She introduced Evan with relief and no small amount of pleasure. “My husband. Monsieur La Porte.”
“I see.” Gaspard examined Evan head to toe. “You two present amascarade?”
“We do,” Evan told him with a nod. “We are from Toulon. Porcelain merchants.”
Gaspard winced. “You have papers?”
“Good ones,” Evan assured him.
“You do not speak often, Monsieur La Porte, because of the sickness in your throat, I assume?”
“C’est correct, Monsieur Gaspard.”
The man shook his head. “We must attend to that accent privately, monsieur.”
“We have not much time for good French lessons, Gaspard,” Inès told him. “We are on urgent business.”
“Have you rooms? Accommodations?”
They both nodded.
“Where?” He was suspicious.
They told him.
“Non. Terrible. Come! Come to the salon. We will talk more. Have you eaten?”
“Oui, so we do not need—”
“But you do! No arguments. None. My chef, she is superb. You come now with me.” He raised a finger to the air and off he trotted down the hall. He opened a large wooden door to the kitchen, and aromas of fresh bread and roast chicken wafted out. He held up a palm and said, “One moment, s’il vous plaît.”He soon returned, leading them both like a family of ducks up the back stairs to the first-floor library of well-stocked shelves and wood paneling that lent an air of privacy and seclusion. The few seats were plushly upholstered wing chairs that recalled baroque Louis Quatorze style, favored by the original owners. They—Inès knew from Amber—had once been aristocrats, a few of whom had been hunted, imprisoned, and died on the guillotine. They were the family of Vivienne, Countess of Appleby, and half-sister to the notorious French agent—and Drury Lane actress—Charmaine Massé.
Charmaine, who knew La Mère…
Inès suppressed her shiver at the memory of the woman. She was not here for the spy. She constantly blocked the creature from her mind, once, twice, three times a day. She could not tolerate much fear in her days or nights—and she strove diligently to control her mind. She had work to do. With Evan, she would accomplish it. Durham was here to help.
I need only success. Only Luc free.
She took the chair Gaspard offered. Evan took another near her.
Gaspard faced them. “I will arrange for you to take rooms with a friend. You will go. Whatever you are about, you need solitude. I will assure you of it. Now. Brandy?”
They accepted with small smiles.
When he returned with a tray laden with three servings of golden liquid, he offered them their glasses and sat opposite them. “Never too early in the day for a fine drink, eh?”
“Our supply of good cognac in Britain is very small,” Evan told him, raising high his glass in honor of the welcome.
“I can imagine. We drink our own and congratulate ourselves that we have good spirits to drink, if not to celebrate.” He sipped from his own glass. “Tell me what you require and it will be yours.”
“We need information,” Evan said. “We have only one mission here. We intend to do it quickly and leave. We cannot risk the gendarmes.”
“Nor any suspicion by the secret police.” Inès had learned while in Boulogne how Vaillancourt had tripled the number of his agents here in his own country. Since she had left, she predicted, he had added many more. “We must be invisible to Vaillancourt.”
Gaspard sat back, his pale gaze shrouded with terror. “Does he know your face, my dear Collette?”
She swallowed her memory of how Vaillancourt had taken her arm and led her away one day in Boulogne while she wished only to play for the assembled admirals and generals. “He does.”
Gaspard inhaled mightily, then sat forward. “I read in the scandal sheets what he attempted to do to your friend, Augustine Bolton, and her lover, the Earl of Ashley. I was witness to what he tried to do to Amber St. Antoine. Her Lord Ramsey brought her here to hide from Vaillancourt when she was so ill. She thought that devil had poisoned her.”
