Page 24 of The King’s Man (Guardians of the Crown #2)

‘ M ademoiselle Granville!’

Thamsine heard the Baron’s affected voice and stopped in her tracks. She turned to face him, a smile fixed on her face.

‘Baron De Baas.’ She curtsied.

‘Mademoiselle, might I say how radiant you are looking this morning?’

De Baas grasped her fingers and held them to his lips in a lingering kiss, his beard and moustache rasping her skin. Thamsine extricated her hand and surreptitiously wiped it on her skirts.

‘You are too kind, Baron,’ she responded.

‘Mistress Skippon’s music lessons are progressing?’

‘Very well.’

‘Good, good.’ De Baas looked distracted.

‘You wanted something, Baron?’

The Baron took a step towards her and clasped her hand again.

‘My dear Mademoiselle, I should be most obliged if you could attend my apartment for a little supper tonight. I require assistance with some music I wish to perform at the next soiree .’

A shudder ran down Thamsine’s spine. Everything in her screamed out to refuse, but then she remembered who she was and why she was there. Use your charms , Kit had told her.

She gave a nervous laugh. ‘My dear Baron, I’m not sure … ’

He raised a hand, a look of pain crossing his face. ‘Please do not be alarmed, mademoiselle, it will be quite … innocente . I wish merely to share some music with you and perhaps some talk. I have been rather … ’ He frowned as if searching for the word. ‘Rather lonely since I have been in England.’

Thamsine bit her tongue and replied sweetly. ‘I’m so sorry to hear that, Baron. Very well, what time?’

An eager light sprang into his eyes. ‘Shall we say seven in the evening?’

Thamsine nodded. ‘Until tonight, Baron.’

A door was flung open with a crash and Bordeaux stood brandishing a piece of paper.

‘De Baas, you fool!’ he exclaimed in French. ‘What game are you playing?’

‘My dear Bordeaux, what do you mean?’ De Baas replied, also in French.

‘You have been sending correspondence directly to Mazarin without my consent.’

‘I do not need your consent.’

‘You do when the matter affects the relationship with this country.’

Thamsine affected a bemused stare, looking from one to the other.

‘My dear Ambassador,’ de Baas remembered Thamsine’s presence and gave her a reassuring smile, continuing in French. ‘I think this conversation is one best conducted in private.’

‘Then in here, now!’ Bordeaux stood aside to let De Baas pass into the room beyond.

De Baas bowed to Thamsine. ‘Until tonight, mademoiselle,’ he said in English.

Thamsine waited until the door closed behind them, and was on the verge of pressing her ear to the door when a servant entered, carrying her cloak and hat.

She walked slowly back to the Ship, lost in thoughts of how best to avoid the Baron’s roving hands while extricating useful information from him.

‘Thamsine!’ She jumped at the sound of her name.

Kit stood on the corner of the street, hunched into his cloak. He had a pinched look, as if he had been waiting a while in the cold. She hadn’t seen him since their vitriolic conversation of the previous day.

‘What are you doing here?’ she enquired with a frosty edge to her voice.

‘Waiting for you.’

‘Why?’

‘Because … ’ Kit grimaced. ‘I have to. Now we can stand here getting cold or you can tell me if you have anything to report.’

She began to walk away from him. ‘You can stand here and freeze by all means, Captain Lovell. I am going home.’

Kit caught her by the arm. ‘Enough. Tell me what I need to know.’

She glared at him. ‘Bordeaux is displeased with De Baas. He accused him of communicating directly with Mazarin.’

‘And?’

‘De Baas didn’t deny it.’ She recounted the brief conversation she had been privy to that morning. ‘That’s all, except … ’ She paused, frowning. ‘De Baas has invited me for supper tonight in his apartment.’

Kit’s eyes widened. ‘Excellent.’

She stared at him. ‘Have you met the man? He says he is lonely, and I can only hazard a guess that it is not my musical talents he has in mind for company.’

Kit smiled. ‘I am sure you will find some excuse to avoid any unnecessary advances, and if nothing else it will provide an ideal opportunity to search his apartment.’

She looked at him with distaste. ‘You have no idea what you are asking me to do, Lovell … ’

‘I am not asking you to prostitute yourself, Thamsine.’ All humour had gone from Kit’s face. ‘Do what you think is necessary but extricate yourself before things become uncomfortable for you.’

Her eyes narrowed. ‘And how do you suppose I do that? You’re a man … you have no idea … ’ She shrugged. ‘Do not concern yourself on my account, Captain Lovell. I shall advise you if I find anything useful. As that is all I have to tell you, I bid you good day.’

She began to walk again, and to her annoyance, he broke into stride beside her.

‘Thamsine, I’m not good at apologies … ’

She turned on him, her eyes blazing.

‘You betrayed me, Kit Lovell. Not only did you betray me to the authorities, but you also betrayed my trust in you. Now I am tied to you by a bargain made with the Devil. I hate it and I despise you!’

He took her gloved hand in his. ‘Thamsine, I am sorry, but I can’t afford to have regrets, not in this business. At least you’re under no illusions about me now. Please, let us call it a truce.’

She withdrew her hand from his, and without a word walked away from him.

***

A servant admitted Thamsine to the well-lit parlour of the Baron’s apartment.

The gaudy red and gold-painted furniture and drapery provided a stark contrast to the familiar dark English oak of her world.

She set her music portfolio down beside the elaborately painted virginals, which stood open on a small table, letting her fingers trail over the notes.

The sweet tone tempted her to sit and play, but conscious of the real reason for her presence, she looked around the room.

She had never seen a room so stuffed with furniture – chairs and tables of all descriptions and in the corner a small writing desk covered in papers. An ornately carved table, set for two, dominated the centre of the room.

She crossed to the window, where the heavy red velvet curtains remained open, and looked down into the quiet street below.

A light fog played around the lanterns hung by the front door, giving the streetscape a sinister appearance.

She shivered and turned as the door opened with a quiet click.

Baron de Baas, casually dressed in a long gown over breeches and unlaced shirt, stood in the doorway.

‘My dear Mademoiselle Granville,’ he said while advancing on her, ‘you look charming this evening.’

Thamsine had gone to little trouble with her appearance, so the blatant exaggeration struck her as amusing.

‘Baron.’ She extricated her fingers as they were pressed against his lips. ‘It is very kind of you to invite me. Do you wish to practice your music first?’

‘ Non. I think we should eat and then practice. What is it your William Shakespeare says, ‘If music be the food of love … ’?’

De Baas rang a bell and the manservant appeared.

Without bidding he filled two glasses of wine, presenting them to Thamsine and De Baas on a silver tray.

Thamsine took a careful sip. Tempting though it was to steel her resolve with wine, it would not help her wits to become the slightest bit inebriated.

‘This is a lovely piece,’ she said, seating herself at the virginals.

De Baas stood behind her. ‘I had it brought from France. I cannot abide the solid, boring English furniture.’

She looked up at him. ‘There seems little about England you like.’

He shuddered and threw his hands in the air. ‘Where do I begin? The food, the wine, the weather … and, mon Dieu , the so-called English court!’

‘What of it?’

‘Where is the grandeur, where is the formality? A farmer who calls himself King?’ The Baron’s lip curled in a sneer. ‘I would not lower myself to remove my hat in his presence.’

Thamsine bit her lip to stop herself from smiling. Farmer or not, Cromwell was the head of state, and by refusing to remove his hat in his presence the Baron had probably committed a grave breach of protocol.

As she began to play, De Baas stood over her, so close she could feel his breath on the back of her neck. She shrugged her shoulders but he failed to take the hint.

‘You play well, mademoiselle,’ he purred in her ear as he traced the line of her spine from her collar to the hairline with his forefinger. The unwelcome touch made her feel physically nauseous.

‘Thank you, Baron,’ she said and began another piece of music, anything to distract herself. As she felt his lips brush her hair, she stood with an abruptness that threw him off balance. ‘Did you say we were to eat?’ she demanded.

The Baron recovered himself. ‘Of course.’

He clapped his hands and the manservant appeared at the door. ‘Joachim, food … ’

‘Sir, there are two men outside who wish to speak with you.’ The servant spoke in French.

De Baas waved a hand. ‘Not now,’ he replied in the same language.

‘Sir, they are most insistent.’

‘Who are they?’

‘Messieurs Gerard and Fitzjames.’

At the names, De Baas went silent. ‘Very well, show them in.’ He turned to Thamsine and addressed her in English. ‘My dear, I have some tedious business to discuss. Perhaps you would be so good as to wait next door?’ He indicated the door through which he had entered. ‘I shall not be long.’

The room beyond the door proved to be De Baas’ bedchamber.

Thamsine shuddered. The light of a dozen candles filled the chamber and the massive bed had been turned down, no doubt in expectation of her agreeing to a night between the fine linen sheets.

If those were his intentions, he would be sorely disappointed.

She had left the door open a barest crack and she knelt on the floor to see who entered. Her eyes widened as she recognised both men from The Ship Inn: the tall, fair-haired man was Kit Lovell’s friend, Fitzjames; the younger one must be Gerard.