“I need you, Jean Pierre.”She blurted the words out without thought.
His smile grew wide, revealingstraight, white teeth, much in contrast of those who worked withhim. He placed a hand over his heart. “I’ve longed for two years tohear those very words from your lips.”
She put her hand out to stop hisstride in her direction. “It is not in the manner in which youthink or hope.”
“If not amour, what else isthere?” He shrugged and lifted his hands in question.
Lisette rolled her eyes. The manthought of little else besides bedding willing females.
“I need a husband,” shewhispered.
He took a step back. She knew thosewords would cool his ardor quicker than a sudden ice storm. JeanPierre liked to think of himself as a lover whose talents shouldnever be limited to one woman, unless it was only for a night—butnever a lifetime. He had been playing his role longer than she.Lisette had no idea who he really was or how he truly felt aboutwomen and the institution of marriage. Not that it mattered, aslong as he played along for the month it took them to travel toEngland and return.
He took a step away from her. “Mydear, sweet Lisette, you know I desire you above all others, but Icannot even consider such a radical choice. A married man must befaithful, and I could never promise fidelity, my sweet.” Unlikehers, his words were loud enough for anyone in the vicinity tohear. Lisette would like nothing better than to throttlehim.
She caught the sight of three of thestable hands nearby. No doubt they heard everything and wouldreport back to whomever they reported to. There were always earsand eyes watching everyone at the palace, not unlike those insociety she encountered during her two Seasons in London. Except itwas much easier to navigate the dangers here than any ballroom backhome.
She knew there was gossip about herand Jean Pierre. They met too often for it not to be noticed, butit couldn’t be helped if she were to pass the information shegathered in the house on to him. Jean Pierre saw that it wasdelivered into the right hands, along with any information hediscovered. The mission demanded they work closely together, butnot too closely, and thus a relationship developed with Jean Pierrechasing her skirts and Lisette refusing so much as a kiss without apromise. The other maids encouraged her to succumb to his charms,but she wasn’t here for Jean Pierre’s pleasure any more than he wasfor hers.
Lisette stalked after the retreatinggroom. “Are you so sure you would ever want another afterme?”
His eyebrows shot up. She had neverbeen the bold one, but she didn’t have time for games. The stablehands laughed, and she half expected Jean Pierre to turn and runfrom her. She grabbed his hand and pressed the folded letteragainst his palm. “Think on what I have said.” She winked thenlowered her head. “Eleven tonight,” was whispered for only hisears. Lisette whirled around and made her way back to thepalace.
John Phillip Trent unfolded theparchment once he was alone in his room above the stables. He hadexpected some sort of information as to Napoleon’s movements, notthis letter.
What the hell had shedone? Why the hell wasn’t this letter in code? Why did she name meas her husband? Well, not him exactly, butJean Pierre, and the two were one and the same. The thoughts flewaround his mind and he couldn’t settle on one. He never knew herreal name was Elizabeth or that she was the granddaughter of theDuke of Danby, just like she had no idea he was John PhillipTrent.
How the hell did a duke’sgranddaughter become a bloody spy? If anyof Savary’s men got hold of this letter, she would be hanged, ifnot beheaded, for spying, and he along with her since apparently hewas her husband. Savary wouldn’t care that she was related to aduke and would probably relish the torture all the more. Heshuddered at the thought of what type of punishment the Ministry ofPolice would use before she was put to death.
John tore the letter into tiny pieces,tossed them into the stove in the corner of his room, and grabbedhis coat. Not Lisette, Elizabeth. Elizabeth, the granddaughter ofthe powerful Duke of Danby and cousin to Jean Pierre’s school chum,Edgeworth. Well, not Jean Pierre’s school chum, but John PhilipTrent’s school chum. Just as he had no idea who Elizabeth was untilnow, she still didn’t know his real name.
John shook his head in frustration.Clearly Edgeworth had no idea what his cousin was up to because hecouldn’t imagine that his old friend he would have allowed such athing.
Of course Edgeworth didn’t know, oranyone else in her family. Which again begged the question, how hada duke’s granddaughter become a spy, and how did she remain aspy?
His anger only grew as he marchedtowards the orangery where Lisette waited. Why had that letter notbeen in code? Stupid mistakes like that got spieskilled.
When he entered the building, themusty heat overwhelmed him. John shrugged out of his jacket.Lisette paced the center of the building, her cloak folded on abench. Her blond hair was pulled back tightly behind her head tomake working and cleaning a palace more efficient. Her shoulderswere square, tense. Some of his anger dissipated. She hadn’t sentthe blasted letter, so he couldn’t fault her for nearly ruiningtheir cover. In fact, her entire body was rigid with either worryor anger, he couldn’t tell.
She turned and saw him, and hershoulders immediately dropped. Had she been afraid he would notcome? Her steps quickened towards him.
“How am I to manage gettingout of Paris, home and back?” The words rushed past herlips.
“You aren’t.” She was madto even contemplate the idea. The safety of England and knowingwhat Napoleon was about were far more important than a familyreunion with Danby. If it were possible to leave, he would havevisited his own family long ago.
“I must.”
“If you go now, you won’tbe able to come back.” He paced from her and ran his fingersthrough his hair. This was the problem with having a female in sucha delicate position. One always ran
