A Cantata of Love (The Code Breakers 4) (13 page)

Michael stared at his Oxford compatriots, whose life interests were women, gambling, and boxing. Neither of them were remotely interested in opera or Madame Abney. Their tastes ran more to voluptuous opera dancers. Only a new opera dancer would have enticed these two to abandon a gambling den.

“I’m here to see her too,” Michael joked. “I’ve heard her high C is spectacular.”

Fenton snorted and Chalmers guffawed loudly, drawing the entire audience’s attention to their box. Being in the company of his rakish friends would work well in hiding his real purpose in pursuing the prima donna.

Fenton bent over and placed his hand on Michael’s forehead. “Did you suffer a brain fever while in France?”

Michael tried not to show any reaction to how close Fenton was to the truth.

Chalmers turned his chair to face Michael with his back to the stage. “You always were cagey.” Chalmers pointed to Gabby’s box. “He has the perfect view. Pretending he came for the music…” Chalmers shook his head. “His box is directly across from the delicate flower.”

Fenton indolently sat back in the chair and crossed his legs. “He wants her for himself.”

Chalmers guffawed again. Had his friend always been this loud?

Michael’s irritation with his friends was mounting at a pace with their loathsome implications. These two idiots couldn’t possibly have attended the opera because of Gabby.

“Hate to break it you, old chap, but Weston beat you.”

“Would either of you muffleheads tell me about whom you’re talking?”

Fenton clapped him on the back. “As if you don’t know.”

Chalmers leaned out of the box, looking down in the pit. “You’re trying to make us believe you didn’t just see the display of those fine womanly attributes.” Chalmers turned back with his hands held in front of him as if holding two oranges.

Although Chalmers outweighed and outsized him, Michael was going to mangle the giant before he killed him.

Fenton took a whiskey flask out of his pocket. “I thought Hopwood was going to have a heart seizure.”

“If you two pop-in-jays don’t explain what you’re talking about, I swear I’ll…”

“No need to name call.” Chalmers then took out his flask and guzzled whiskey. He handed the silver flask to Michael, who now was in need of strong alcohol. Chalmers took another swig after Michael. “You’ll what?”

“Tell me who you are referring to now.” His face must be turning purple by now from the strain of “communicating” with his dense friends.

Fenton slowly inspected Michael’s face. “You really don’t know?”

“Would I be asking you if I knew?”

“Mademoiselle Gigot, newly arrived from Paris.”

Barbarity and violence conflagrated into a hot, fiery ball in Michael’s chest. He had never in all the years of friendship hated his friends as he did at this moment.

Fenton pulled at his cravat. “Why aren’t you escorting mademoiselle for her first night in society? She lives with Rathbourne’s sister, and with your sister being married to Rathbourne you should have beat Weston out.”

“He’s keeping his distance, obviously, since he’s worried he’ll get caught in the marriage trap,” Chalmers ventured.

“Weston is looking for a wife?” Fenton untied his cravat. “But what about Weston’s affair with Lady Sauvage?”

“I never believed it would last. Weston wasn’t the lady’s usual type. Rumor is that she has unique interests,” Chalmers added.

“I bet I could get her to sing high C.” Fenton chuckled before he took another swig of whiskey.

Michael didn’t need to say anything, which at this moment was a good thing. Fenton and Chalmers kept the conversation going without any response from him.

“Confess, Kendal. Too close for comfort? Worried Rathbourne will force you to get leg shackled?” Fenton squinted, trying to get Michael’s face in focus and clearly not at all in tune to Michael’s foul mood.

“Might not be a problem. I heard Ashworth is her protector,” Chalmers said.

“Damn, Chalmers, you’re an idiot. Ashworth will kill you if you repeat that to anyone else,” Fenton said.

Michael was going to kill Chalmers so it didn’t matter. Michael took a slow breath, trying to bring his out-of-control feelings back into control. He didn’t want to show any reaction and alert his friends to his interest in Gabby, since they would spread that gossip throughout London tomorrow. “How do you know so much about the lady?”

“I told you he was a cagey one.” Chalmers beamed in pleasure as if he had translated a Greek cypher.

Fenton ran his hand through his disheveled locks. “I can’t remember. Can you, Chalmers?”

Chalmers shifted in the small chair that barely accommodated him. “Weston. He’s been going on about her beauty in the clubs. He met her at a dress shop while he was with Lady Sauvage. The mademoiselle was with Lady Gwyneth and Miss Amelia.”

“You’re wrong, Chalmers. The first time we heard about her was at Mrs. Billingsworth’s home. Weston went on about how ravishing she was. I heard him say it was love at first sight,” Felton added.

“And he didn’t care if Lady Sauvage heard him,” Chalmers added.

“So you’ve met the chit at Rathbourne’s house? I was told her mother was friends with Rathbourne’s aunt,” Fenton said.

“I’ve not met her.” Michael adjusted the cuffs on his shirt. “I’ve been very busy with my own estate, since I was gone for months.”

“Then why are you here? And don’t try to hoodwink us that you like opera.”

“To meet Madame Abney. I’ve been told she’s a very attractive and unique woman.” Michael waggled his eyebrows. The implication would never be lost on those two, not after all their shared adventures.

Chalmers guffawed again. And Fenton said, “Now that sounds more like you, old man. For a while you had me worried.”

Chapter Fifteen

Irritated by the interruption to the salacious details of Josephine de Beauharnais’s latest affair, Joseph Fouché, barked, “I’m going to run you through.”

Lesser men,
most
men in fact, would have been screaming for their mothers in the line of fire of the Minister of Police’s ire. But not his assistant, who walked stiffly but quickly into the center of the spacious office.

Fouché looked across his ornate Louis XIV desk. “I told you I was not to be disturbed unless it was Napoleon himself.”

His efficient and ruthless assistant bowed. “Sir, I apologize…”

And right on the heels of his assistant was his rival, Charles Talleyrand, the Foreign Minister, who was as adroit as Fouché in retaining power during the constantly changing politics in France.

The look of shock on his assistant’s face at the Minister’s effrontery was worth the interruption. Anatole, a cold-blooded assassin, intimidated most of Paris, but obviously not Charles Talleyrand.

Fouché nodded to Anatole, who promptly turned and closed the door.

Confident that he was untouchable, even to Fouché, Talleyrand strode into the office. Fouché couldn’t chance disfavor with Napoleon by physically harming his top diplomat, but it didn’t stop Fouché from blatantly spying on Talleyrand’s activities and attempting at every opportunity to discredit the arrogant aristocrat.

Fouché quickly closed the report on his desk and placed the document in the drawer and locked it. His rapid actions weren’t lost on the observant Talleyrand.

“To what do I owe the honor of a visit from the Foreign Minister? It must be of great import to have you scurry away from your peace negotiations.”

His arch nemesis smiled. It never was fun to bait Talleyrand since he never responded, but it didn’t stop Fouché from trying to rattle the poised diplomat.

“The First Consul has sent me to express his concern over a matter he considers to be of vital importance.”

Fouché was always entertained by the diplomat’s indirect manner of speaking. In contrast, Fouché’s manner was direct—blackmail, assassins, torture.

“Indeed, please be seated. A brandy?”

Talleyrand inspected the Fragonard pastoral scene mounted behind Fouché’s desk. Fouché, adroit at reading people, saw the flicker of surprise in Talleyrand’s eyes. Talleyrand assumed that he was too uncouth to appreciate a masterpiece. The Foreign Minister most likely assumed that Fouché, with his violent nature, would have scenes from the Spanish inquisition. Fouché favored those graphic and gory depictions for his bedroom.

“No brandy.” Talleyrand flicked his wrist. “I won’t be long.”

Fouché sat behind his desk with his Baccarat glass filled with the heavy Armagnac. He leaned back against his chair with a practiced nonchalance despite his heart pounding, searching his mind for what would have precipitated the sudden appearance of the Foreign Minister.

“Bonaparte wants information from your vast resources.”

“Of course, I am at the First Consul’s service.”

As Minister of Police, his network of spies kept him informed on everything that happened in France and throughout Europe. Napoleon might be the First Consul, but Fouché, with his humble beginnings, had amassed an empire of spies, thieves, criminals, and aristocrats, all of whom reported to him. Nothing of significance escaped his notice.

“You have detained Mother Therese for questioning. Why?”

His suddenly sweaty palms made him grip the glass tighter. “A nun? For questioning?”

“Don’t act like a coy virgin with me.”

Fouché took a slow sip, giving him time to consider the ramifications and possibilities of leverage with the information he possessed. “The First Consul is very interested in finding Mademoiselle de Valmont, isn’t that correct?”

Talleyrand fingered the enormous gold bishop’s ring he continued to wear, despite the fact that he openly lived with a married woman. Oh, yes. Fouché knew all the details of his affair.

“Now I recall. I thought the nun might know the location of Mademoiselle de Valmont.”

Here was the tricky part. Valmont had hidden his sister in the convent to protect her from Fouché. Did Talleyrand know that Fouché had tried to use the mademoiselle to blackmail Valmont to work against Talleyrand and his espionage plans in England? He used Valmont, Talleyrand’s agent, as part of a bigger scheme to discredit Talleyrand in Napoleon’s eyes. If the First Consul ever learned of Fouché’s treason…

“Surely you know that Mademoiselle Gabrielle was placed in the convent for the last years by Valmont while he spied for you in England?” Fouché asked.

“No, I was not aware. And the reason why her brother felt a need to hide her?”

“I’ve no idea.” Fouché would never confess. This was the game of cat and mouse they played.

Stroking his weak chin, the Foreign Minister scrutinized Fouché’s face. Talleyrand and his spies probably already knew the reason.

“And has Mother Therese told you who Valmont was protecting his sister from?”

“No, she won’t speak.”

“You realize Mother Therese is from the Gascony family. Her brother is a high-ranking official. The First Consul is most displeased. You are to release her immediately.”

Fouché shrugged. He was finished with her anyway since he hadn’t been able to extract any useful information from her. Not that he would ever admit defeat by a nun.

“Did the sister give you leads on Mademoiselle de Valmont’s whereabouts?”

This was the tricky part. If he admitted he didn’t have anything, Talleyrand would never believe the lie and, at the same time, he needed to redeem himself in Napoleon’s eyes and give all appearances as if he were sharing vital information.

“The First Consul is still interested in marrying the girl to Jerome?”

“Yes, her brother’s fortune was taken out of the country. Napoleon wants the money and the girl.”

Fouché wanted to find the girl to prevent her from revealing that he had threatened to harm her if her brother didn’t do the dirty work in England. There was a small chance the girl didn’t know of his involvement.

“My belief is that she escaped with the English spy, Lord Kendal. It is the connection that would tie the nun to Mademoiselle’s disappearance. I’ve had my men looking for her and Kendal since they both disappeared from Paris.”

Talleyrand never wavered in his direct inspection of Fouché, watching for any indication of falsehood. “Yes, I believe that is the best avenue of inquiry.”

Not surprising. Talleyrand’s league of spies was also following Kendal.

“Anything else you’d like to share with the First Consul? He is most impatient to get this situation resolved.”

Definitely not his plan of killing the girl after he had gained access to her fortune. Since there were no remaining family members, it would be easy to convince the young girl to sign over the funds.

“Of course you will keep me informed of your activities and any information you’ve gleaned from your contacts.” Talleyrand stood, dismissing him.

Over his dead body. “I will serve the First Consul in every task.”

Chapter Sixteen

With the end of the first act of
La Merope
, the ladies rose from the velvet-covered gilt chairs. Gwyneth linked her arm with Gabby’s. “Let’s see if my husband remembered to order the champagne.”