The Valet Who Loved Me - Valerie Bowman Page 0,72

ticked by was one step closer to her never seeing Beau again.

At this time tomorrow night, they might be in grave danger or their mission would be over, but one way or another, her time with Beau was coming to an end.

“What are you wearing?” Beau asked Marianne the next evening, looking her up and down after she’d told him he could turn back around because she was finished changing her clothing.

“A shirt and breeches, of course,” Marianne replied with a laugh. She was already busily arranging her thick hair into a braid, which she wrapped around her head and covered with a dark cap.

“I had no idea you had a shirt and breeches in that bag,” Beau breathed, his eyes wide. “Seems you’re full of surprises, Agent M.”

“I can’t very well go traipsing around a French camp in my skirts.” She pulled the cap down to her brow. “What do you think? Do I look like a convincing boy?”

“Not at all,” Beau replied. “You look as beautiful as ever.”

Marianne fought a blush. “Well, I can assure you when I wear this, no one suspects I’m a woman.”

“Pity,” Beau replied. “What did you do to your—?” He left off, pointing, obviously not wanting to say the word ‘breasts’ out loud.

Marianne laughed again. “I wrapped them with linen,” she replied with a shrug.

“That’s the real pity,” Beau said, sighing and shaking his head.

“Might I remind you we have a very important mission to accomplish tonight?” She crossed her arms over her flattened chest and arched a brow at Beau.

“Yes, I know. Let’s go. It’s nearly eight o’ clock.” Beau pulled open the door to the room and held it wide for Marianne.

“Remember, no more treating me like I’m a lady while we’re in public. I’m a boy. My name is John Smith.”

“Excellent name,” Beau replied, following her out the door. “It must have taken you ages to come up with it.”

Once outside, they walked the few streets over to stand in front of the stores across the street from Winfield’s hotel.

They blended into the crowd and took turns walking up and down the street, pretending to be casually strolling.

When Winfield appeared, Beau caught Marianne’s attention with a simple whistle. She turned to look at the entrance to the hotel across the street. Apparently, Albina didn’t relish the idea of being left alone, because the maid was standing at the baron’s side wearing a gaudy pink gown. Moments later, a coach pulled up and Winfield helped Albina inside before climbing up after her.

Beau had tied the mount he’d secured earlier to a post across the street from the hotel. As soon as Winfield and Albina’s coach took off, Beau and Marianne quickly made their way to the stallion.

Beau mounted first and then reached down to pull Marianne up behind him. They followed the coach at a leisurely pace.

Thankfully, the road out to the Andres Highway was lined with trees, and they were able to pick their way behind the coach at a safe distance without being seen.

The journey took nearly an hour, and Marianne tried to make herself concentrate on the danger they were no doubt traveling directly into, instead of the feel of Beau’s washboard-like abdomen beneath her fingertips.

Baron Winfield wasn’t experienced with the French, but Marianne had heard enough stories during her training with General Grimaldi to know that the French rarely kept their promises to the traitors whom they fooled into helping them.

The fact that the Frenchman at the warehouse had refused to pay Winfield upon delivery was a dangerous sign, indeed. And Winfield, if he wasn’t a complete fool, was probably more than a bit anxious about this meeting tonight.

Marianne and Beau had spoken about it today. Beau had refreshed her memory on a variety of hand signals they were to use if they were captured, or if one of them was in danger, or saw or sensed something ‘off.’ In fact, after Beau had secured their mount, they’d spent the better part of the afternoon and early evening ensuring that they were prepared for any eventuality.

Their goal was to secure the letter, if at all possible. Failing that, they needed to find out as much as they were able about Winfield’s dealings with the French, and anything else that might be useful to the Home Office.

Over an hour later, Winfield’s coach finally rattled to a stop at the intersection of Coulogne Road and the Andres Highway. Marianne and Beau waited in a copse of trees hundreds of