Midnight Mistress by Ruth Owen Read Free Book Online Page A

to his desk and rested his hip on the corner.
    The Frenchman stroked his mustache thoughtfully. “So you have said. Many times.”
    For some reason Raoul’s tone irritated Connor. “I’m sure you didn’t come here to discuss Jamie. Out with it. Did you get the papers?”
    “But of course.” In the flickering light, St. Juste removed his greatcoat, revealing the gaudy footman’s uniform he still wore underneath. He pulled out a worn leather wallet, which he placed on the desk beside Connor. “The Majorca papers.Records of British ships and troop movements throughout the entire region. The officers and gentlemen of Whitehall will look like foolish old women when they find out their plans have been stolen. You did well with your diversion, my friend. And I did well too,
n’est-ce pas
? To counterfeit a lowly servant despite my noble bearing. The Admiral will be pleased.”
    “I don’t give a damn if he’s pleased or not, as long as it suits our ends,” Connor growled as he studied the papers. The “diversion” of the Archangel’s appearance had allowed Raoul to meet secretly with the Admiral’s Whitehall source and receive the stolen papers. But it had cost Connor dear—in ways he could not begin to explain to his friend. Wearily, he ran a hand over his face. “Christ, I wish we were back at sea.”
    “With cannons firing on us and ships trying to ram us.” Raoul took the chair across from his friend. “Ah yes, I wish for that too.”
    “ ’Tis at least a clean fight, not this secret playacting for a man we barely know, and who never shows us his face.”
    “That is because you still have a sense of honor.” The Frenchman sighed, as if Connor had contracted a fatal disease. “I am fortunate that the trait was removed from my makeup during the Revolution, along with our lands. In any case, I have news that shall lift your spirits. We have had double luck tonight, my friend. When I was still posing as a servant, this was handed to me to deliver to you.”
    St. Juste pulled out a cream-colored letter, which he pushed across the table. Connor stared at the note, feeling an inexplicable sense of foreboding. “What is it?”
    “Since you ask, and since I have already taken the liberty of reading it, I shall tell you that it is an invitation to dine this evening at the house of one of the gentlemen from the ball … an officer who happens to be highly placed in the Admiralty.”
    “The Admiralty!” Connor grabbed up the note, his weariness vanishing. Luck was right—they’d thought it would take him weeks to break into the confidence of the truly powerfulof the country—not just the circles traveled by foppish aristocracy like Morrow. Yet here it was, just a day after Connor’s arrival, and he already had his foot in Whitehall’s door. He leaped off the desk and paced the room. “What do you know about this Commodore Jolly?”
    “
Zut
, I have been aware of this only a few hours,” Raoul complained. “I shall find out all we need by evening. There is one thing I do know already—he has a very pretty ward.
Une jeune femme, très jolie
with hair like brown silk. Not striking, perhaps, but behind her spectacles her eyes are like—”
    “Raoul, I’m not interested in the girl, just the officer.”
    St. Juste shook his head. “English, sometimes I think you are a race of very foolish people. In any case, the man has another charge who might be of more use to us. I heard from one of Morrow’s serving maids that the girl’s father owns many ships. While he is away, the daughter stays with the commodore. She is a great favorite of the gentry, quite rich, and pretty enough, for a tall woman. You might have noticed her. She has hair like—how you say—
coucher du soleil
?”
    “Sunset,” Connor supplied dully. He stopped pacing, and leaned against the wall, then threw back his head in a harsh laugh. “Of all the invitations to all the dinners in all the houses in London, why did it have to