Soulier opened his eyes. “You did not give the Albion plans to the British Service.”
Her stomach dropped like a stone. She had not been believed, after all. Diable. “Soulier, I have—”
“Do not chatter. It is Leblanc who just sold the plans to the British.”
“Leblanc?”
“Exact. I am in a state of shock. Monsieur Grey is even now informing me of Leblanc’s guilt. He does this in a pique of revenge, for Leblanc’s culpability in the matter of gold and murder at Bruges, which he has just discovered.”
She did not glance at Grey, who was doubtless being impenetrable. “I see.”
“You, my child, were never in Bruges. You were somewhere else entirely. Dijon perhaps.”
“That is a dull town. I am delighted to have been there.” She put broken crockery upon the silver tray. “It is convenient of Leblanc to be so guilty.”
“Is it not? He will deny everything and tangle himself in a dozen lies and not be believed. Fouché delights in simplicities. We shall fasten one more crime upon this salaud, who has committed so many. He can only die once, unfortunately. And you, child, will not pay for Vauban’s folly.”
“It is not—”
“You have sufficient folly of your own to pay for,” Soulier said sharply. “Which I must now deal with.”
Grey’s footfalls as he stepped forward had become the tread of a fighter, balanced and light. Tension, fierce and invisible, twisted in the air. “Then you deal with me.”
“You saved her life tonight, Monsieur Grey, when my men failed me. I am in your debt. But she is safe now, with her own people. You must leave her to us.”
Grey said, “This isn’t negotiable.”
“She is mine, monsieur. And I will not give her up.” Soulier hesitated, then laid his cane aside, slanted against the arm of his chair. “But I am wise enough not to challenge you directly. Come. Sit. Let us discuss this like civilized men.”
Grey picked an overturned gilt chair and set it upright so it confronted Soulier. He sat, and he pulled her to stand next to him, his arm around her. “Talk.”
“Eh bien. We shall be blunt, as you English prefer.” Soulier leaned toward him. “You have achieved the Albion plans. That must content you. As you care for my little one, I ask you to leave her with me and go. Make your farewell as tender as you wish, but part from her quickly. It is the kindest way.”
“I’m not letting you have her.”
“Do you know so little of me? Do you fear I will do revenge upon her? We French take into account the human frailties. For a woman such as Annique, we will forgive a great many frailties.”
“I don’t give a damn what you forgive.”
The silence lengthened. She heard the gilt clock on the mantelpiece very distinctly, ticking. She had not made plans that stretched beyond this room and facing Soulier. She had not expected Grey to come. Whatever happened, she would remember that Grey came for her.
Soulier sighed. “I had thought Annique’s…unwisdom…was one-sided. She is young, and infatuated, and believes, just a little, in fairy tales. She does not understand that a relationship between the two of you is out of the question. You and I, Grey, we know this. If you take her with you in this selfish fashion, you will destroy her life. Quite literally. Fouché will see her dead within the month. Leave the Cub with me. I will arrange that no harm comes to her.”
“She leaves here with me.”
“Most touching.” Soulier regarded Grey steadily. “You make me the villain in this play. But it is you who brought Annique to this disaster she faces. You have used her, Grey, without taking any thought for her at all.”
“Listen, you son of a bitch—”
Soulier raised his hand. “Let me finish, please. Because you have seduced her away from France, Fouché has put a death order upon her. There is nowhere—not in the deserts of Arabia, not upon the face of the moon—that she can hide from such an order. I must clean up the debacle you have made of her life. I will bring her to Fouché and turn his wrath aside. I will prepare her to earn his forgiveness in the only way she can, if she is to live. This pretty love affair you have between you will make it horribly painful for her.” His eyes glittered, black and opaque as onyx. “My Fox Cub is a woman of rare quality, beyond the price of jewels as an agent. Unique. You have come close to ruining her. I am angry at what you have done to her. Very angry.”
“She’s British Service.”
“Silence! Mon Dieu. You shall not say that!” Soulier rose from his chair, enraged and shaking. “Not even in this room when we are alone. Not even to me. Do not whisper it. She is not recruited to you. All may be forgiven—except for an agent to turn. You make her death certain.”
“She’s mine. Her mother was ours.”
Deep, unconditional love swept across her. Thus Grey paid for her freedom with that great secret from his store of secrets. He was like a rajah laying down the legendary ruby of his kingdom to ransom his woman.
Soulier stared. “Lucille?”
“She was British Service.”
“Nom d’un nom d’un nom. No. I cannot believe.” Soulier strode away with an abruptness that belied his years and crossed the room. “It cannot be.”
“From the first day she arrived in France. I could show you reports twenty years old. She was always ours.”
“Ma belle Lucille. That such a thing could be.” He drew a curtain aside and faced into the night. It was a long minute before he spoke again. “Lucille…I knew she was the best France had. I did not realize she was the best England had instead.” One could not see Soulier’s face, only hear his voice. “She was…lumineuse. Nothing so ordinary as beauty. I was one of many who loved her.”
“I’m told she was a remarkable woman.”
“And she belonged to England. We shall be the laughingstock of Europe if this leaks out.”
“It will. These things always do.”
After a minute, Soulier let the curtain fall. He began to chuckle. “Oh, Lucille, how you would laugh to see me étonné like this. Mon Dieu, but I shall indulge myself by telling this to Fouché, to his face. It will pay back many, many difficult moments I have had with him.” He limped his way back to the tapestry chair, shaking his head. “My beautiful Lucille. You will tell me now that she was English…Yes, I see you will. It is enough to make a grown man weep to contemplate how many of our secrets have slipped to you over the years through those pretty fingers. What a very great deal of trouble I shall be put to, cleaning up this mess.”
He lowered himself to the chair, muttering, “Mon Dieu, mon Dieu, what did that woman not know. I shall be busy for months.” Soulier reached his hand out. “Annique, come to me.”
He had been protector and teacher for so many years. She took his hand and looked down at him.
“Those secrets you gathered for me…The ones you carried back and forth for me in your pretty head. They are all in the hands of the British, are they not?”
She nodded.
“You were a double agent even when you were a child?”
To pretend she had lied to him all her life, that she had played a role to Vauban and to René and Françoise…There are some lies one cannot tell.
“I see. Not quite the British agent then. Lucille did not tell you.”
“Annique was always ours,” Grey said. “I have reports she wrote before she learned to spell.”
“Doubtless you do, but I do not think my Cub sent them to you. No,” Soulier said. “We shall let it pass. I am not hungry for her blood, God knows. I am still trying to think of a way to keep her.”