“We were talking of the situation in Badajos,” Tamsyn said swiftly as her companions rose to their feet in one collective movement. “Captain Frobisher was telling me what he'd done with the girl I rescued this morning. And these other officers were explaining how they'd managed to secure the doors of a convent as a safe house. They've been conducting parties of women there and are just returned from the town for some rest. “
Julian regretted his sarcasm as he looked at the exhausted faces of his officers. “My apologies,” he said readily, with his quick, irresistible smile that had earned him pardon since childhood. ''I'm out of sorts. I didn't mean to snap.”
“Oh, we're all out of sorts,” Frank said with a weary answering smile. “We were wondering whether we could round up our own men from the streets if we headed up a sizable party of non-commissioned officers.”
“Get some rest first. We'll try this evening. They might be so insensible by then they'll come quietly.” He turned back to Tamsyn. “Wellington wishes to talk to you, Violette. If you'd come with me now.”
It didn't sound much like a request to Tamsyn, but she merely smiled and said mischievously, “I'd be delighted to come with you, milord colonel. As I've made clear on many occasions.”
Julian's lips almost disappeared and the bright-blue eyes shot sparks as the other men suppressed their grins.
“Allow me to assist you to mount, ma'am?” Frank offered before Julian's temper could find voice. He cupped his palms for her foot, and she sprang up into the saddle with a word of thanks.
Gathering the reins together, she raised an eyebrow at the still-fulminating colonel and said, “I'm ready to accompany you, sir.”
Julian turned his horse without a word and moved off down the narrow aisle between the rows of tents. Tamsyn waved a cheery hand in farewell to her companions and followed.
They rode in single file over the pontoon bridge into Elvas and into the stable yard at headquarters. Still in silence, Julian strode ahead of her up the stairs and into the building. “Is his lordship alone, Sanderson?”
“Yes, sir. Lord March left a few minutes ago.” “Good.” He knocked and opened the door, gesturing brusquely to Tamsyn that she should precede him into the sanctum.
“Good afternoon, sir,” she greeted the commander in chief politely. “May I congratulate you on such a splendid victory.” There was no mistaking the note of bitter irony beneath the apparent courtesy, and Wellington looked at her sharply, frowning.
“My men fought like tigers,” he stated. “And they died like heroes.”
“I'm sure,” she returned in much the same tone.
“Colonel St. Simon says you wish to speak to me.” She perched on the deep windowsill and regarded him with her shining head to one side, her eyes alert, like a cheeky robin, Julian thought, amused despite his irritation.
“We have a proposal to put to you. It's the colonel's suggestion, so perhaps he should explain it.”
Tamsyn turned her look of bright inquiry on the colonel. “I'm all ears, milord colonel.”
Julian explained his proposal, his voice expressionless, his face impassive, and Tamsyn listened with the same air of alert interest.
When he'd finished, she said simply, “Oh, no, that won't do at all.”
The cool negative fell into a stunned silence. Both men stared at her; then St. Simon said, “And just why won't it?”
“Well, you must see that a mere governess couldn't give me what I need,” she said reasonably. “Since I'm certain my mother's family are aristocrats, I need to know how to go on in the highest circles of Society. Governesses don't know that kind of thing. I'll need to know all sorts of things about the top families as well as all the little mannerisms and quirks and tricks of dress that only an intimate of those circles would know. And how could a governess perform the introductions when I'm ready to be presented to the family? Someone unimpeachable has to vouch for me… explain about the Duke of Wellington's kind protection.” Another winning smile in the duke's direction.
“She has a point, Julian.”
Julian met his commander's steady gaze, reading the immutable message. He swung round toward the figure on the windowsill. Tamsyn was examining her fingernails with an air of absorption.
“Damn you, Violette!” he hissed. “Damn you for a tricky, conniving witch!”
Clearly this was not a good moment to ask for a small loan. Tamsyn raised her eyes and offered a tentative
smile. “I won't be a nuisance, milord colonel, I promise you. I'll be a most obedient pupil and a credit to your tutoring. “
Julian's expression registered total disbelief, and Wellington gave vent to his neighing laugh.
“She has you there, Julian. Sewn up tight as a Christmas goose.”
Julian walked over to Tamsyn. He leaned over her, his hands braced on the window on either side of her head, and said softly so that only she could hear, “You just might have bitten off more than you can chew, Violette. I'm going to have you jumping through hoops until you don't know whether you're in this week or the next. So be warned.”
Tamsyn touched her tongue to her lips and her eyes narrowed. “I think I can handle anything you throw at me, milord colonel.”
Their eyes locked. There was antagonism and challenge, but there was a perverse excitement too at the war game they were about to play.
Then Julian straightened and spoke at an ordinary pitch, but his voice was completely devoid of expression. “So we've agreed to your price, Violette. It's time to fulfil your side of the bargain.”
“Certainly,” she said.
Wellington called for Sanderson to take notes, and they began. St. Simon sat in a chair by the hearth, listening intently to the brigand's answers, listening for any evasion, any hint that she might be fooling them. They had only her word for the truth of the information she was providing, but he found that he trusted her to be good to that word. She was as slippery as an eel, but he thought that if she said she was playing fair, then she was.
Why he should have this faith in her, he didn't know. It was a long and exhaustive session. At the end Tamsyn drew an elaborate map indicating the passes through the Guadarrama heights, then stretched, arching her back against her hands. “I think that's everything I agreed to.”
“Yes,” Wellington said with a pleased nod. “Most satisfactory. Thank you.”
“I won't say it was a pleasure,” Tamsyn said frankly. “Oh, don't give me that!” Julian scoffed. “You've got precisely what you wanted for your information.”
“True.” And the means now to be revenged upon the Penhallans. “Do we begin our journey as soon as Gabriel arrives?”
“The sooner the better,” he said harshly. “And I want this in writing, too.” He gestured to Sanderson, still sitting at the table. “The contract is for six months, beginning this day, April seventh, 1812. It will conclude on October seventh. Whether you've achieved what you wish or no. Is that understood?”
“Perfectly.”
Sanderson wrote busily, sanded the sheet, and pushed it across the table for Tamsyn's signature.
“How very formal,” she murmured, affixing her signature to the document. “Anyone would think you didn't trust me, milord colonel.”
“Anyone would think I had reason to trust you,” he retorted, striding to the door.
“Oh,” Tamsyn ran after him as he marched down the stairs. “Since our contract is to begin today, even though we haven't started our journey, I feel sure I can ask you a favor. Could you make me a small loan? Just until Gabriel returns.”
He stopped at the street door and stared at her in-credulously. “You want me to lend you money on top of everything?”
“Just to buy some clothes. These I have on are falling apart. I'll repay you as soon as Gabriel returns.”