of London.” Lord Tappan crossed the tiles and paused to flick a bit of ash from his cigar. “No doubt things will become a bit livelier.”
“So I would imagine,” replied Marco blandly.
Tappan smoked in silence for a few moments. “As you heard, I plan to ride over to my estate tomorrow morning in order to fetch several books for Miss Woodbridge and her friend. Would you care to join me?”
“Why not?”
“Excellent. I shall meet you in the stables at eight.” After another few puffs, Tappan drifted away.
Yet another relationship to sort out, thought Marco as he resumed his study of the other guests. Tappan’s exact role had not been spelled out by Lynsley. He might have been asked to share his ministry’s information on the foreigners. Or he might have been asked to keep an eye on Marco’s behavior and report any dereliction of duty. Espionage was a dirty business. No emotion, no rules, no remorse. Which was why it suited him to perfection.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Lord Allenham step out into the night, accompanied by his sister, the widowed Countess of Duxbury. In the light of the oil lamps flanking the doorway, the coppery gleam of his curling side whiskers clashed with his florid complexion. A big, beefy man, the baron had a look of well-fed complacency about him. And yet, there was a certain hungry light in his eyes.
Like a man looking to snap up a tasty morsel, no matter how full his ample stomach was.
From Lynsley’s notes on the guest list, Marco knew that Allenham sat on the governing board of the Northern Mercantile Exchange, a highly profitable private trading company that dealt in shipbuilding supplies from the Baltic region. Timber, turpentine, pine tar—all were critical commodities for the British Admiralty, which maintained the most powerful navy in the world. And as the Empire spread to the far corners of the globe, new merchant fleets would be needed to carry the English way of life to the new colonies.
The baron looked around briefly, then headed straight for where Von Seilig stood sipping his wine.
Marco waited a moment before beginning a leisurely stroll along the length of the outer railing. Prussia controlled some of the most important commercial ports on the North Sea. But if the rumors were true, and a new state of Poland was created at the Congress in Vienna, then the trade agreements could change dramatically in the region. It would be interesting to overhear what the two gentlemen had to say to each other.
Edging closer, keeping to the shadows of the large decorative urns, he caught a glimpse of the Lady Duxbury’s profile through the leafy twists of ivy. Unlike Kate Woodbridge, the countess was a lady whose innocence was not in question. According to the whispers he had heard, the buxom beauty was rather free with her favors. Not that he found anything wrong with that. He had always thought it absurdly hypocritical for men to judge women any differently than they judged themselves.
Bathed in the moonlight, her face had a pale pearlescent glow. And yet, oddly enough, the effect hardened rather than softened her features. The same could probably be said for his own jaded looks, reflected Marco. Cynicism polished to the smoothness of fine marble. Exquisitely sculpted. Impervious to emotion.
Perhaps he should consider bedding her, just to keep boredom at bay.
Lady Duxbury laughed at something her brother said, and for some reason the idea did not seem terribly appealing. Her voice had a brittleness to it—all jagged edges and sharp corners. As opposed to the lush, liquid sound of Kate Woodbridge’s amusement.
Marco looked away to the mist-shrouded gardens and concentrated on what the gentlemen were saying. It was not hard to hear them, for the conversation was turning increasingly heated.
“Nein, my mind is made up on the matter, sir.” Von Seilig’s words cut through the stillness. “And nothing you can say or do will change the advice I intend to give to von Humboldt and my king.”
“We’ll see about that,” muttered Allenham. “We have more power and influence than you imagine.” Taking his sister’s arm, he pivoted for the door. “Come, Jocelyn.”
As the countess turned, her gaze glided over the urn’s foliage. She paused for a moment as her eyes found his, a half smile playing at the corners of her mouth. Despite the coolness of the evening, she snapped open her fan and fluttered it over her décolletage.
Tempting.
The lady knew her charms and was not