His self-mocking smile was reflected in the glass. “I assume it’s Von Seilig, Vronskov, and Rochambert that you wish to watch most closely.”
“Precisely,” replied Lynsley. “But that does not mean I have ruled out the others. Someone else may also be intent on making mischief.”
“I rather hope so,” said Marco. “Otherwise the assignment is going to be a dead bore.” Rising, he gave a lazy stretch. “Well, seeing as I have to depart on the day after tomorrow, I had better sate myself with London’s pleasures while I still have the chance.”
“Marco—”
“Yes, yes, amico, I know.” He gave a martyred sigh. “I must be good while I am in Kent. But in the meantime, allow me a last little fling at being bad.”
Chapter Five
Kate hurried across the street, anxious to purchase several newly published reference books for the trip to Kent before the tiny shop closed for its midday break.
“Sort of like carrying coals to Newcastle,” said her maid, looking around at the crowded cases and leather-bound volumes stacked on the floor. “I mean, it seems a mite odd that ye need to buy any books. Your grandfather’s library in the country looks like it holds every word ever printed.”
“The particular ones I want have just arrived from the university at St. Andrews. Charlotte is most anxious to see them.” After making her selections, Kate consulted her list of other errands. “We must fetch a package at the milliner and then make a stop at the mantua maker.”
Alice nodded. “You forgot about Madame Celeste’s shop. She has made up three new evening gowns for your grandfather’s house party.”
“Right.” Kate made a face. “I’d be happy enough to pass the time in my work smock and wooden clogs.”
“I doubt His Nibs would approve of sitting down with his fancy company dressed in dirt.”
“Right,” repeated Kate tightly. “I’m already a stain on his name.”
Her maid shot her a reproving look.
Heaving a sigh, Kate tucked the paper back into her reticule. “Don’t worry, I will be a dutiful granddaughter and behave spotlessly in Kent. But if I am to be cooped up with a houseful of boring diplomats for a fortnight, I would like to use my last afternoon in London to get a breath of fresh air.”
“Miss Katharine,” began Alice, a note of warning shading her voice.
“I have hours before His Grace requires my presence for supper.”
Alice frowned. “But you—”
“Yes, yes, I know—I must be very careful. And I am!” replied Kate. “I am always well-shrouded when we leave the duke’s residence, and we always take a hansom cab, so I don’t see that the risk is very great.”
“I suppose not,” said Alice grudgingly. “But I still say you are taking a risk.”
“Yes, well, without an occasional risk to spice things up, life would be dreadfully bland here in England.”
Marco stood on the edge of a crumbling walkway, staring down at the dark, swirling water. The tide had just shifted, turning the currents treacherous along this stretch of the river. Clouds scudded overhead, and as the gusting wind shifted, a damp chill slapped against his face.
Turning up his collar, he felt his mood sinking, sucked into the murky depths by a potent vortex of brandy, boudoirs, and brooding.
Perhaps Lynsley was right—of late, he had been teetering on a razor’s edge, his thoughts and his actions threatening to spin out of control. One wild risk after another. That was dangerous—both for himself and for others. With a clench of self-loathing, he flexed his bruised shoulder and winced. On the recent mission to Scotland, he had nearly lost an arm, escaping the explosion of gunpowder by the skin of his teeth. He had set the fuse a hair too short. Next time…
“A diavolo,” muttered Marco. Perhaps next time—the next real assignment, not a damnable house party—he would lose his head. Few would mourn the passing of the arrogant, abrasive Conte of Como. Hell, he annoyed everyone.
Including himself.
Pressing his fingertips to his temples, he tried to massage away the dull ache in his head. He had spent the night at one of the seamier gaming haunts in the nearby slums, winning and then losing a great deal of blunt. Come morning… he winced, vaguely remembering a room draped in red silk and a lady draped in nothing at all. Save for a cloud of expensive French perfume.
The musky floral scent still clinging to his coat was making his stomach feel a little queasy. Its sweetness