Regency High Society Vol 3. Elizabeth Rolls

in the seat opposite before adding, ‘But I have been back in town for nearly three weeks.’

      Frowning suspiciously, Daniel studied his companion over the rim of his glass, before demanding somewhat abruptly, ‘Spit it out, Osborne! Why are you here?’

      The baronet’s thin lips curled into an appreciative smile. ‘Always so delightfully brusque!’ he quipped. ‘Surprisingly enough, I consider it to be one of your most endearing qualities, my dear fellow. One always knows where one stands with you, Ross.’ A faintly menacing gleam hardened his grey eyes. ‘You are so refreshingly different from so many of those with whom I have been obliged to associate in recent years.’

      ‘Nobody forced you to take up such work,’ Daniel reminded him. ‘It was done through choice.’

      ‘Through necessity,’ Sir Giles corrected, ‘though I cannot deny that I have always displayed a certain aptitude. But my task is not yet complete.’

      ‘But mine is,’ Daniel returned, unable to prevent bitterness from edging his voice. ‘Years of conflict … thousands dead … and for what?’

      ‘So that we in these islands would continue to speak the King’s English, and not French. Which you, of course, do so remarkably well … And that is precisely why I’m here, Major Ross. Once again I find myself in dire need of your undoubted talents. I am here in an attempt to persuade you to take charge of a little commission which has already begun across the Channel.’

      ‘No!’ Daniel’s response, sharp and uncompromising, cut through the air like a knife as he rose once again to his feet. ‘My war’s over, Osborne. You cannot order me to go, not this time.’

      A sigh escaped the older man as he stared intently at the impassive figure, solid and resolute, now standing before the hearth, staring intently down at the burning coals. ‘No, I cannot order you to go, Major,’ he concurred. ‘But should you agree to do so, you might attain some justice for those many friends who needlessly lost their lives throughout the campaign.’

      ‘Damn you and your spying games, Osborne!’ Daniel exploded, unable to quell the bitter resentment and anger which had steadily increased throughout the years of conflict, and continued to fester even now, like some open sore that refused to heal. ‘Justice for whom? Curse you!’

      Daniel cast a glance over his shoulder in time to see the baronet’s bony fingers tighten fractionally about the stem of his glass. ‘Whose death are you so determined to avenge—your son’s? He was a soldier and, like so many others, was prepared to die for his country. He’s just another of those poor wretches who now lie buried in nameless graves scattered throughout Spain and Portugal.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘Or is it perhaps Justine Baron’s demise which continues to prick your conscience?’

      Sir Giles held the hard-eyed gaze steadily. ‘Yes, I do feel that I owe it to Justine to bring her murderer to book.’

      ‘You owe her nothing, Osborne,’ Daniel countered, totally unmoved by the hint of remorse so easily discernible in the baronet’s voice. ‘She knew the risks she was taking. She and the traitorous devil who has plagued your dreams all these years were two of a kind, and both gained considerable financial rewards from indulging in their despicable trade.’

      ‘Very true,’ Sir Giles concurred, the composure for which he was justifiably famed seemingly having been fully restored. ‘As I remarked before, Justine loved only one thing more than money—her sister. And it is the young woman who has agreed to pose as the former Mademoiselle Louise Baron who just might, if everything goes according to plan, avenge so many needless deaths.’

      ‘Dear God!’ Daniel muttered, his expression clearly disdainful, as he once again sought the comfort of the winged-chair. ‘Don’t you ever give up? Napoleon is on Elba. It’s over at last.’

      ‘Perhaps,’ Sir Giles conceded, before his eyes hardened once more. ‘And this is why my elusive friend has possibly begun to drop his guard. He may have severed all communication with many of his contacts, and now thinks himself safe. But he is at his most vulnerable. What will his reaction be when I make it known that, during these past months of Napoleon’s exile, I have worked tirelessly and have managed to locate the whereabouts of Justine’s sister? What if I also make it known that Justine left certain documents in the safekeeping of a lawyer whose identity is known only to the sister, and that the aforementioned sister has every intention of travelling to England in order to retrieve them? What if I were to suggest that the documents might prove interesting reading, and that the girl has agreed to let me study them before she takes her property back to France?’

      Sir Giles smiled faintly at Daniel’s openly sceptical expression. ‘Oh, it will undoubtedly trouble him, Ross. He knew of the existence of this sister. But we managed to get to her first, did we not, my dear friend?’ A hint of gratification just for one moment flickered in the baronet’s grey eyes. ‘I promised Justine that I would never disclose her sibling’s whereabouts to another living soul. I also promised that I would never involve her in any of my exploits in the future. And I have kept my word, and shall continue to do so. Justine’s old maid, Marie Dubois, is a different matter entirely, however. I did make contact with her, and she is more than willing to help in my attempts to uncover her late mistress’s murderer. It is none other than Marie herself who is at present taking care of our delightful little impostor across the Channel.’

      Daniel arched one dark brow. ‘Our little impostor?’

      ‘Of course you must go to France in order to accompany your—er—lovely wife to England. Naturally you must not cover your tracks too well, as it were. However, by the time our intended victim has managed to alert his erstwhile associates to the hitherto unforeseen danger to his continued anonymity, I shall have the child safe.’

      ‘As safe as Justine was in your care?’ Daniel queried, not slow to remind his visitor of past errors of judgement.

      Sir Giles was silent for a moment as he stared down into the contents of his glass once again. ‘It will be different this time. Once you have brought the girl safely back to Dover, your part in the plot ceases. You’ll be free to return to Dorset, and forget the whole business. Naturally you will receive your share of the reward, if we are successful in uncovering this traitor.’

      Again Daniel’s lips were curled by a smile of unalloyed contempt. ‘Was that the inducement you used to persuade this idiotic female to take part in such a damnably foolhardy escapade—money?’

      ‘No, it was not,’ Sir Giles assured him. ‘She knows nothing of the reward. She has her own personal reasons for wishing to see this traitor brought to justice.’

      Daniel’s bark of derisive laughter echoed round the small salon. ‘If she supposes for a moment the man will ever stand trial, she is a gullible little fool!’

      Sir Giles’s eyes were softened by a flicker of admiration. ‘No, she is not a fool, Ross. She’s an immensely brave young woman who is very well aware that what she has agreed to do is not without personal risk should things go wrong. The least I can do is try my utmost to ensure nothing does go wrong.’ He gazed levelly across at the man for whom he had always had the utmost respect. ‘And that is why I need you … someone I can trust implicitly. As you have already pointed out, I cannot order you to go, Major Ross. I can only ask you … one last time … to serve your country.’

      Sir Giles made a point of visiting his club early one evening towards the end of the week, and was highly satisfied to discover several very interesting persons present, all seated together at a large table in one corner. Sauntering over, he did not hesitate to avail himself of the only vacant chair, before instructing a waiter to bring him wine.

      ‘I didn’t realise you had come up to town, Osborne,’ the gentleman seated directly opposite remarked, briefly raising his eyes from the cards in his hand. ‘Are you acquainted with young Gifford here, a distant relation I’m sponsoring this Season?’

      ‘No, I’ve not had the pleasure, Waverley,’ he responded, before acknowledging the young gentleman seated beside the portly baron, and receiving