CHAPTER 2

C HAPTER 2

Paris

T raveling at the fastest possible speed, Tamsyn and Cade reached Paris and hired Moreau, a craggy and gifted French driver, to take them to the British embassy. Moreau was part of a loose network of gifted people spread across Europe. The fact that most of the gifted had experienced trouble because of their talents created bonds with others like them, and they helped each other as needed.

“Not far now to the British embassy,” Moreau said, speaking around the clay pipe stem clamped between his teeth.

Tamsyn gazed at the tall houses that loomed on both sides of the street. One of her gifts was sensing emotions. Often she kept that ability tamped down because the feelings of others could be overwhelming, but today she was deliberately listening to the city around her. “Paris seems very tense,” she said thoughtfully. “Most people worry about the coming war, but others find the prospect exciting. I feel a desire to fight and triumph over France’s enemies.”

“The First Consul has a gift for inspiration,” Moreau said gruffly. “For making men, especially young ones, feel that it is France’s destiny to rule all of Europe and beyond.”

“Do women share the lust for conquest?” she asked.

“Some do. Most don’t. Men who have seen war usually prefer peace.” He pulled his pipe from his mouth and spat over the side of the carriage.

She realized that he’d lost someone close to him in the earlier wars. His brother, perhaps?

“France is a mountain of tinder waiting for the spark to set it afire,” Cade said. He and Tamsyn shared a glance. That was why they were here, after all.

The carriage turned into a wider street, revealing a rather shabby mansion surrounded by a high stone wall topped with iron spikes. The British flag flying on the gatehouse identified the property as the embassy.

The gatehouse was manned by a pair of British soldiers. They swung the gates open so a heavily loaded wagon could exit the embassy compound.

“The delegation is obviously packing up and pulling out.” Tamsyn surveyed the mansion. “Not very impressive for a British embassy.”

“For years there was no British embassy in France,” Cade explained. “After the peace treaty was signed, both countries took their time establishing diplomatic relations, so Whitworth didn’t arrive in Paris until this past December. Rhys said there was a rush to find a walled estate within the city, and this was the best available at the time.”

“If they’ve been here for less than six months, they probably hadn’t even finished unpacking, and now they’re leaving,” Tam observed. “We live in uncertain times.”

After the wagon lumbered away, Moreau drove to the gatehouse. Cade showed his Home Office credentials to the sergeant in charge, who studied the document carefully before waving them through the gates.

Another wagon was parked in front of the embassy entrance and more boxes were being carried to it and packed. Moreau pulled up behind the wagon and said laconically, “I’ll wait here for a bit.”

Cade nodded thanks and stepped from the carriage, then turned to help Tamsyn to the ground. After he wielded the heavy knocker, they were admitted into a large reception room that was in a state of controlled chaos. Embassy servants were carrying in boxes and trunks, and eight or ten well-dressed men were pacing about anxiously and muttering to each other.

Tamsyn’s gaze went to the group of men. They were all British and desperate to get official passports signed by the ambassador and a high French official so they could leave France swiftly and without complications. She’d seen that sort of passport, and the engravings and signatures were very impressive, but she had a sense that the documents wouldn’t be half as much use to the men as they hoped.

They were approached by a brisk official with an air of command. He had a military bearing and was a few years older than Cade. “I’m Mr. Holland, the ambassador’s private secretary. Do you have business here? This is not a good time for courtesy calls.”

“We’re here because it isn’t a good time.” Cade showed their credentials. When they traveled together, they had a variety of documents, some of which made it appear they were a married couple. People who assumed that were inclined to underestimate Tamsyn. Which was often useful.

“We need to speak with Lord Whitworth as soon as possible,” Cade said.

Holland handed back his credentials and beckoned a young clerk over. “Murray, take the lady and gentleman up to his lordship’s office.”

One of the waiting men said in a surly voice, “Why can they see the ambassador when we’ve been waiting for our passports for hours?”

“These visitors have other business with Lord Whitworth,” Mr. Holland said sternly. “Be patient. The passports will be ready soon.”

“They damned well better be!” another man growled. “I need to get my family to safety before it’s too late!”

“We have been encouraging Britons to return to England for some time now,” Mr. Holland said in a cool voice. “You should have listened rather than waiting this long.”

There was more muttering, but no further protests. After Holland gestured for the visitors to go upstairs, Tam wondered why so many people lacked common sense. It had been clear to anyone who paid attention that the peace would be short-lived, but the giddy delights of Paris had made fools of too many Britons.

They paused outside the door of the ambassador’s office, where Tam did some hasty tweaking of Cade’s coat and cravat. “After making the fastest possible journey from Cornwall to Paris, we’re barely presentable,” she said. “We’ll have to rely on our persuasive powers rather than our appearances.”

“Luckily, you can persuade any male to do anything,” Cade said as the clerk knocked twice, then opened the door.

“Visitors for you, my lord,” the clerk announced.

A distracted voice inside the office said, “Yes?”

Taking that as permission, Cade ushered Tamsyn inside. Lord Whitworth was about fifty and as handsome as his reputation promised. He had been signing papers but laid his quill aside. “Should I know you, sir?”

“We’ve not met, my lord, but we were sent here by the Home Office,” Cade replied. “I’m Cade Tremayne and this is Lady Tamsyn Tremayne.”

The ambassador collected several documents and handed them to the young clerk. “That’s enough passport signing for now, Murray. Take them downstairs and distribute them to the men waiting. I’ll do the rest shortly.”

After the clerk accepted the passports and left, Whitworth said, “I know Lord Tremayne, of course, and the work his people do.” He studied them both. “The reputation of the Tribe of Tremayne is excellent, but why are you here?”

“To protect you and your lady wife, my lord,” Tamsyn replied.

Whitworth’s brows arched. “Is that necessary?”

“We hope not,” Cade said, “but you are too important to England to take any chances.”

Whitworth waved them to seats. “Granted, we’re on the verge of declaring war, but as diplomats, my people and I should enjoy a safe passage home. Is there reason to believe otherwise?”

Cade took one of the two guest chairs while Tamsyn sat in the other. “Not reason, precisely, but intuition inspired by the screaming tirade that Bonaparte directed against you and Britain just two months ago.”

“The First Consul displayed a complete lack of propriety and decency that one would not expect from the leader of a great nation.” A faint smile touched the ambassador’s lips. “Not even of France. But surely Lord Tremayne doesn’t think that Bonaparte will try to assassinate me because of that one intemperate scene!”

“He doesn’t think that,” Cade said, “but he fears that one of the First Consul’s men might hope to earn favor by killing you on his master’s behalf.”

The ambassador frowned and leaned back in his chair as he considered. “I can’t say that is impossible,” he said slowly. “Some of Bonaparte’s revolutionary followers are rather rough men.”

“It might not happen,” Tamsyn said in her soft voice. “But those of us who are gifted have learned not to ignore our intuition, and far better to be too careful than not careful enough. An attack on you would be a potential danger to all of your delegation.”

Whitworth sucked in his breath. “Arabella . . .”

He stopped, then continued, “You’re here to protect my wife, Lady Tamsyn? She has had much to endure these last months.”

“She and I have met briefly in the past. I’ll look out for her until you’re all on your way home.” Tam smiled. “I’m much more dangerous than I look.”

“It’s the truth, sir,” Cade said with a hint of a smile. “We are not here to interfere with your activities, only to quietly watch for possible trouble.”

“Very well. If you are to guard us, it’s best you stay here in the embassy so you can travel with us when we leave. You met my private secretary, Mr. Holland, downstairs. He’ll assign quarters to you.” The ambassador’s gaze shifted to Tamsyn. “If you wish to meet with my wife and tell her of your mission, she should be in her rooms on the floor above this one. I think she will welcome the companionship of another woman of rank. Now if you’ll excuse me, there is much to be done before we depart.”

Cade and Tamsyn thanked him for his time and quietly left the room. “Thank heaven for reasonable men!” Tam said. “I think Lord Whitworth may be somewhat gifted himself.”

“That might explain how well he’s done in Russia and Denmark and his other posts,” Cade agreed. “While you speak to Lady Whitworth, I’ll get our luggage from Moreau and tell him he can leave.”

Tamsyn shook her head. “Not Lady Whitworth. Since her first husband was the Duke of Dorset, she continues to use the title of duchess as it’s much grander than being a mere baroness.”

Cade snorted. “As a bastard, I have trouble taking such things seriously, but if anyone can handle a proud duchess, it’s you.”

“Let us hope.” Tamsyn hesitated. “As we drove up to the embassy, I had a feeling that it might be a good idea to commandeer a couple of the soldiers on guard duty to search around the walls of the embassy. The shrubbery is overgrown and could be a good place for explosives to be concealed.”

Cade caught his breath, his gaze briefly going out of focus. “You could be right. I’ll take care of that now.”

“Be careful.” Frowning, Tamsyn headed to the floor above. The walls of the stairwell were in need of paint, and she guessed that there hadn’t been enough time to renovate the private quarters as well as the public rooms.

It wasn’t difficult to find the duchess’s rooms—the door was open and a footman was carrying out a trunk. Tam knocked on the open door and entered the disordered sitting room of the apartment. “Your Grace?”

The Duchess of Dorset was surveying the tangle of possessions, her face strained. She was a handsome woman in her early thirties, a number of years younger than her husband. Tam remembered her as coolly collected, but today she looked on the verge of tears.

The duchess looked up and frowned when she heard Tamsyn’s voice. “We’ve met, haven’t we?”

“Yes, Your Grace. I’m Lady Tamsyn Tremayne. We’ve had brief encounters at one or two receptions, but never a proper conversation.”

“Oh, yes, you were with your mother, Lady Tremayne.” The duchess’s expression eased. “She’s such a lovely restful woman. Are you accompanying her?”

“She is indeed lovely, but she’s home in London. I’m here with one of my brothers, Cade Tremayne.”

“You’ve picked a poor time to make a call,” the duchess said wearily. “We’re packing to leave for London, and my dratted French maid abandoned me to return to her family. I don’t know how I’m going to manage!”

Tamsyn’s greatest gift was healing emotions, so on impulse she approached and took the duchess’s right hand in both of her own. “You’ll manage,” she said quietly as she channeled warmth and relaxation into the other woman. “You will be as strong as you need to be.”

The duchess jerked in surprise when Tamsyn first touched her, then released a sigh and began to relax. “Thank you. You’re very like your mother.”

“So people tell me. It is the greatest of compliments.” Releasing the other woman’s hand, she said briskly, “I’ll help you. Where shall I start?”

“You should not be doing such menial work!” the duchess exclaimed.

“I’m rather good at packing and enjoy creating order from chaos.” Tamsyn smiled. “Of which there is no shortage!”

“Your aid would be very helpful,” the other woman admitted. She glanced around the room. “Perhaps . . . perhaps you could pack garments from that wardrobe into one of the trunks?”

“It will be my pleasure.” Tamsyn opened the wardrobe doors and surveyed shelves full of folded chemises, unmentionables, and nightwear in the finest of fabrics. As she pulled a small trunk to the wardrobe and lifted the lid, she said in a matter-of-fact voice, “I’m happy to help in any way I can, but the primary reason I’ve come to France is because my brother and I both work for the Home Office. We’ve been sent here to ensure that you and your husband and the rest of the delegation make it home safely.”

“Surely the French won’t attempt to stop us from leaving!” The other woman gasped.

“Probably not, but some of Bonaparte’s followers who hate Britain may not believe in diplomatic immunity.” Tamsyn stacked neat piles of chemises into the trunk.

The duchess bit her lip. “The sooner we leave this benighted country, the better!”

Tamsyn tucked a dozen silk stockings into a corner of the trunk. “If you’re willing to join me in packing your belongings, you’ll be that much closer to leaving, and I promise I won’t tell anyone that you undertook such a menial task.”

The duchess gave a sudden laugh. “And it will keep me busy and less likely to fret. It’s very pleasant to have the company of an English lady. Court life has been a poisonous swirl of politics. I’ve been afraid to talk to anyone.” She set a small case on her dressing table and began packing brushes and scent bottles and small mirrors.

“In a fortnight you’ll be back in London and able to breathe easily again.” Tamsyn finished packing the first trunk and looked around for another.

“I look forward to that.” The duchess snapped her toiletry case closed. “And I hope the government doesn’t have a desperate need to send my husband to another potential battleground!”

“The time for diplomacy with France has passed. Now it’s time for the generals and the admirals.” Tamsyn chuckled. “And for packing so you can get away from here!”

The duchess smiled, and they spent the next several hours working and laughing and avoiding talk of anything serious. But in the back of her mind, Tamsyn sensed that Cade was dealing with more challenging issues. She wondered what tangles he’d found.