A Lily Among Thorns(23)

Lady Blakeney gave a trilling laugh. “Oh, that was years ago! We are not so young as we were, Sir Percy.”

Sir Percy glowered. “I’m still young enough to show those Frogs a thing or two about British ingenuity! I say, Your Highness, have you spoken to Varney about sending me to France as I asked? I speak French like a native, you know.”

Serena did not stare. She didn’t laugh. She didn’t picture Sir Percy—all foppish, red-faced, middle-aged six feet of him, who got out of breath walking from the dining room to his carriage—as an agent of the Crown in Napoleon’s Paris. She found, though—and it was an unsettling sensation—that she could not wait to tell Solomon all about it.

“Varney likes to hire his own agents,” Prinny said placidly. “He has some excellent French speakers already. I told him you were a deuced clever fellow, but he said your exploits as the Scarlet Pimpernel were too celebrated to allow you the proper incognito.”

“Indeed, Sir Percy,” Lady Blakeney scolded, “I have told you! I spent my youth worrying you would lose your head, but now we are older I wish we might simply be comfortable.”

“My wife worries too much,” Sir Percy said jovially. “Why, once I was forced to feign my own death to throw off that little Chauvelin, and I vow she nearly—”

Lady Blakeney hit him smartly with her fan. “I do not find that story amusant, Sir Percy!”

“But you would not have made such a regal little widow if you had known, m’dear—” Sir Percy’s eyes narrowed. “I say, who the devil is that?” He spoke in the same jovial tones, and gestured languidly in the direction of the kitchens, but Serena suddenly felt a little less sure that Sir Percy had never been a force to be reckoned with. She turned to look.

It was René, who had always managed to avoid Sir Percy in the past. Serena did not step protectively between them; she was bitterly ashamed that she still wanted to. “That is monseigneur du Sacreval, my former business partner. Do you know him, Sir Percy?”

But Sir Percy was shaking his head and leaning back in his chair. “Not in the least, m’dear. He is the spitting image of a baker I once knew, a member of the Committee of Public Safety. But that man would be at least thirty years older than your partner now, if he were still alive—and now I think of it, I saw him beheaded myself.”

I’m only relieved because I’m afraid for the Arms, Serena told herself. I don’t care what happens to René. Not at all. As she headed to the foot of the table to tell Joe to bring up more rolls, she happened to glance at the regent. He was watching René with narrowed, considering eyes. “The fellow’s back, is he?” he asked.

Serena felt cold. “Indeed, Your Highness. He returned only a few days ago. He is waiting for the Bourbons to be restored once more so that he can return to France.”

The regent nodded genially. Serena decided to see how things were progressing in the kitchens.

It was a mistake.

Solomon was leaning against the door frame of the pastry kitchen, covered in flour to the elbows, listening to something Antoine was saying. He glanced up at her and smiled just as he licked a large dollop of almond-pear off his thumb.

Now she remembered why she disliked the kitchens during dinner. The ovens made everything so damned hot.

“Want a taste?” he yelled above the kitchen’s racket.





Chapter 5


Well. She had to make sure he hadn’t, oh, forgotten the sugar or something, didn’t she? It was her responsibility. She pulled a spoon from a jar of them that sat on the counter and headed over.

“How are things upstairs?” he asked. He licked a last drop of sticky tart filling off his lip, and Serena swallowed.

“Good. I don’t know how qualified our regent is to direct national politics, but he’s an excellent gourmand. Probably one of my few former patrons who’s wholeheartedly pleased with my change in professions.” She dipped her spoon in his bowl. Somehow, it seemed like an incredibly intimate act. Her cheeks heated. It’s just the ovens.

His eyes widened. “You mean you—you slept with the Prince Regent?”

The pleasant heat faded. Not this again. “I did.”

He chewed at his lower lip. “Can I ask you something? I wouldn’t, but I’ve always wanted to know—”

“Certainly,” she said coolly. “But I shan’t promise to answer it.”