“Dance?” he asked the wallflower.
She blushed prettily, then gave him her hand. He led her onto the floor and proceeded to turn her about in time to the music. After a minute or two, Rafe let out a sigh of relief. Why had he not thought of dancing with wallflowers before? They were unmarried and therefore relatively safe, not to mention he enjoyed dancing. He could dance all night. He could dance with every wallflower in atten—
Rafe’s eyes widened and he met the wallflower’s gaze directly. “Miss…uh?”
“Vincent,” she answered sweetly. “Miss Caroline Vincent.”
“Miss Vincent, your hand has apparently wandered to my…er, backside.”
She smiled prettily. “I know. It is wonderfully round and firm.”
Christ, he was doomed. If her father did not kill him, one of the ladies he’d abandoned—he spotted both Lady Willowridge and Lady Chesterton scowling at him—would. Rafe danced toward Phineas, catching his eye and giving him a pleading look. Phineas merely glared back at him, his expression clear: You wanted this ball.
What had he been thinking?
Miss Vincent squeezed his arse, and he nearly yelped.
“Would you prefer to find somewhere more private?” she asked, fluttering her lashes.
Rafe was always surprised at how many women actually fluttered their lashes and thought they looked appealing. To him, it always looked as if she had something stuck in her eye.
“No,” he answered.
Dear God, would this waltz never end?
Just then, he spotted Lieutenant Colonel Draven. Draven never came to these sorts of affairs. He’d probably come tonight because three members of his troop were in attendance. He spotted Rafe and gave a grudging nod of understanding when he spotted Rafe’s predicament. Rafe gave his former commanding officer a look of entreaty as he turned Miss Vincent one last time and separated from her as the music ended. He bowed, prepared to promenade her about the room. He might take bets on who would kill him first—her furious father, the irritated Lady Willowridge, the abandoned Lady Chesterton, or the icy Mrs. Howe. He’d forgotten that he’d left her in the supper room.
“Excuse me, miss. I do not mean to interrupt, but I must claim Mr. Beaumont for just a moment.” Draven put a hand on Rafe’s shoulder and pulled him away from Miss Vincent. Draven didn’t wait for her response. His word was an order and always had been.
Draven led Rafe away, and Rafe tried to walk as though he had not a care in the world instead of running for his life. Draven steered Rafe through the assembly rooms, past numerous ladies who would have stopped him if Draven hadn’t looked so formidable. The lieutenant colonel led Rafe down the stairs, past a row of liveried footman, out the door, and into a waiting hackney.
Once they were under way, Rafe leaned his head against the back of the seat. “That was too close.”
Across from him, Draven shook his head. “Lieutenant Beaumont—”
“Shh!” Rafe sat straight. “Don’t start bandying about titles. Do you want someone to hear?”
Draven stared at him. “Mr. Beaumont, I can see your popularity has been something of a…mixed blessing. Why do you not simply tell the ladies you are not interested?”
“I try,” Rafe said, settling back again. “But it always comes out all wrong. Not to mention, females tend to water when I reject them, and I hate to see a woman put a finger in the eye.”
“You don’t mind if a woman cries, as long as you don’t witness it.”
Rafe frowned. “I hadn’t thought of it that way. Do you think I’ve left a trail of weeping women?”
Draven barked out a laugh. “No. I think most women know what you are.”
Rafe straightened. “And what is that?”
“A man who flees even from the word ‘matrimony.’”
“Not true. I attended Mostyn’s wedding.”
“And I seem to recall a greenish tint about your gills the entire time.” He held up a hand to stay Rafe’s protest. “But I didn’t come to discuss marriage. I have an assignment for you.”
A sensation much like a mild bolt of lightning flashed through Rafe. “For me?”
“Yes.”
Rafe could not believe his good fortune. Finally! His chance. “But the war is over.”
“There are still dangerous people about, and the Foreign Office asked if I knew anyone who could take this assignment.”
“And you thought of me?” Rafe cleared his throat. “I mean to say, of course I came to mind directly.”
“Yes.”
“Is it dangerous?”
“Yes.”
Rafe blinked. He hadn’t been expecting Draven to answer in the affirmative. Neil had rarely given him dangerous assignments during the war. Although Rafe had argued once or twice that slipping in and out of the bedchamber of one of Napoleon’s men, persuading his wife or mistress to reveal secrets, and slipping back out again without being caught was not without peril, it was not quite the same thing as running across a field while cannonballs exploded around you.
“Good.” Rafe clapped his hands together. “I have been wanting something to do besides chasing after women and attending social outings. What is it you need me to do?”
Draven smiled. “Attend social events and chase after a woman.”
Rafe sighed and sat back again. “And if I refuse to accept the assignment?”
“I don’t recall asking for your acceptance.”
“You’re no longer my commanding officer.”
Draven crossed his arms over his chest. “Would you like me to change that?”
“No.” Rafe knew as well as anyone Draven had connections in the highest spheres. One word to the Regent and Rafe might be back in uniform patrolling the Canadian frontier. “Tell me about my new assignment.”
Draven sat back. “Her name is Collette Fortier.”
“Fortier? Why does that name sound familiar?”
“Because her father was one of Napoleon’s most successful assassins.”
“And? If I remember correctly, Fortier is dead.”
“Yes.” The hackney slowed and Draven peered out the window. “I want you to find out more about his daughter.”
“How am I to do that?”
“We believe Collette Fortier is in London. We further believe she may be calling herself Collette Fournay and claiming to be a cousin of Lady Ravensgate.”
“Suspected French sympathizer and dear friend of Marie Antoinette’s daughter.”
“You are acquainted with Lady Ravensgate?”
“Not personally, but I’ve heard rumors. Is Lady Ravensgate taking Mademoiselle Fortier out in public?”
“I danced with the woman in question not a quarter hour ago, a woman Lady Ravensgate introduced as her cousin, a Miss Fournay. Your mission is to ascertain whether Miss Fournay is, in actuality, Collette Fortier, and if it is she, what she is doing in London. If she’s spying—and I think from my encounter this evening that there is a very good chance of that—discover what information she hopes to unearth and determine what she knows already.”
“And then?”
“And then you kill her.”
Two
He was here.
She hadn’t been able to help looking for him the moment she entered the drawing room. She would have chastised herself, but she did not think there was a woman alive who would not stare at Mr. Beaumont. He was simply the most stunning man she had ever seen. Not even the opulent room with its moldings and medallions, its porcelain and purfled vases could detract from the beauty of Beaumont.
“Miss Fournay.”
Collette dragged her eyes away from Beaumont and smiled at her hostess for the evening, Mrs. Saxenby. “How kind of you to come to our little salon.”
Collette curtsied. “Thank you for extending the invitation to include me.”
“You will not be disappointed,” Lady Ravensgate announced. “My dear cousin is quite enchanting, although I fear she may not be able to add much to the conversation tonight.” Lady Ravensgate gave Collette a meaningful look. “She is a cousin from France and does not know much about English politics.”