Page 35 of The Trouble With Spies
Dash felt his spine tighten. The message...how had he forgotten about that? The spark that had lit everything, before Halford, before knives and pistols and Vivy entered his life again.
That caught the duke’s attention at once. He snapped his fingers and gestured to the man. “Give it to me.”
The codebreaker placed the parchment before him. Lionston skimmed the lines quickly and then he went very still. The quiet in the room shifted, becoming something colder.
“What is it?” Dash asked.
Lionston did not answer immediately. His fingers tightened on the page. Then, with sudden violence, he snatched the missive off the table and straightened. His gaze flashed with dark interest.
Dash took the missive from him and scanned it quickly. If it upset Lionston then it was personal. It must somehow involve his family…or his wife.
Élise Marchand has returned to England. Retrieve her, preferably alive. Watch Viscount Whitley and wait. She will want to contact him and is likely to seek him at her first opportunity. Do not lose her again.”
The words hung in the air, stark and unforgiving. For a heartbeat, Dash could hear only the faint crackle of a candle and the distant stir of London beyond their walls. Then Lionston swore an uncharacteristically brutal oath, low and furious. “It is the last thing we needed,” Lionston said, voice taut with anger. His gaze cut to Dash. “Do you understand what this means?”
Dash’s jaw tightened. “It means the French are hunting their own.”
“It means,” Lionston said in a clipped tone, “that we have not merely one threat, but two, and the second has targeted my wife’s brother.”
Dash cursed. Élise Marchand was a French operative that had used Sabrina’s brother for information. He had been a pawn of hers and he had fallen hard for the woman. Why would she seek him out again? What did she hope to gain by doing so?
“Someone needs to watch him,” Dash muttered darkly.
Lionston’s expression did not soften. “Yes.” He pressed the missive flat on the table; his fingers splayed over it as if he could pin the threat in place. “I will speak with Basil. He needs to know what is coming for him.” Lionston lifted his gaze, ice-cold and said, “Double the watches. Quietly. If Élise Marchand so much as breathes near Whitley, I want to know before she draws her next breath.”
The codebreaker hovered uncertainly. “Yes, Your Grace” The man nodded and disappeared.
Dash watched Lionston for a long moment. The duke’s composure was intact, but the anger beneath it was unmistakable. Danger had arrived in London wearing another face. Dash knew, with grim certainty, that the Lion Watch had just been handed a new war. One that would not wait politely for Slothington’s investigation to conclude.
Lionston looked at Dash again. “You need to keep Vivy out of London.”
Dash frowned. “She will not enjoy that.”
Lionston said in a knowing tone, “No. She will not and neither will my wife. I think she needs to stay out of London too. Considering how she reacted to Halford holding her at gunpoint.”
“She knew you were there,” Dash said. “Your wife is not reckless.”
“Still…” He sighed. “I cannot risk her.”
Dash thought of Vivy—brilliant, stubborn, brave enough to demand truth and kisses in the same breath and felt the familiar tug of fear in his chest. Then he nodded once. “Trust me,” he began. “No one understands more than I do.”
Lionston returned his gaze to the missive, and his voice hardened as he spoke, “We will find Élise Marchand,” he said, “before she finds Basil Fairfax.”
Dash prayed they did. If Basil fell into her clutches it likely would not end well. None of them knew what the Frenchwoman had planned for her former dupe, and Basil had loved the woman. He might even go with her willingly. Either way, they had much to contend with, and none of it seemed good.
