Joanna Bourne - The Spymasters Lady

Annique rubbed her eyes. Ill do whatever Leblanc wishes. I have no choice.

Ill have you when hes through with you, sneered Henri.

She went on. He will make me oil my body and do the Gypsy dances I learned when I was a child. I will dance in the firelight for him with nothing but a thin bit of silken cloth upon me. Red silk. Hehe prefers red. He has told me.

Grey gripped the chain tight, seized by the image of a slim body writhing naked, silhouetted in the golden glow of fire. He wasnt the only one. Henri gripped the bars of the grill and pressed his face close, salivating.

Annique, eyes downcast, swayed as if she were already undulating in the sensual dance she described. I will draw the crimson silk from my body and caress him with it. The silk will be warm and damp with the heat of the dance. With my heat Her left hand stroked down her body, intimately.

Grey ached from a dozen beatings, thirst was a torment every second, and he knew exactly what she was doing. He still went hard as a rock. God, but she was good. Henri clanked and fumbled with the lock. If the Frenchman were half as aroused by Anniques little act as Grey was, it was a wonder he could get the door open at all. Henri grabbed her white shift.

You should notYou must not She struggled, pushing futilely at his hands, with no more strength than a tiny, captured bird. Grey couldnt get to her. Do not Her flailing arm hit the lantern and it fell. Darkness was instant and absolute.

Stupid bitch, Henri snarled. You

There was a small squashed thud. Henri yelped in pain. More thuds and something large and softa bodyfell. Grey heard Annique breathing hard.

Planned. Shed planned it all

I want to thank my literary agent, Pam Hopkins, and my editor, Wendy McCurdy, for their faith in Anniques story.

Im grateful to the Beau Monde Chapter of the RWA for their tireless effort in promoting historical accuracy in Regency-period books. Their resource materials have been enormously helpful. Thanks also to my crit partners, Mary Ann Clark and Sofie Couch. You have been endlessly patient and encouraging.

I want to express my profound appreciation for the fellowship and support I have found at the CompuServe Books and Writers Forum. I thank Allene Edwards, Barbara Rogan, Beth Shope, Betty Babas, Carol Krenz, Cat Dubie, Darlene Marshall, Diana Gabaldon, Donna Rubino, Janet McConnaughey, John S. Kruszka, Joyce Moye, K.C. Dyer, Karen Watson, Karl Hagen, Kim Laird, Kris Reekie, Linda Grimes, Margaret Campbell, Mark Mussari, Marsha Skrypuch, Martin McArthur, Pamela Patchet, Steve Lopata, Susan Adrian Barth, Varda Amir-Orrel, Vicki Pettersson, and many others.

S HE WAS WILLING TO DIE, OF COURSE, BUT SHE had not planned to do it so soon, or in such a prolonged and uncomfortable fashion, or at the hands of her own countrymen.

She slumped against the wall, which was of cut stone and immensely solid, as prison walls often are. I do not have the plans. I never had them.

I am not a patient man. Where are the plans?

I do not have

The openhanded slap whipped out of the darkness. For one instant she slipped over the edge of consciousness. Then she was back again, in the dark and in pain, with Leblanc.

Just so. He touched her cheek where he had hit her and turned her toward him. He did it gently. He had much practice in hurting women. We continue. This time you will be more helpful.

Please. I am trying.

You will tell me where you have hidden the plans, Annique.

They are a mad dream, these Albion plans. A chimera. I never saw them. Even as she said it, the Albion plans were clear in her mind. She had held the many pages in her hands, the dog-eared edges, maps covered with smudges and fingerprints, the lists in small, neat writing. I will not think of this. If I remember, it will show on my face.

Vauban gave you the plans in Bruges. What did he tell you to do with them?

He told me to take them to England. Why would he give me plans? I am not a valise to go carrying papers about the countryside.

His fist closed on her throat. Pain exploded. Pain that stopped her breath. She dug her fingers into the wall and held on. With such a useful stone wall to hold on to, she would not fall down.

Leblanc released her. Let us begin again, at Bruges. You were there. You admit that.

I was there. Yes. I reported to Vauban. I was a pair of eyes watching the British. Nothing more. I have told you and told you. The fingers on her chin tightened. A new pain.

Vauban left Bruges empty-handed. He went back to Paris without the plans. He must have given them to you. Vauban trusted you.

He trusted me with treason. She wouldnt think that. Wouldnt remember.

Her voice had gone hoarse a long time ago. The papers never came to us. Never. She tried to swallow, but her throat was too dry. You hold my life in your hands, sir. If I had the Albion plans, I would lay them at your feet to buy it back.

Leblanc swore softly, cursing her. Cursing Vauban, who was far away and safe. The old man didnt hide them. He was too carefully watched. What happened to them?

Look to your own associates. Or maybe the British took them. I never saw them. I swear it.

Leblanc nudged her chin upwards. You swear? Little Cub, I have watched you lie and lie with that angel face since you were a child. Do not attempt to lie to me.