“How is the weather today?” a pleasant male voice asked.
“A bit too windy for my taste,” she answered.
The pass code uttered, the door opened. Danielle stepped inside a spartan room that contained a silver sideboard, a desk, two chairs, and a wall full of bookshelves.
Mr. Groggs, the secretary who’d opened the door, stepped back. “The general will see you.”
She stepped to the next door. It was made of sturdy wood and boasted a knocker in the shape of a lion’s head. She knocked once there, too.
“Come in,” a deep, authoritative voice answered.
She squared her shoulders and swallowed, then stepped inside.
She shut the door behind her.
The dark-haired man sat facing the opposite direction, staring out the window across the mews behind the building. His large chair swiveled. He was a giant of a man, tall, broad, dark. General Mark Grimaldi. This man had secrets. Secrets she didn’t want to contemplate. She’d known him since she was a lass of fifteen. He hadn’t been much older at the age of twenty-three. She’d been dressed as a lad, having joined a gang of smugglers in France at the ripe age of thirteen. Smugglers made money. Smugglers had connections. A smuggler could get her to England to save her mother who had been taken there as a prisoner, unjustly accused of her father’s murder. It had left Danielle a virtual orphan. The smugglers had been her only choice, but smugglers weren’t about to take agirlinto their ranks. She’d done what she had to do. She’d dressed as a lad, cut her hair short, and took her first foray into doing what she must to make money.
Grimaldi, who hadn’t been a general at the time, had dragged her kicking and screaming off a French smuggler’s ship and asked her a stream of questions in fluent French. When she’d answered in similarly fluent English with an angry, narrowed gaze and not a hint of an accent, his eyebrows had risen in admiration.
He’d taken her to a small room outside a warehouse and privately questioned her. He’d ensured she was comfortable, given her tea—the English loved their tea—and biscuits and made certain the cut on her cheek was seen to by a real doctor. Then he’d asked her a series of questions, this time in English. She’d answered in French. She hadn’t given much away and felt pleased with herself, smug. She certainly hadn’t admitted to any crime. After two hours of interrogation, she stood to leave, hoping against hope the Englishman wouldn’t stop her and arrest her for smuggling.
“I’ll just be leaving now, Captain,” she’d said.
She’d got as far as the door when his voice, smooth as cream but dangerous as a coiled snake, stopped her. “I’m impressed, Mr. Cross.”
“Impressed by what, Captain?” Her hand shook against the door handle. She was so close to freedom.
“Impressed by your eloquence. Your lack of an accent when speaking either English or French. Your intelligence in one so young.”
“Thank you, Captain.” She’d pulled open the door and took one step outside.
“Don’t you want to hear what I’mmostimpressed with, Mr. Cross?”
She gulped, but forced herself to face him, pinning a fake, bored expression on her face. “What’s that, Captain?” She crossed her arms over her chest and waited.
“I’m most impressed that you’ve been able to convince a boatload of French smugglers that you’re aladfor God knows how long.”
And that had been that. She’d gasped, shut the door, and resumed her seat in front of him. In the two years since her mother’s arrest, she’d never had one person guess her secret. Not one. This man had sussed it out in less than two hours.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Captain. Perhaps the sea air has made youfou.”
“I’m not insane. Spare us both, Mr. Cross. Or should I say, mademoiselle? Don’t make me rip open your shirt to prove I’m right.”
Her eyes flashed fire at him. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“It’s not my first choice, but I’ll do what I must. Try me.”
“What do you want?” she shot at him.
“It’s quite simple. I want your help.”
An unlikely allegiance had been born that day, between a French girl and an English spy. She would do anything to save her mother. Ten years later, Danielle was still visiting the general. He was still her employer. Her mother was safe, but the man who had murdered her father was still at large and Danielle intended to bring him to justice.
“Good to see you, Cross.” Grimaldi turned in his seat to face her.
“You rang,” she intoned with a smirk. They both knew he only asked her to see him in person if it was important.Quiteimportant. They never risked such meetings otherwise.
“I did.”
