“It is my practice to be careful, Count.”
Guy pulled back his coat to better display the bronze eagle pin nestled in the folds of his cravat. “The days grow long, and I find I miss the countryside, the charm of the wood.”
Forney’s eyes widened when he caught sight of the pin. He gave an oily smile and shook Guy’s hand. “Then I wasn’t wrong. You are one of us.”
“I had to be sure about you, Count. You understand?”
“Oui,indeed I do. We cannot be too careful.”
“The stakes are too high to be careless.”
“Bon. I shall take you this evening to meet the others. They have long since wished to meet you. Your exploits are legendary.”
Guy bowed. “You are too gracious.”
“We require your expertise in our quest to rescue Bonaparte. We must act with great speed before the English have him killed.”
“I should be happy to offer all the assistance I can. Where do we go to meet them?”
“My carriage will call for you. Where do you stay?”
“At Grillon’s Hotel in Albemarle Street,” Guy said.
“At ten of the clock, then.”
Guy emerged into the square. He glanced at the two women in the park who chatted beneath their parasols and continued. He must report to John. Tonight would put an end to the whole infernal scheme. He had no real faith in these so-called spies, for they appeared more like mischief makers. A plan to free Napoleon was bizarre. Their idolatry of Vincent seemed amateurish to him. Had the Home Secretary been ill informed? Yet, he surmised, amateurs they might be, but obsessed and determined they were, nonetheless.
He crossed the juncture of Henrietta and Margaret Streets and began to walk down Holles Street, making his way to Oxford Street, where he had a better chance of finding another hackney. The streets were busy with horsemen, and vehicles of all kinds. Many people walked the pavements visiting the shops. Guy cursed and stopped suddenly causing a peddler selling pies to give him a hopeful glance as he wandered past. A grand aqua carriage waited on the next corner, the four matched gray horses held by a liveried groom. Not only did this fit Hetty’s description of his sister’s carriage perfectly, it was surely the purple and blue of the duke’s livery. He was sure of it. He walked up to it. “Where is the Duchesse la Châteaudunn?”
Learning of her direction, Guy swiveled abruptly. The two women in the park, hidden behind parasols… Could it be? “Zut!” he muttered and strode back to the square. Had he not been so angry, he would have laughed at their stricken expressions. It was one thing for him to be in danger, but he would not have two of his favorite people in all the world drawn into the arena.
“And what might you be doing here?” he asked in glacial tones.
“I took the duchess to meet a friend of mine, but she is not at home.” Hetty’s face flushed crimson, and she refused to meet his gaze.
“You are a very bad liar, Hetty,” Guy said. He raised his brows at his sister. “Who is behind this absurd notion?”
“I am,” Hetty blurted.
“Non. ’Twas I.” Genevieve revealed a sisterly lack of fear at his wrath. “You are in trouble. We wish to help.”
He ground his teeth. “You can help enormously.”
Two sets of pretty eyes looked at him in fascination. “How?” Hetty asked in a breathless voice.
“By going home and staying there.”
“Oh.” She looked at Genevieve, who made a moue with her lips.
“Then you don’t deny you are in trouble?” Genevieve asked.
“I do deny it. You are being absurd. Allow me to escort you both to your carriage.”
“But where do you go? Why don’t you come with us now?”
“Because I have a prior engagement. You are both outrageous. Must I tell you every detail of my life?”
When his sister began to object in a flood of voluble French, Guy held up his hand. “Assez!”
