Page 36 of The Spy’s Song

"I don't sing for audiences, Louise."

She studied his face, and he recognized the change in her expression. He had seen that look directed at Hélène when she worried for her husband, even at Brutus when the stallion had bloodied a groom and then objected to being scolded for it. Louise did not simply care for the creatures she claimed. She armed herself for them. The possibility that she might decide he required protecting tightened something unpleasantly beneath his ribs.

Then her gaze dropped toward his coat pocket, and the chain there seemed to burn against him. How could she know?

"You look troubled. Come walk with me. When I cannot fix something, I walk. Sometimes the answer follows."

He pushed away from the trellis and turned on her. One hand caught the wood beside her shoulder, the other her waist, and he drove her backward until roses trembled behind the lattice.

"Do not make the mistake of thinking we are friends."

Her chin lifted. "You are friends with Gaetan."

Yes. Gaetan had trusted him. Rodrick had used that trust.

He stepped between her feet and pressed his body against hers. His erection lay hard against her, crude evidence offered in place of everything he refused to name.

Louise's lips parted.

Rodrick lowered his mouth to her ear. "I have never wanted to fuck Gaetan."

Her gray eyes widened first, then changed as understanding reached them, and the small hurt that followed made his stomach turn over.

Rodrick stepped back before his hands could contradict him. "Go back to the house, Louise."

Her skirts whispered over the gravel when she moved past him, and Rodrick kept his face toward the lake while her footsteps receded along the path.

He listened until he could no longer hear them.

Then he stood beneath the roses with the moon glaring down, the last of the song still caught somewhere behind his ribs, but he did not dare sing again.

Four days later.

The château had taken on the efficient disorder of a headquarters preparing to retreat. William's letter had arrived before dawn—Wellington and Blücher were moving, the roads would soon belong to armies, and Hélène was to take her daughter south.

Rodrick had been awake when the message came. This was entirely unrelated to the singing debacle, of course, or to the fact that Louise had spent the intervening days behaving like the perfect student. She listened when he spoke, followed instructions without improving them, and had abandoned the irritating habit of silencing inconvenient lectures with her mouth. The sharp remarks had disappeared as well, along with the deliberate provocations and those grey-eyed challenges that used to make him lose track of a sentence halfway through it. Rodrick was profoundly grateful for the improvement in discipline. The fact that he could account for every missing offense merely proved that professional vigilance remained intact.

Fortunately, impending war supplied more manageable problems. Horses required inspection, routes required securing, and coachmen could be persuaded with methods considerably less confusing than Louise Bonnechoix.

Rodrick inspected the fresh horses in the traces, then rounded the carriage to where the coachman was checking the harness.

“You will take the road I gave you, change teams where I told you, and develop a sudden distaste for conversation.” Rodrick placed several gold coins in the man’s hand. “This is the pleasant reason to obey me. I am sure neither of us wishes to discuss the unpleasant one.”

Gaetan had naturally given his sister six outriders, but if the coachman chose the wrong inn, accepted the wrong team, or mentioned his passengers to the wrong ostler, six armed men would merely ensure the ambush had a respectable audience.

The servants slowed when Gaetan brought Hélène into the courtyard. Louise followed them through the doors, her dark hair catching blue in the morning light. She saw Rodrick beside the carriage and looked away at once.

Hélène transferred the child to the nurse's arms and turned to face Gaetan. "Come to Saint Cloud with me."

Rodrick watched his friend receive the full force of his sister's attention. Gaetan's jaw, if anything, tightened further. He kissed her forehead with the gentleness of a man who loved his sister completely and wouldn't move.

Hélène turned to Louise. Whatever she said was low. Rodrick did not catch the words, only the pleading tone. Louise shook her head once.

Sighing, Hélène stopped before Rodrick. "My brother is more thickheaded than an ox."

"This is not news," Rodrick said.

"Louise is worse than he is."