His Spanish Bride by Teresa Grant Read Free Book Online
Authors: Teresa Grant
of the cropped hair that framed Suzanne’s face round the curling tongs. “He may have told you that. He may even have convinced himself that that’s the case. But I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”
“Rubbish.” The heat of the tongs felt stronger than usual against her scalp. “You’re always inclined to romanticize things.”
“I see what people are feeling while you’re blinded by whatever bit of paper you’re trying to steal.” Blanca unclamped the tongs, tweaked the ringlet, and reached for another lock of hair.
“Malcolm gave me a detailed list of all the reasons he’d make a bad husband.”
“Because he was terrified of offering for you.”
Suzanne’s fingers tightened round the handle of the brush. “And he as good as told me he isn’t capable of falling in love.”
Blanca snorted. “Only the worst romantics make those sorts of claims.”
Suzanne stared at her image in the mirror, ringlets framing one side of her face, straight hair on the other. In the midst of transformation. “Don’t you think I don’t know I’m taking shocking advantage of him? But he’s an agent himself. He’d do the same given the opportunity.”
“Not him.” Blanca curled a lock of hair on the opposite side. “He’s not ruthless enough.”
Suzanne swallowed. That, she suspected, might be true. “He still knows how the game is played.”
“He’ll hate you.” Blanca fluffed the curls round Suzanne’s face and stood back to regard her handiwork. “One day when he learns the truth.”
A chill, like the wind in the Cantabrian Mountains, cut through the silk and gauze of Suzanne’s gown. She reached for her shawl. “Of course. But you know one can’t think of the future in the midst of a war.”
In the looking glass she saw Blanca’s concerned gaze settle on her. “One day that war will be over.”
“And I have a chance to affect the outcome.”
“When you realize what you’ve done—”
“I’ll hate myself ?” Suzanne got to her feet and reached for her gloves. “I daresay I will. But it won’t be the first time. Self-hatred goes hand in hand with being a spy.”
“Glad you came to your senses, Malcolm.” Sir Charles Stuart clapped Malcolm on the shoulder. “She’s a capital girl. You won’t regret it.”
Malcolm turned his back to the crowd of evening guests in the embassy drawing room. “It isn’t my possible regrets that concern me, sir.”
“Rubbish. Don’t sell yourself short. She’s fond of you, that’s clear. Probably best not to muddy the whole thing up with romantic notions.”
It was sound advice, but for some reason it grated on Malcolm’s already taut nerves. “Quite.”
Stuart regarded him for a moment. “Not that it isn’t worth reaching for more if that’s what you want. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. Oh, all right, it’s your own affair. Never could abide people poking into my business. Anything to report on the other matter?”
“I hope to have something to report by tomorrow morning.”
“Excellent. No need to give me the details—less I know the better, I suspect. Oh, there’s Colonel Frazer. Must pay my respects.”
“So you’re getting leg-shackled, Rannoch.” William Haddon materialized out of the crowd as Stuart moved off.
Malcolm did not think of himself as a man of violence, but he knew a strong impulse to plant the other man a facer. “If you’re remotely discerning, Haddon, you’ll realize how fortunate I am.”
Haddon grinned and tossed off the last of his champagne. “Fortune and marriage don’t go hand in hand.”
“Where’s Linford?” If all went well at tonight’s rendezvous, Malcolm would be able to tell Linford and Isabella he’d recovered the letter later in the evening.
“Oh, he’s been sent to Villa Franca with dispatches. Should be back Monday.” Haddon was scanning a quartet of young women gathered round the fireplace.
Malcolm wondered if Linford had deliberately arranged to absent
“Rubbish.” The heat of the tongs felt stronger than usual against her scalp. “You’re always inclined to romanticize things.”
“I see what people are feeling while you’re blinded by whatever bit of paper you’re trying to steal.” Blanca unclamped the tongs, tweaked the ringlet, and reached for another lock of hair.
“Malcolm gave me a detailed list of all the reasons he’d make a bad husband.”
“Because he was terrified of offering for you.”
Suzanne’s fingers tightened round the handle of the brush. “And he as good as told me he isn’t capable of falling in love.”
Blanca snorted. “Only the worst romantics make those sorts of claims.”
Suzanne stared at her image in the mirror, ringlets framing one side of her face, straight hair on the other. In the midst of transformation. “Don’t you think I don’t know I’m taking shocking advantage of him? But he’s an agent himself. He’d do the same given the opportunity.”
“Not him.” Blanca curled a lock of hair on the opposite side. “He’s not ruthless enough.”
Suzanne swallowed. That, she suspected, might be true. “He still knows how the game is played.”
“He’ll hate you.” Blanca fluffed the curls round Suzanne’s face and stood back to regard her handiwork. “One day when he learns the truth.”
A chill, like the wind in the Cantabrian Mountains, cut through the silk and gauze of Suzanne’s gown. She reached for her shawl. “Of course. But you know one can’t think of the future in the midst of a war.”
In the looking glass she saw Blanca’s concerned gaze settle on her. “One day that war will be over.”
“And I have a chance to affect the outcome.”
“When you realize what you’ve done—”
“I’ll hate myself ?” Suzanne got to her feet and reached for her gloves. “I daresay I will. But it won’t be the first time. Self-hatred goes hand in hand with being a spy.”
“Glad you came to your senses, Malcolm.” Sir Charles Stuart clapped Malcolm on the shoulder. “She’s a capital girl. You won’t regret it.”
Malcolm turned his back to the crowd of evening guests in the embassy drawing room. “It isn’t my possible regrets that concern me, sir.”
“Rubbish. Don’t sell yourself short. She’s fond of you, that’s clear. Probably best not to muddy the whole thing up with romantic notions.”
It was sound advice, but for some reason it grated on Malcolm’s already taut nerves. “Quite.”
Stuart regarded him for a moment. “Not that it isn’t worth reaching for more if that’s what you want. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. Oh, all right, it’s your own affair. Never could abide people poking into my business. Anything to report on the other matter?”
“I hope to have something to report by tomorrow morning.”
“Excellent. No need to give me the details—less I know the better, I suspect. Oh, there’s Colonel Frazer. Must pay my respects.”
“So you’re getting leg-shackled, Rannoch.” William Haddon materialized out of the crowd as Stuart moved off.
Malcolm did not think of himself as a man of violence, but he knew a strong impulse to plant the other man a facer. “If you’re remotely discerning, Haddon, you’ll realize how fortunate I am.”
Haddon grinned and tossed off the last of his champagne. “Fortune and marriage don’t go hand in hand.”
“Where’s Linford?” If all went well at tonight’s rendezvous, Malcolm would be able to tell Linford and Isabella he’d recovered the letter later in the evening.
“Oh, he’s been sent to Villa Franca with dispatches. Should be back Monday.” Haddon was scanning a quartet of young women gathered round the fireplace.
Malcolm wondered if Linford had deliberately arranged to absent