Well, she would tell him what she really thought later. He kissed her neck lightly—because who could resist?—let go of the glass, and stepped back. “I should get back to my duties. As for that—I assume you do know what kind of viper you’re nursing in your bosom?”
“I always do.”
He felt her quicksilver eyes on his back as he walked toward the buffet table, passing the marquis and Jenny Pursleigh on his way.
From the gestures Sacreval was making, he appeared to have just finished describing the latest Parisian sleeve as Solomon drew within hearing range. “—would look lovely in Paris styles. In France, you know, the women wear only one petticoat.”
“Really?” She smiled mischievously. “I think Pursleigh would like that. It would be so much cheaper, and he is always complaining about how much I cost. His tenants are not at all industrious.”
The marquis looked rather sardonic. If this was all a cover, it really was a good one. Solomon’s money was still on the viscount.
Lady Pursleigh looked at her cards. “I think it is my trick again, René!”
The marquis sighed and passed over a sovereign. “At this rate you will have enough for a dozen petticoats, my dear. And that would be a shame.”
She giggled. There was silence, and then Lady Pursleigh reached out and put a hand on Sacreval’s arm. “You—you do think it’s all a sham about Boney putting our troops to flight? You do think Wellington will thrash him, don’t you?”
Sacreval covered her hand with his own, and she looked thrilled. “Of course, my dear. You must be brave.”
After that, the evening dragged. Solomon and Elijah flanked the buffet table, too far apart to carry on a conversation. Elijah watched Sacreval and Lady Pursleigh like a hawk, as if he suspected that at any moment Sacreval might bolt, or perhaps begin communicating with one or the other of the Pursleighs using secret hand gestures, Solomon wasn’t sure.
Serena seemed to be having a good time, or else she feigned it beautifully. She didn’t dance much. Solomon wondered if she had ever learned any of the newer dances. But she flirted madly with one enchanted gentleman after another, fluttering her fan and dipping her blond head and, if Solomon could judge from across the room, laughing that soft, husky little laugh. She sent them to fetch her things from the buffet table every so often—lobster patties and strawberries, mostly. It made him jealous as hell, but—it was nice, too. As herself, she would have been the subject of leers and snubs and speculations. As an anonymous angel, she could have fun—so long as she refrained from being herself. He wondered how she felt about that. Was she grateful for the reprieve, or did she feel stifled by it?
“Can you keep your eyes off her for five seconds?” Elijah hissed, under cover of restacking some rolls that had fallen out of their basket. “If Sacreval notices, he’ll know it’s her and we’ll be rumbled.”
“Well, maybe you should stop staring at Sacreval, then!” Solomon hissed back, stung. “He’s bound to notice, and what reason can he possibly imagine?”
Elijah flushed a deep red and went back to his side of the table, leaving Solomon pleased that he had had the last word for once. Really, he hoped Elijah’s surveillance was usually subtler than this, or his career as a spy would not be long.
It was nearly eleven before Pursleigh and Sacreval sat down to play. This deck, too, was brought by a servant.
“Damn,” Elijah said. “Does he have a servant in his pay, too?”
Solomon looked at him. “They’re his servants, Li. They’re already in his pay.”
Elijah was opening his mouth to retort when they saw it. They saw Pursleigh pull two sheets of paper from his pocket and rip them both in four pieces. They saw him have a pen brought to the table. They saw him write something on the first piece and pass it over to the marquis, who looked at it carefully under the candle and smiled. “Where did he get that paper?” Elijah hissed furiously.
Solomon couldn’t believe it either. “He must have got it when Ravi was out on the balcony.”
“This is a nightmare. Anything could be written on those papers in invisible ink. He could be writing anything on them right now and no one would think it was anything more than an IOU.”
“Well, Sacreval is putting it in his pocket. We’ll just have to steal it