never pretended to be a saint.
Hell, the list of his sins would stretch from here to Hades and back again. Still, bad as he was, he didn’t usually sink so low as to fantasize about seducing a virgin. Tightening his grip on the cards, Marco fought down a twinge of guilt. He was debauched but not depraved. His bedmates were all equally jaded souls who understood the rules of their naughty games. Expect nothing more than a moment of fleeting pleasure.
Despite the strange rippling of darkness he sometimes saw in her gaze, Kate Woodbridge was not of his world. The hint of hidden secrets was just an illusion. She was a creature of the day and he was a creature of the night. Her passion was for living, growing things, while his own soul had long since shriveled to dust.
Causing a death, no matter if it was accidental, changed one’s life forever.
A whispering of silk fanned the fire to a sudden blaze of burnt-gold flames. Kate rose along with her elderly friend and smoothed her skirts over her hips.
Marco imagined his hands tracing those same shapely contours and curves, and suddenly all his good intentions seemed to fall by the wayside. It wasn’t as if he was actually going to deflower the lady, he rationalized. Just tease a touch or two over her lovely petals. She wasn’t so innocent that she had never experienced a man’s advances. As a connoisseur of female reactions, he knew she had been kissed before.
And enjoyed it, no matter that she tried to hide her reaction.
So surely there was no real harm in a little sporting flirtation…
A nudge brought him back to the game at hand. “Your turn to play, Ghiradelli.”
Choosing a discard at random, he tossed it down.
His partner groaned and shot him a pained look.
Shoving himself back from the table, Marco stood up and relinquished his chair. Kate and her friend had just bade her grandfather good night and left the room. “If you don’t mind, I think I shall step outside for a smoke.”
He was not alone in abandoning the formality of the duke’s drawing room. A set of French doors led out to the stone terrace, where a handful of other gentlemen were already lighting up cigars. The flare of the glowing coals dotted the deepening twilight, like oversized fireflies in the night. A cool breeze ruffled through the greenery bordering the balustrades, mingling the pungent tobacco smoke with the subtle fragrance of roses and hyacinth.
Someone had brought a bottle of brandy with him, and the soft splash of the spirits passed from glass to glass. The mood was always a bit reserved at the beginning of a large house party, as guests became acquainted and assessed whose company was worth keeping. It was particularly true for this gathering, thought Marco as he lounged against the railing and surveyed the others with an air of casual nonchalance.
It would not be easy to see beneath the diplomatic smiles, the practiced lies, to discern who were allies and who were enemies.
All the more reason to keep his mind on his work, Marco reminded himself. With Lynsley already thinking that he was slipping, he couldn’t afford a misstep.
Russia in league with Prussia. Austria taking sides with the Kingdom of Saxony. France, in the form of the legendary Prince Charles-Maurice de Talleyrand, determined to have a say in how the new map of Europe would be drawn. Blowing out a mouthful of smoke, Marco made a mental review of the reports that he had read. Lynsley must suspect that some intrigue was afoot here. The marquess did not waste time or resources on mere conjecture.
Vronskov and Von Seilig did not seem overly friendly, but appearances could, of course, be deceiving. Rochambert merited close observation, for France needed to forge an alliance with one of the other European powers in order to have a bargaining chip at the peace conference table. And then, the Spanish and Danish envoys were minor players… or were they?
As Marco surveyed the smiling faces, he couldn’t help wondering what scheming was going on beneath the surface show of unity.
Deceit and deception. Politics was an ugly business, especially when the stakes were so high. So was espionage, he admitted. But at least he believed that he was toiling for a higher good. There wasn’t much in his life that he was proud of. However, his work with Lynsley was the one exception.
“A pleasant evening, though a trifle dull compared to the delights