For the last few years he had been working as a clandestine agent for Lynsley. The marquess’s position as a minor minister at Whitehall disguised his true role as head of a secret government intelligence force. Most people thought him a bland bureaucrat, but Marco knew better. Some of the stories he had heard about Lynsley’s youthful exploits were… impressive, to say the least.
“Have a seat,” said the marquess, indicating one of the comfortable leather chairs set near a bank of arched leaded-glass windows. He took up a portfolio of papers from his desk and perched a hip on the polished oak. “I assume you haven’t been so busy with your personal affairs that you are unaware of the upcoming Congress of European powers that is scheduled to take place in Vienna. Some of the delegations are already in place.”
“Yes, I’m aware of the Congress,” said Marco, repressing a yawn. “But the whores at the Grotto of Venus make Vienna and a gathering of pompous aristocrats seem very far away.”
The marquess regarded him over the top of his gold-rimmed reading spectacles. “Shall I ask McDuffy to undertake this assignment? Your European title and connections would be extremely useful, but the job is going to require discretion, diplomacy, and a sharp eye for observing the nuances of behavior. None of which seems to be your strong points of late.”
Marco straightened from his slouch. “You think I can’t rise to the occasion?”
One well-groomed brow arched. “If I were asking you to infiltrate a brothel, there would be little question about whether you could function effectively.”
“What is the blasted mission?” he asked. “It must be damn important, seeing as you summoned me here at the crack of dawn.”
Lynsley took a handful of documents out of the case, but made no move to pass them over. “The Foreign Office has arranged for a lavish house party to be held at a country estate in Kent. The guests will include a number of diplomats from the various foreign embassies here in London, as well as some influential noblemen from the Continent.”
He pursed his lips in thought. “It may turn out to be a purely social gathering, but with the Congress of Vienna slated to convene in short order, I think it prudent to know what is being said and done among the various European powers. If some intrigue is afoot, we need to know about it.”
“A damn house party.” Marco sank back against the soft leather, feeling disappointed. He was restless and bored. What he needed was action to distract him from mindless revelries.
Paper crackled as the marquess started to return the documents to the portfolio. “I had asked that your name be added to the guest list.” Lynsley’s voice was unruffled, but Marco thought he detected a note of reproach.
But perhaps it was just his own conscience speaking. Lynsley did not ask a favor lightly. To balk was churlish.
“However,” continued Lynsley, “I shall request that the Duke of Cluyne replace it with that of McDuffy.”
Cluyne. Despite the brandy still pickling his brain, Marco recognized the name. “Isn’t he the grandfather of Kate Woodbridge, who is part of my cousin Alessandra’s circle of scientific friends?”
“Yes.”
The prospect of a house party no longer seemed quite so bland.
He held out his hand. “Let me have a look at your bloody notes. McDuffy is as clumsy as a Highland ox when it comes to understanding the nuances of Continental manners. He’ll make a muck of the job.”
The marquess fixed him with a penetrating stare. “If you are looking for bed sport, stay here in London. This assignment isn’t about playing with your bat and balls. I need someone who will not be distracted from the task at hand.” His expression hardened. “Not to speak of the fact that Miss Woodbridge is not fair game. The duke would have your guts for garters. And I’d be lending him my tailor to sew the stitches.”
Marco felt the sting of Lynsley’s words. “Granted, I haven’t been acting very professionally of late,” he admitted. “But you can count on me to… come up to scratch, so to speak.”
The marquess regarded him for a long moment before slowly handing over the papers. “Here are the dossiers on the guests whom I wish to watch.” His gaze was as cold as slivered ice. “I trust you won’t make me regret this decision.”
Marco felt its chill penetrate through his usual cocksure banter. The marquess was in no mood for joking.