Part 16 (1/2)
”In a roundabout sort of way.”
”Oh, well, I could do with a gla.s.s of wine. The cafe across the street serves a decent Tokay and the Parisian girls tend to show a bit of ankle.”
Malcolm had a great deal of respect for Stewart's brother, Castlereagh, despite the fact that they were diametrically opposed on many of the major issues of the day, from Catholic Emanc.i.p.ation to the future of Poland. Still, he recognized Castlereagh's keen understanding and dedication to his work. Stewart possessed neither the understanding nor the dedication. And it didn't help Malcolm's opinion of the man that he had a tendency to ogle Suzanne.
Stewart chose a table in the cafe with a good view of another table where three Parisian girls sat with shopping parcels round their feet. He ordered a bottle of the most expensive Tokay the cafe offered, then flung himself back in his chair. ”All right. I suppose we must turn to work.”
”Your brother told you Antoine Rivere made accusations about the Laclos affair just before his death?”
Stewart gestured to the waiter to hurry with the wine. ”He mentioned it. Rivere was the sort to say anything if he thought it would get him what he wanted.”
”But in this case he appears to have been telling the truth. Talleyrand says Bertrand Laclos wasn't reporting to the French.”
Stewart stared at him. The waiter set a bottle of Tokay and two gla.s.ses on the table. Stewart continued to stare while the waiter uncorked the bottle and filled their gla.s.ses. Then he s.n.a.t.c.hed up his gla.s.s and took a long swallow. ”Talleyrand may not have known.”
”Very little goes on in France about which Talleyrand doesn't know.”
”It's possible-”
”According to Talleyrand, the revelation that Bertrand Laclos was working for us sent shock waves through French intelligence. Someone would have spoken up if he'd really been working for the French.”
”If-”
”For G.o.d's sake, sir.” Malcolm slammed his hands down on the table, rattling the gla.s.ses and bottle. ”I gave you the information. I thought it was incontrovertible, too.”
”It was.” Stewart steadied the bottle and his gla.s.s. ”It was incontrovertible. d.a.m.n it, Bertrand Laclos was a traitor. Every moment he was on the loose he was endangering British lives. We had to deal with him as soon as possible.”
”Was there a particular reason you were quick to rush to judgment?”
”I didn't rush.”
Stewart had taken immediate action against Laclos while Malcolm had urged caution, but there was nothing to be gained from arguing that now. ”Sir, we were all taken in. But did you have any reason to be suspicious of Laclos before?”
Stewart's gaze strayed to the few inches of ankle displayed below the flounced muslin skirt of a blond girl at the adjoining table. ”Laclos never quite fit in. He was French, of course. But it was more than that. He was a good sportsman, but he didn't seem to enjoy it much. Wouldn't take more than a drink or two. Always thought he didn't have the head for it. And he wasn't much of-”
”A womanizer?”
Stewart's gaze s.h.i.+fted from the ankles of the blond girl to the low-cut, lace-edged bodice of a brunette. ”Didn't even seem to enjoy the girls at the opera. Odd, that.”
”Perhaps he had a mistress he loved.”
”No reason for that to-” Stewart bit back the words.
”Are you saying all this made you more inclined to believe in his treason?”
”No.” Stewart swung his gaze back to Malcolm's face. ”I believed in his treason because of the evidence you brought me.”
”Fair enough.” Malcolm took a sip of wine, guilt raw in his throat. ”Did you talk to anyone before you decided Laclos had to be eliminated? Did anyone encourage you to make that decision?”
”There was no other decision to make. Even after I saw that letter-”
Malcolm clunked his gla.s.s down, slos.h.i.+ng the wine. ”What letter?”
Stewart s.n.a.t.c.hed up his gla.s.s and took a long drink. ”Doesn't amount to anything.”
”I think you should let me be the judge of that.”
”d.a.m.n it, Rannoch-” Stewart splashed more wine into his gla.s.s and took another swallow. ”After Laclos was killed a letter from him was delivered to me at Headquarters. Sent before his death.”
”And?” Malcolm held Stewart with his gaze.
He set the gla.s.s down with a sigh of frustration. ”Laclos said he was going to abandon his mission and return to his family in England.”
Dorothee pushed open the door of Talleyrand's study. The smell of fresh ink, leather, hair powder, and eau de cologne wrapped her in familiar comfort. She stepped into the room to meet his gaze. He was looking up, pen clutched in one hand, as though he'd been aware of her step on the stairs. For a moment, the air between seemed to tighten with something she could not put into words save that it reminded her of an experiment she'd once seen with an electrical current. ”Did you enjoy your ride?” he asked.
She pushed the door to and paused, fingering a fold of her green velvet riding habit. ”Willie and I met Malcolm and Suzanne Rannoch in the Bois de Boulogne.”
For an instant she'd swear she saw a flicker of concern in Talleyrand's eyes. Then it was gone and he said, ”Always pleasant to encounter friends. Malcolm has been a superb rider from childhood.”
Dorothee drew a breath. For a moment every nerve in her body rebelled against putting it into words. An ill.u.s.tration of Pandora opening the box from a favorite nursery book hung before her eyes. Once spoken, the words could not be called back any more than Pandora could stuff the evils back into the box. She would have to live with the consequences. ”Malcolm told us.” She crossed the room to stand in front of Talleyrand's desk. ”About Princess Tatiana's child.”
”I see.” Talleyrand leaned back in his chair, the pen tilting between his fingers. ”That was a great admission for him to make. Malcolm holds his family's secrets close.”
”He recognizes that Princess Tatiana is our family, too. Of course Willie and I said we'd help them.”
His gaze skimmed over her face, watchful as always. ”You have a kind heart, Doro.”
”I recognize my responsibilities.”
”And you have the courage and the kindness not to s.h.i.+rk them.” Talleyrand's eyes softened in that way they sometimes did when they rested on her. It was very different from the glow she saw in Karl's gaze when it met her own, yet it stirred her in a way Karl's gaze did not. A way that was less easy to define but that cut deeper.
She swallowed, realizing she had not yet fully lifted the lid from the box. ”Did you know?” She blurted the words out, as she would have done when she was an awkward schoolgirl.
He tilted his head back, somehow managing not to disturb his wig by so much as a fraction of an inch. ”Surely Malcolm told you that Tatiana eventually admitted to me there was a child but made me swear not to inquire into the ident.i.ty of the father.”
”Yes, that's what Malcolm said.” Dorothee fingered her riding crop. She stood before the desk instead of perching on the edge as was her usual practice when talking to him. Somehow that represented an intimacy that seemed inappropriate now.
”But you don't believe it.” Talleyrand gave a faint smile.
She lifted her chin. ”I don't believe that's all of it, no. Any more than I imagine Malcolm does.”
His smile deepened. ”You both know me well.”
”We both know you wouldn't hesitate to withhold information if you thought it important.”
”Certainly not.” He picked up the pen and tapped it against the gilt-embossed burgundy leather of the blotter. ”But that doesn't necessarily mean I possess such information.”