THE HACKNEY COACH THAT BELONGED TO THE British Service was waiting for them at the curb outside Soulier’s charming town house.
“I do not know how to feel.” She sat next to Grey. At this moment it did not matter much to her where they went. “It is strange not to have Leblanc attempting to kill me.”
On the forward seat lay a pile of black wool cloth. When Grey unfolded it, it proved to be a long wool cloak, such as countrywomen wear. He wrapped it around her. She had not noticed she was shivering until then.
“I shake like a custard. It is spineless of me,” she said. “I am still frightened, I think.”
“I don’t blame you. What a cold, calculating bastard that man is.”
“I do not at all mind that Fouché should kill him. It is an excellent idea.”
“I meant Soulier,” Grey said dryly.
“Soulier? But he will face Fouché in Paris and tell lies to bargain my life back for me. He risks his career and perhaps his life. You must not blame him that he is not delicate with me. One is not delicate with one’s agents.”
“One does not pimp one’s agents either. It’s the first thing they teach you in spymaster school. No, don’t argue. This is for you.” He handed her a small, heavy sack that contained coins. She shook it open a bit and dipped her fingers in.
“There is a lot of money here,” she said neutrally. She could not be sure of the value of British coins from just the feel, but there were many.
“I don’t want you loose on the streets with no money in your pocket. I also have three pounds sixpence of yours in my desk drawer. I should get that back to you sometime.”
“Oh, that. I stole it from Henri, if you will recall, so I do not know if it is rightfully mine or not. It is difficult to determine, with money.”
“Isn’t it?” He pounded twice on the roof of the coach with the flat of his hand. “Unless you have an objection, we’ll get out here.”
The coach stopped. “You are letting me go?”
“I am indeed.” He jumped out without kicking down the step and reached back to lock huge hands around her waist and lift her to the ground.
It was a quiet, respectable neighborhood. The street was lined with prosperous houses, every door silent and dark in the hours before dawn. Even the cats slept. The breathing of the coach horses and the metallic click of their hooves made the only noise. If Grey were accompanied by many minions, they were not making themselves evident.
“You are letting me walk away with the Albion plans in my head.” It was not the first time his behavior had bewildered her. “I do not object, you understand, but it seems inconsistent.”
“The French are so sure we have them, it hardly matters whether we do or not. It should discourage them from showing up on the doorstep this spring.” As soon as he latched the door, he thumped on the side panel, and the coach rolled away. She listened to its wheels on the cobbles while he settled the cloak upon her and tied it at the neck. “You’ve done what you came to England to do.”
“Yes.” She had not come to England to fall in love, but she had done so. She had made a botch of it.
“Kent is safe for a while. I can’t grub through the plans and mine them for French secrets, so France is safe. Stalemate.”
“Just so.”
He did not seem to be angry with her. He brushed her hair from her forehead and set it behind her ear. “You’ve won.”
She could not read his face in the dark. He was only shadows and gentle hands. But gentleness is not love.
She swallowed. “When I left you tonight, I did not want to go. I had no choice. There were many lives at stake.”
“I know. What will you do, now that you’re free, and nobody’s trying to kill you?”
“I’d better let you get on with it. West,” he said, pointing, “is that way.”
She was most entirely free. Just as she had wanted. One must be careful what one wishes for.
There is nothing more to say to a lover when one has set his love aside and snuck secretly from his bed. And, in any case, the Head of the British Section cannot ally himself with an unreliable French spy. Perhaps Grey had lied to himself from time to time on the subject. As she had lied to herself.
So she turned and started walking west. She could smell the river on the left of her. The Thames.
She knew at once he was behind her. After twenty steps she was still not sure how she felt about it. “You are following me. Why are you doing this?”
“To protect you.” Which was what he had said to her once before. “And because I want to.”
She drew a long breath in and kept walking. “You are a difficult man to be in love with.”
Even in the dim light, she knew he grinned.
Ahead of them was a park with sharp iron palings on its fence. She did not know which park. She did not know precisely where she was in London, as she had not been paying proper attention. “Are you planning to follow me all the way to Wales?”
“If I have to. We’ll stop at Tydings on the way. Would you like to get married here in London or when we get to my parents’ house?”
She bumped into him. Somehow he had put himself in front of her, blocking the path. He was warm and disconcerting to run into.
“You have not asked me to marry you.” That was the most stupid thing of the several things she could have said.
“Marry me, Annique.”
She wanted to step around him and walk away and be gone, but she could not make herself move. “It is not possible between us. I wish you had chosen to be wise. Then I would not have to.”
He stroked her hair, like a warm wind. “Marry me.”
It hurt, knowing she must say the many sensible things that must be said. “You will lose your position if you marry with a French spy, which I am, who cannot be trusted, which I cannot.”
“Then I’ll resign my bloody position. There’s a letter in my desk drawer. I wrote it the day I brought you to Meeks Street. Doyle knows. He’ll pull it out tomorrow when I don’t come back.”
“He will not find it, for you will go to your office immediately and tear it up.”
“Would you like to go to India? I have a standing offer from one of the directors of the East India Company. We’d become tremendously rich, if that matters to you.”
“I do not want to be rich. And I know you are already rich. Adrian told me. He thought I should know.”
“Remind me to throttle Adrian. We can get married about five hours from now, at St. Odran’s, if it suits you. That’ll give me time to call everybody in. We’ll invite Soulier…There. That’s made you smile.”
“You are entirely mad. You will doubtless stick straws in your hair and caper about the streets.”
“Let’s find some privacy for that.” He considered the park. It was a big place. One could smell a great extent of greenery and perhaps a lake, somewhere within it. “You have a problem with these spikes and pointy things?”
The gates would be closed at this hour of night. “Hah. You make the joke. This little fence? But I am in skirts, though, and a large cloak, which is very warm and lovely, but awkward to climb with. So if you will…Yes. That is helpful.” She stepped into his cupped hands and was over in a flash. Grey followed her a moment later.
He took her hand. The dark enclosed them. They might have been in the country, it was so quiet, with so many stars overhead. It came to her that she had never walked out under the night, hand in hand, with a lover. Or with the British Head of Section, for that matter.
They’d come to a flat, grassy hillock, deep in the park. He twitched her cloak off and furled it down to the ground before she could protest. “Hush. I’ll keep you warm.” Before she could speak, he spilled her downward, onto the ground, onto the soft wool, and sprawled beside her and put his arm around her and drew her to him. “Is this
