands. Behind them, in the dining room, Giles cleared the table, stacking the dishes in a dumbwaiter in the wall.
No one spoke to her. They settled into the comfortable chairs with the ease of long familiarity. Paxton pulled back the edge of a curtain and looked out past the bars to where the last light was fading. His eyes were on the sky, assessing, like someone who would take ship soon. Adrian began a low-voiced discussion with Doyle, being technical about ropes and roofs. Galba settled into the broad red chair a few feet from her and watched the fire. After a few minutes, Giles brought in a tray with cups and a silver pot. It was coffee, even though this was England and she had expected to be assaulted with the Englishman’s idea of tea. She wondered whether this was the usual custom for these men or whether it was a part of the evening planned for her. Grey stood behind her, so close his jacket brushed her back.
“Shall we talk together, mademoiselle, or do you need more time?” Galba asked.
“I congratulate you on the economy of your threats. I do not suppose you have said twenty words to me all evening, and I am entirely quivering with terror of you.”