“Nmmmff,” said Wren, turning scarlet.
The porcupine was definitely proving indigestible. Marguerite ignored the grumbling from the corner. “Does he ask you about you or talk about himself?”
Wren dug her shoulder blades deeper into the chair. “He wanted to know all about my life back home. And he asked me to go down to the lake with him, where all the shorebirds are nesting.”
Is looking at shorebirds a euphemism now? Did I just miss it? “And did you see them?”
“The shorebirds? Yes. There’s a spot where they all nest, so if you walk down the path, suddenly there’s a dozen adult birds trying to convince you that they have a broken wing and running in all directions. It was completely ridiculous.”
Regardless of Ian’s intentions, Marguerite was pretty sure that Wren was infatuated with the man,
if she was willing to risk the elevator just to look at strange birds. “You’ll have to bring him by some time,” she said. “I see the merchants more than the nobility.”
“Except for Maltrevor,” said Shane darkly.
“Yes, well. He isn’t terribly welcome among the nobility with marriageable daughters, so he slums it with the merchants. Speaking of which…” She glanced at the water clock. “Probably time to get moving.” She went into her bedroom, slipped into something that, while not terribly comfortable, was certainly minimal, then pulled a cloak on over it.
Wren took one look at her and started laughing. “Oh my god!”
“Subtle, isn’t it?” Marguerite struck a pose. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Shane turn the color of an overexcited tomato.
“Those shoes!” said Wren, sitting up.
“Dreadful, aren’t they?” She bent down and rubbed her heel. “Fortunately there are no steep staircases between here and there, or I’d probably break an ankle.”
Shane finally regained the power of speech and said, “You cannot—you can’t possibly—you don’t mean to—to—”
“To?” She pivoted to face him.
“Go out dressed like that!” He tried to demonstrate what he meant with his hands, ended up tracing an exaggerated hourglass figure, and turned, if possible, even redder.
Marguerite’s eyes narrowed. “Are you getting moralistic on me, paladin?”
“I’m afraid you’ll start a riot!”
She started laughing. She couldn’t help it. “Thank you for the compliment. Don’t worry, the cloak hides a multitude of sins.” She adjusted it, pulling it closed at the front and pinning it in place. “There.
I am as modest as a nun.”
“Nuns don’t wear shoes like that,” said Wren.
“Lucky nuns.” She leaned down to adjust the strap on one of the shoes. Shane threw his forearm across his eyes as if afraid that he would be struck blind. Marguerite snorted. Being judged by a knight ought to have been funny. I’d think it was funny if Stephen was doing it, I bet. Somehow, when it was Shane, it was irritating. You know what I do for a living. You knew what you signed up for.
You don’t get to judge me for it.
“Time to go,” she said, settling the cloak back to respectability again.
Shane fell into step behind her. Probably safer back there. Less chance of being blinded by cleavage.
“Break a leg,” called Wren. “Or…err…whatever you say in these circumstances.”
Marguerite could think of at least a dozen options, most of them filthy. Sadly, Shane did not seem like the right audience. If I turned and said, “Sprain a pelvis,” I’m afraid he might faint.
Oh, well. At least I keep myself entertained.
Hopefully I can keep the Baron entertained long enough to knock him out, too.
She pulled her cloak more tightly around herself and, paladin in tow, went to do her job.
TWENTY-SEVEN
SHANE STARED around the Baron’s outer chambers. It was not a place he’d expected to be. It was not a place he particularly wanted to be.
The room was not large. Even a baron did not rate much space within the fortress. Maltrevor merited several chairs and a small desk scattered with papers. There was an even smaller desk, almost a lectern, wedged in the corner, presumably for a personal secretary to take notes. The secretary did not rate one of the chairs, which were arranged around the desk for the Baron and any guests he might entertain.
Assuming, of course, that he was not entertaining them in the bedroom itself.
Shane closed his eyes. It had taken a lifetime of discipline not to intervene when Marguerite had greeted the Baron, her voice low and throaty with feigned desire. Maltrevor had pulled her hard against him, making her gasp, and Shane had taken an involuntary step forward.
“Don’t mind him,” she said, shooting Shane a sharp look. “All muscle, no sense. He’ll be staying out here.”
The Baron narrowed his eyes. He was not a complete fool, and doubtless he recognized that Shane could have chopped him in half without even breathing hard. “Why is he tagging along after you anyway?”
She stroked her fingers down the side of Maltrevor’s jaw. “When you see what I’m wearing under this cloak, you won’t wonder. The halls are safe, but not that safe.”
The Baron’s nostrils flared. The door slammed behind them and Shane was left alone in the tiny antechamber.
Marguerite’s orders filled his head. He welcomed them, because otherwise he would have to listen to the noises from the next room, and he could not think of anything he wanted less.
Pick up each letter, read it, then place it back exactly where you found it. Test each drawer, quietly. If it does not open, do not rattle it and certainly do not force it. I will look everything over myself, but it will go much more quickly if you can tell me what is and is not a waste of time.
Rifling through a stranger’s mail did not come naturally to him, but he steeled himself to the task.
Marguerite was sacrificing a great deal for the mission, and he was not going to let that sacrifice go to
waste.
The door to the main chamber creaked. Shane had not yet touched the papers, and was damned glad of it when a manservant poked his head around the corner. “The master’ll be a bit,” the man said in an undertone. “We’ve a game going, if you want to join us.”
Shane shook his head. “Not good at cards,” he said gruffly.
“No?”
One of the side effects of being handsome was that people assumed you couldn’t be very bright.
Shane leaned into it. “Can’t keep the numbers straight. Always lose.”
“You sure? We’ll spot you ten points.”
And then proceed to fleece the ignorant swordsman for all he’s worth. Shane shook his head again. “Milady said to stay here, in case she calls for me.”
The manservant’s eyes flickered to the door. “Have a care you don’t interrupt the master, then.
Even if she screams.”
Shane’s gut turned over, but he only grunted. Grunts were useful that way. The servant closed the door and Shane heard muffled voices from the next room, and then another muffled voice from the room behind him. It sounded like the Baron.
The papers. The only things that mattered right now were the papers on Maltrevor’s desk.