“Yes,” answered Charlotte without hesitation. “We know better than to underestimate Kurlansky as an adversary.” The evening breeze ruffled through the nearby trees, setting off a waggle of leafy whispers. “I’m not sure that his objectives will lead him to cross paths with us, but we must stay alert to the possibility.” A sigh. “However, a more immediate challenge looms. While Wrex works on solving Greeley’s murder, we must try to discern whether there are any treacherous shoals and eddies hidden beneath the Taviot consortium’s glittering promises.”
Cordelia leaned back, throwing her face into shadow. “And let us hope we spot them,” she muttered darkly, “before we’re caught in dangerous crosscurrents.”
“Hmmph.” The dowager waggled her cane. “If any enemies seek to sink our mission, they will find themselves in for a rude surprise.”
CHAPTER 14
Seeing von Münch come to a halt, Wrexford quickened his steps over the tangled grasses and brambles. “Why don’t you let me go first from here?”
They had left the well-tended footpath to make their way to the rounded jut of land that stuck out into the lake. Though it was called Duck Island, it was really a peninsula, as a narrow finger of overgrown earth and unpruned trees kept it connected to the rest of the park.
The isolated place was, however, not an area that attracted gentlemen of the ton. Dark and uninviting, it had an aura of wildness about it. As a breeze swirled, thorns scraped at their shoes, and gnarled branches clawed at their coats.
The librarian ceded his place with a grateful nod. “A perfect place for privacy,” he whispered, his face hidden in the shadows. The dancing lights of the party looked very far away as they started forward.
Raising his voice slightly, von Münch gave a tentative hail. “Monsieur Dalambert?”
The only answer was a rustling of leaves.
Wrexford looked around, feeling a niggling of unease. “Stay behind me,” he cautioned, then slowly pushed his way through the tangle of bushes.
“Monsieur Dalambert?” This time the call from von Münch was louder and more urgent.
“I’m here,” came the answer. Twigs snapped as a figure stepped out from the leafy shadows into a tiny clearing bordered by a cluster of low bushes that sloped down to the water’s edge.
The Frenchman, noted Wrexford, was dressed in the height of fashion—a snugly tailored coat of claret-colored wool, high shirt points, an elaborate cravat trimmed in lace. His face looked to have turned a bit fleshy, but his eyes appeared sharp.
“Thank you for coming—” began von Münch.
“This is not a social visit,” said Dalambert curtly. “We need not go through the motions of polite pleasantries.” The Frenchman’s gaze was on the earl, not the librarian. “Herr von Münch explained the circumstances of your request, and I agreed to see you because as a former soldier I can’t help but feel a disgust for any man who would betray his comrades for money. And I sympathize with your quest for justice. But I would prefer to finish with our business as quickly as possible.”
“As would I, monsieur,” replied Wrexford.
“I make no apologies for my actions during the war. One makes use of any opportunity to gain an advantage over one’s enemy,” continued Dalambert. “However, now that our countries are at peace, I feel that in good conscience I may tell you what I know.”
Catching a flutter of movement in the darkness just across the narrow stretch of water separating Duck Island from the edge of the park and Horse Guards Road, Wrexford suddenly shifted and took a moment to survey the area.
“I was told that this part of the park is deserted at night,” said the Frenchman as he noticed the earl’s reaction.
The earl saw nothing. And yet his time serving in military intelligence had taught him that survival often depended on trusting one’s sixth sense for trouble.
“Yes, it usually is,” he replied. “But it’s always prudent to err on the side of caution.”
“Perhaps we are both on edge,” muttered Dalambert. “As I was leaving the festivities to make my way down here, I thought someone was following me.” A shrug. “But it was just a drunken reveler who stumbled off toward Pall Mall.”
“Just give me the name of the traitor, sir.” The earl kept an eye on the edge of the park as he spoke. “And we can both be on our way.”
As Dalambert slipped a hand into his coat pocket, a dull boom suddenly shivered through the air, and a burst of fireworks momentarily lit the sky. At the same instant, Wrexford saw a spark of light on the far side of the water. He reacted in an instant, lunging forward and knocking both Dalambert and von Münch to the ground.
The Frenchman lay still for a moment—and then began to chuckle as he levered to his hands and knees. “It’s simply the fireworks, milord. Though I understand how a civilian would react to the unexpected sound of gunpowder exploding.”
Wrexford rose and reached down to help Dalambert up, noting that von Münch was already on his feet. “As I said,” responded the earl, “it’s prudent to err on the side of caution.” He drew the Frenchman into the trees and motioned for the librarian to follow. “I trust you’re unharmed.”
“My cravat’s knot may have suffered a mortal injury,” replied the Frenchman dryly. “But aside from that I am perfectly fine.” He brushed away the bits of leaves clinging to his sleeve. “You have excellent reflexes, milord.”
The librarian said nothing but glanced back across the water.
“Getting back to business . . .” Dalambert once again reached into his pocket. “I oversaw intelligence operations from general headquarters, and our operations were run so that only the officer in the field knew his informant’s actual identity. So I can’t tell you a name.”
