Lords of Notoriety. Kasey MichaelsЧитать онлайн книгу.
you find to amuse you whilst in Paris? Gambling houses? Beautiful women? Intrigue?”
He almost believed her, but her question, that seemed so innocent, set his defenses at attention once again. “I was there on orders from my government, Miss Lawrence. I found nothing to admire in a country that waged such a costly war against our people.”
“Oh, my lord, how rigid you are!” Mary exclaimed, momentarily forgetting the part she had decided to play. “Surely you cannot condemn an entire country, an entire people, for the ambitions of a few? Surely it is Bonaparte’s thirst for power and territory that must be condemned, and not the people he ruled. After all, they suffered too. Why, look at that disastrous retreat from Moscow. I understand thousands of poor soldiers perished in the snows.”
“’From the sublime to the ridiculous is but a step,’” Rule quoted quietly.
“What?”
“Bonaparte made that remark just before he deserted his troops to run back to Paris and raise another army to replace the one he squandered so carelessly in Russia,” Rule told her informatively.
“How would you know that?” Mary asked, much impressed in spite of herself. “Surely you would have had to have been there to—oh my, sir, I do believe I’m beginning to place a bit more credence in the rumors I have heard about your exploits as a master spy!”
Rule’s dark eyes took on a shuttered look as he recalled his infiltration into the ranks of retreating soldiers, wearing a filthy, torn uniform, his bare feet wrapped in the bloody rags he had taken from a man who had no further need for them, and remembered again how Bonaparte, before stepping back inside his closed coach, had placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder and promised to see them all again in Paris. How he had hated that man for the way he had ridden off, leaving his army to grope along toward the border without his guidance or the inspiration of his leadership.
But Tristan had done his job, and had slipped back into the trees to where his horse was waiting to carry him to safety and the first of the many couriers who would pass on the valuable information he had gleaned during the weeks he had watched Bonaparte’s invincible grand armée degenerate into the ragged band of disease-ridden unfortunates who could conquer everything but the wrath of the Russian winter.
“I’ll say it again, my lord,” Mary pressed as she could see that Rule had retreated into what seemed to be an unpleasant memory, “you must have been a very proficient spy, just as it has been hinted, to have gleaned such personal conversation. Now that we are at peace again, couldn’t you please satisfy my curiosity by telling me exactly what it was that made you so valuable to Sir Henry?”
“I traveled,” Rule said shortly. “And I reported on what I saw. Nothing more.”
“You traveled a war-torn continent, my lord,” Mary pointed out, knowing she was pushing the point. “You must have been in constant peril. Yet your reputation is for being ruthless, if I may be so bold as to point that out to you. Surely a mere informant would not earn such a title?”
Rule smiled at her, giving her credit for having the courage to put into words what other people—even his two audacious cousins and outspoken aunt—had not dared to ask. “People tend to draw romantic conclusions when they hear bits and pieces of events as told to them by some of the men I met in my travels. I assure you, I did not leave a trail of bloody bodies in my wake. I only did what was necessary to keep our government apprised of pertinent facts needed to plan strategies and judge the results of those strategies.”
Mary shivered deliciously. “Imagine! One incident of incorrect reporting or incomplete information could have cost thousands of lives—maybe even lost the war. How modest you are, my lord, when it was you who single-handedly guided the direction of the entire war effort. No wonder my uncle speaks so highly of you. I vow I am impressed beyond measure!”
Tristan was taken aback by Mary’s unaffected enthusiasm and high praise. He was also human enough to glory a bit in her display of esteem. Perhaps he had been overreacting—seeing guilt where there were only unanswered questions—after all, this wasn’t the first time he had felt a niggle of doubt about his judgment of Mary Lawrence. She surely didn’t sound like a Bonaparte sympathizer. She sounded very much like a devout patriot.
“Well,” Mary was saying, with some heat, “I think it is absolutely criminal the way the War Office hasn’t given you a single word of commendation, or even a cash settlement or title for all you have done. I wouldn’t be in the least surprised if you weren’t thoroughly disillusioned with us all—if you decided that Bonaparte was the better man after all.”
She swiveled on the seat to look at him piercingly. “You aren’t happy, are you, my lord, now that the war is at long last over? You must miss the excitement—I vow I would. With all that you know, it would be a simple matter for you to contact just the right people to effect Bonaparte’s rescue from that pitiful island and transport him back to Paris. I’m sure the Emperor knows how to reward the people who serve him—unlike England, that bundles you off when it has no further use for you.”
“You think my allegiance can be bought, Miss Lawrence?” Tristan asked dangerously, rising to the bait.
Ah, if only Jennie could be here to see her cousin finally getting his comeuppance! “Everyone has a price, my lord, whether it be in gold or by way of appealing to something deep inside that craves to be recognized,” Mary nudged recklessly, glorying in her ability to finally get under this infuriating man’s skin.
Rule’s eyes narrowed as he stared at her. “And are you buying or selling, Miss Lawrence?”
CHAPTER FIVE
MARY KNEW SHE HAD GONE too far. In her attempt to make him look guilty, and at the same time present herself as equally capable of treason, she had become overly ambitious—and stupidly careless.
She had meant to tease, to confuse, and to set him chasing madly after his own tail, but she hadn’t planned on exposing her own neck to such an alarming degree. Lord, he looked fit to strangle her for the heartless traitor he took her to be—the scheming Bonapartist who dared suggest his loyalty could be bought.
She forced a silly giggle past her numb lips. “Whatever do you mean, my lord?” she asked, trying her utmost to look unintelligent—and only succeeding in appearing guilty as sin—“I was only funning. Far be it from me to suggest that—”
“That there are certain people who would like nothing better than to see Napoleon Bonaparte back on the throne in France, waging war against England again,” Rule ended for her neatly, and with heavy sarcasm. “I don’t find your assumptions amusing when they are applied to me, madam, and I can only question your reasons for broaching the subject at all.”
You don’t like it, do you? Mary shouted inwardly. Well, how do you think I feel each time you eye me like some butterfly on a pin? Aloud, she exclaimed, throwing up her hands in disgust, “Sacrebleu! You have caught me out, my lord. I confess! I’m a Bonapartist loyalist, sent to England to recruit volunteers to sail to Elba. Sir Henry was just an innocent pawn in my dastardly scheme; my reason for being here was to recruit you, England’s grandest spy, over to our cause. I tried my utmost, but your loyalty to your mad king has proved too strong for my frail female wiles, which, heaven knows, I have used in excess in order to bring you to your knees at my feet. Alas, I must go to my fate, beaten but unbowed. Vive la république!” Her speech concluded, Mary folded her arms and awaited further developments, secretly wondering if association with this overzealous patriot had seriously unhinged her mind.
The silence that followed Mary’s impassioned confession lasted until Rule had steered his curricle back out onto the street and relative privacy—and beyond. Once they had turned into the roadway fronting Sir Henry’s residence, Rule commented, his voice sounding quite weary, “I have been playing the spy too long, Miss Lawrence, and have begun to see danger where none exists. Please accept my deepest apologies for ever having suspected you of any crime against England. It’s obvious to me now that my aunt has told you of my conversation with her. I can understand now why you