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Grey answered for her. “She slept fine.”

So. It was to be obvious to this English lord that she had become the mistress of Grey. She swiftly considered several alternatives and decided to be very young and shy. That was a role with many possibilities. By thinking of some of the things she had done last night in bed with Grey, she made herself blush, a deception of great skill. She was proud to achieve it, especially before Grey, who would appreciate the genius that called it forth.

She still held her bonnet, so she let it swing by its strings, as a child does. It would do no harm to play thus with the aristo.

The Lord Cummings cleared his throat. His eyes flickered from her to Grey, who scowled, to the front window where carriages waited. “It could be temporary custody. Only temporary. She’ll be treated well.”

“No,” Grey said.

“I give you my personal assurance.” He shifted his cane from right hand to left. “See here, Major, you’re infantry. You understand how important—”

“No.”

“I’ll make it clear to Reams he’s not to…That is, I can see she’s young. I’ll tell him to treat her with every respect.”

Of a certainty he would. He would know it meant nothing. He would give her to Reams to rape and torture, and he would feel badly about it for much of one evening. He would regret it for five minutes the next day. Then he would forget her altogether. The British called this “deploring the necessity.”

Grey said, “Be damned to that.”

“She is a French agent, privy to military information. We—”

“I don’t care if she has naval codes stuffed in her corset. That bastard’s not going to get his hands on her.”

“Enough, Robert. You’ve made your point.” Galba rested one hand on the high back of the crimson sofa, making a barrier, acting as if Grey were imminently dangerous and must be restrained. “Military Intelligence has no legitimate interest in Miss Villiers. Her work has always been political, and never directed against England.”

It was time to play her own part. She took a hesitant step toward the aristo, working on tears. “Please. The colonel frightens me very much. Please do not send me to him.”

Cummings did not look directly at her. Oh, but she knew the men of his type. He gave his orders in some pleasant office in London. Never did he involve himself with the torture of women in basements or directing artillery fire into towns to bury children under the rubble.

“She was one of Vauban’s cadre. Vauban dealt directly with the traitor in Military Intelligence. I’m bleeding secrets from my whole department, and she may know the name of the man who’s doing it. Give her to me.” The aristo had abandoned all pretense of being a fribble. His words were hard as horseshoe nails.

“Your bloody incompetence doesn’t give Military Intelligence the right to pirate my operation.” Grey matched snarl for snarl.

“This is a military matter. It falls in my jurisdiction. The sooner Reams cracks that name out of her…”

She thought like lightning. “But it is Reams’s own office where the traitor is. It is his—”

Everyone turned. She lifted her hand to her mouth, as if she had said more than she should. Dieu. She should bite her lip and stammer like a schoolgirl. This aristo expected no more from her.

The lordship had gone perfectly rigid. “What do you mean, it’s Reams’s office?”

“Hush, Annique,” Grey said quickly. “You shouldn’t talk about that.” One would swear they had worked this out beforehand, he did it so smoothly.

“But you must not give me to Colonel Reams.” She selected a tiny sliver of her fear and blew it into her voice. To build a role out of the blocks of emotion already within one—this was a great art. “If you send me there, I will not live to speak. Do not do this to me.”

“Reams won’t touch you.” Grey was grim as stones. She did not think he was acting. “This is a waste of time. He’s frightening Annique,” he said to Galba, “and we’re going to be late.”

“I demand to know what she meant by that.” The aristo almost danced in frustration.

“Our investigation has only begun.” Galba picked up his hat from upon the hideous sideboard. “Too much has already been said. Leave her to us, Cummings. It’s in neither of our interests to release her to Colonel Reams.”

The Lord Cummings did not speak at all. Much internal calculation was going on behind his eyes. She had been correct to conclude he was no fool.

Galba collected a pair of small black books from the marble top of the bureau. “Now I must ask you to excuse us. As Robert says, we are late.”

“You can’t take her…I mean, where are you taking her?”

Galba raised his eyebrows. “Is it possible you have forgotten what day this is?”

“Day?” Lord Cummings was bewildered.

“It is Sunday, as I pointed out. We are going to church. A pleasant morning to you.”

Thirty-one

THE HACKNEY AWAITED THEM AT THE CURB. SHE followed Galba decorously down the steps, and she did not let an eyelid twitch with all the vast amusement that was bouncing around inside her. Grey held the door, and Galba helped her tenderly in.

“The men are in place?” Grey slid in next to her. As the coach started, he opened a panel in the upholstery, removed a gun, checked it, and returned it. Then he reached past her and did the same on the other side. This was a hackney carriage very well supplied with guns. He had one in his coat as well. She felt it bumping against her thigh.

“Will’s been up since five. He assures me we’re adequately covered.” Galba filled the seat across from them with his large, square body. She should not have called him fat. He was simply one who took up a great deal of room, like an old tree, strong in its fiber. He had his own gun, a small one he held just clear of his jacket pocket.

“Well, that was fun.” Grey scanned the streets on the right as the carriage rolled along. Galba was watching the other side. “Annique wasn’t what he expected.”

“Reams is an imbecile.”

“Whatever else happens, Cummings is going to flay Reams alive for making him look like a fool in front of you. Annique, why did you say the traitor is in Reams’s office?”

He looked at her, straight and level. She was jolted into remembering that Grey was not just a lover in her bed, he was the Head of Section for England and master of many spies. She must decide, this moment, what she would give to the British.

A hundred yards of pavement rolled under the horses’ hooves. Were there depths of treason? Small trivial treasons and large ones? She waded in dirty water, deeper and deeper.

But she had only one choice, unless she wished to visit Colonel Reams’s interesting cellars. “The lordship is wrong in one thing. It was not Vauban who dealt with the traitor in your Military Intelligence. It was Leblanc.”

Grey and Galba stayed silent. Silence is a potent weapon in interrogation. After another hundred yards had passed, she said, “Our spy is in Reams’s office. He has been in the pay of France for three years, recruited only for money. We have deposited to him hundreds and hundreds of pounds through an account at Hoare’s Bank. His name is Frederick Tillman.”

Grey hit the cushion beside him, an eye-blurring boxer’s jab. “Got him! We got the bastard! Tillman. Reams’s brother-in-law, for God’s sake. His second-in-command.” He grinned, tight and fierce. “This is going to bring Reams down.”

Galba smiled.

They were very pleased. She sold one small secret for a little safety. She did not feel delighted.

Thus it began. Not with a dramatic decision to reveal the secrets of the Albion plans. With the name of a minor and greedy weasel. The British would corrupt her one secret at a time, upon this excuse and that, until she was wholly their creature. She knew how such things were done. She was no match for these men in determination, or in wits, either.

Grey needed no more than a glance to read what was happening within her. “It’s not the thin edge of the wedge, Annique. You know exactly what you’re doing.”