Teresa Grant Read Free

“Hardly. My brother’s the diplomat in the family. Like your husband. Where’s he disappeared to?”
    “I fear I haven’t the least idea,” Suzanne said. “Though I thought perhaps Your Grace might.”
    Wellington gave her a shrewd look. “Possibly, my dear. Possibly. Don’t let it get about that I said so, but diplomats can often prove remarkably useful.”
    Despite the heat in the candle-warmed room, a chill coursed through her. She knew Wellington was fond of Malcolm. And she also knew the duke wouldn’t hesitate to sacrifice her husband or anyone else if he thought it necessary to achieve victory.
     
    Malcolm tightened his grip on La Fleur’s arm and kept stone-still until he could make out the shadowy form standing just inside the gate. Then he hurled himself across the garden in three strides, kicking up a hail of gravel, and knocked the man to the ground. They crashed through a hedge. Branches broke. Something prickly jabbed Malcolm in the eye. He gripped his fallen adversary by the shoulders. “Qui êtes-vous?”
    “Easy, Rannoch. Don’t take my head off.” The other man’s voice was hoarse but acerbic. “Your French is impeccable, but I know damn well it’s you.”
    Those incisive, mocking tones were unmistakable. Malcolm sat back on his heels. “Davenport. What the devil are you doing here?”
    “Warning you.” Harry Davenport pushed himself up to a sitting position and stared at La Fleur, who had crossed the garden to them. “You must be La Fleur. Hanging back from a fight that isn’t yours?”
    “Never know what the hell Rannoch’s up to. Seemed better to stay back. Who the devil are you?”
    “Lieutenant-Colonel Harry Davenport,” Malcolm said. “Aide-de-camp to the Duke of Wellington. Currently seconded to Colonel Grant.”
    Colquhoun Grant was the head of British military intelligence, keeping watch for movement of French troops near the border.
    “Grant sent me.” Davenport pulled himself free of the hedge and reached for his hat. “He intercepted a dispatch that implies the French may have broken one of our codes. Which means you could be compromised, La Fleur. We need to extract you tonight and get you back to Brussels.”
    “See here,” La Fleur said, “selling you information’s one thing. If you think I’m going to turn my back on everything—”
    “You should have thought of that before you started selling out your fellows,” Davenport said.
    La Fleur whirled on him, hand raised. “Damn you—”
    Malcolm grabbed La Fleur’s arm. “Who knows where—”
    Shots rang out. Malcolm flung himself down and heard Davenport and La Fleur slam into the gravel beside him.
    Davenport lifted his head. “What the devil—”
    Another shot whistled overhead from the direction of the garden wall. Malcolm rolled onto his back and fired off an answering shot.
    “Compromised, you say?” La Fleur aimed a shot at the wall. “What the hell have you got me into?”
    “Risks of the trade.” Davenport fired as well, as a fresh hail answered from the wall. Whoever they were, they had the devil’s own skill at reloading.
    Malcolm jammed fresh powder into his pistol. A cry sounded from above, and he caught a glimpse of stirring blue fabric and pale hair. A light glowed behind one of the windows of the château. What the devil—
    La Fleur flung himself over Malcolm just as a fresh volley rang out. Malcolm felt the impact of the bullet that struck La Fleur, an instant before the other man collapsed on top of him.

2
    “ S uzanne.” Georgiana Lennox, the petite, elfin-faced third daughter of the Duke and Duchess of Richmond, fell upon Suzanne, dragging Malcolm’s cousin Aline Blackwell by the hand. “What have you learned? What was the duke saying?”
    “Everything to be charming and reassuring, nothing of substance.” Suzanne met the gaze of the chief footman and nodded to him to open more champagne.
    Georgiana groaned. “No matter now much ice water Wellington has in his