“And now you are old and wise and never make mistakes,” Tamsyn said in a dulcet tone. Turning serious, she continued, “I feel this mission could be very simple and straightforward. Or it might not. There is the potential for complications.”
“If so, we’ll deal with them. Lord Whitworth has the reputation of being a reasonable man, which helps. I don’t know about Lady Whitworth. Have you met her?”
“Yes, and she’s a capable woman, but her first husband was a duke and that left her with an exaggerated opinion of her consequence. She would not take kindly to a guard who was lowborn, which is why I’m needed.” After a pause, Tamsyn continued, “That’s one of the reasons I need to go to France with you. I’m not sure about the other reasons.”
The back of his neck prickled. Yes, there were likely to be serious complications on the mission.
Luckily, he was very good at dealing with complications.
CHAPTER2
Paris
Traveling at the fastest possible speed, Tamsyn and Cade reached Paris and hired Moreau, a craggy and gifted French driver, to take them to the British embassy. Moreau was part of a loose network of gifted people spread across Europe. The fact that most of the gifted had experienced trouble because of their talents created bonds with others like them, and they helped each other as needed.
“Not far now to the British embassy,” Moreau said, speaking around the clay pipe stem clamped between his teeth.
Tamsyn gazed at the tall houses that loomed on both sides of the street. One of her gifts was sensing emotions. Often she kept that ability tamped down because the feelings of others could be overwhelming, but today she was deliberately listening to the city around her. “Paris seems very tense,” she said thoughtfully. “Most people worry about the coming war, but others find the prospect exciting. I feel a desire to fight and triumph over France’s enemies.”
“The First Consul has a gift for inspiration,” Moreau said gruffly. “For making men, especially young ones, feel that it is France’s destiny to rule all of Europe and beyond.”
“Do women share the lust for conquest?” she asked.
“Some do. Most don’t. Men who have seen war usually prefer peace.” He pulled his pipe from his mouth and spat over the side of the carriage.
She realized that he’d lost someone close to him in the earlier wars. His brother, perhaps?
“France is a mountain of tinder waiting for the spark to set it afire,” Cade said. He and Tamsyn shared a glance. That was why they were here, after all.
The carriage turned into a wider street, revealing a rather shabby mansion surrounded by a high stone wall topped with iron spikes. The British flag flying on the gatehouse identified the property as the embassy.
The gatehouse was manned by a pair of British soldiers. They swung the gates open so a heavily loaded wagon could exit the embassy compound.
“The delegation is obviously packing up and pulling out.” Tamsyn surveyed the mansion. “Not very impressive for a British embassy.”
“For years there was no British embassy in France,” Cade explained. “After the peace treaty was signed, both countries took their time establishing diplomatic relations, so Whitworth didn’t arrive in Paris until this past December. Rhys said there was a rush to find a walled estate within the city, and this was the best available at the time.”
“If they’ve been here for less than six months, they probably hadn’t even finished unpacking, and now they’re leaving,” Tam observed. “We live in uncertain times.”
After the wagon lumbered away, Moreau drove to the gatehouse. Cade showed his Home Office credentials to the sergeant in charge, who studied the document carefully before waving them through the gates.
Another wagon was parked in front of the embassy entrance and more boxes were being carried to it and packed. Moreau pulled up behind the wagon and said laconically, “I’ll wait here for a bit.”
Cade nodded thanks and stepped from the carriage, then turned to help Tamsyn to the ground. After he wielded the heavy knocker, they were admitted into a large reception room that was in a state of controlled chaos. Embassy servants were carrying in boxes and trunks, and eight or ten well-dressed men were pacing about anxiously and muttering to each other.
Tamsyn’s gaze went to the group of men. They were all British and desperate to get official passports signed by the ambassador and a high French official so they could leave France swiftly and without complications. She’d seen that sort of passport, and the engravings and signatures were very impressive, but she had a sense that the documents wouldn’t be half as much use to the men as they hoped.
They were approached by a brisk official with an air of command. He had a military bearing and was a few years older than Cade. “I’m Mr. Holland, the ambassador’s private secretary. Do you have business here? This is not a good time for courtesy calls.”
“We’re herebecauseit isn’t a good time.” Cade showed their credentials. When they traveled together, they had a variety of documents, some of which made it appear they were a married couple. People who assumed that were inclined to underestimate Tamsyn. Which was often useful.
“We need to speak with Lord Whitworth as soon as possible,” Cade said.
Holland handed back his credentials and beckoned a young clerk over. “Murray, take the lady and gentleman up to his lordship’s office.”
One of the waiting men said in a surly voice, “Why can they see the ambassador when we’ve been waiting for our passports for hours?”
“These visitors have other business with Lord Whitworth,” Mr. Holland said sternly. “Be patient. The passports will be ready soon.”
