Page 123 of The Lord Meets His Lady

“Other than fixing a few pistols, how does Genevieve matter in this?” Marcus asked.

“Ah, the pistols.” The older man’s eyes lit up like a crafty fox. “Herr Wolf’s mission was to gather small batches of older weapons manufactured in various nations. The uprising must appear to be from within. We couldn’t have the rebels fight with English canons and English pistols.”

“Because that would upset Russia.” Marcus traced Russia’s northern border on the globe. “Any trouble for Russia becomes trouble for its allies.”

“Exactly. The miasma of war. Why draw whole nations into war when a covert cadre of soldiers can do the trick?” Barnard was grave, clamping both hands behind his back. “I thought you’d understand, Bowles. England can’t be seen as interfering.”

Marcus scoffed. “But we’re interfering anyway.”

“Indeed we are. Because of my late wife’s family ties inKönigsberg, I was asked to—shall we saysmooth?—the way for Herr Wolf in London while he quietly pursued his mission.”

“I see what you’re about.” Arms folded and hip cocked, Genevieve asserted herself. “We scratch King Frederick’s back, and King Frederick scratches ours…with copper.”

“Yes!” Barnard’s eyes lit absurdly. “I see why Herr Wolf is so fond of you.”

“Other than fixing a few pistols, I don’t see how I matter here,” she said, taking her seat on the settee again.

Marcus followed her and lodged himself on the settee’s arm.

“Now that Herr Wolf’s work here is done, he’s badly needed to lead the fight. It’s what he does best.” Barnard contemplated Marcus and Genevieve from under bushy brows. “If I may ask, my dear, how did you come to have such knowledge of firearms?”

“When I was twelve, we stayed at a long summer festival near Leeds. I pestered a gunsmith to let me watch him work. I stayed long enough for him to teach me about matchlock mechanisms. I took to it. So he taught me about wheel lock pistols.” She folded her hands in her apron. “I’ve always been good with mechanisms.”

“A rare skill for a young woman. I brought an Italian wheel lock with me for the hunt. Perhaps you could…”

The droning hum in Marcus’s head drowned out Barnard’s voice. The old man greased the conversation’s wheels, and Genevieve responded. A crow flapped its wings, landing on the windowsill outside. Its beady-eyed stare was enough to chill the bones. An object shined from its beak.

Creatures of all kinds had claimed their prizes today.

Old Barnard was nothing more than a well-dressed predator come to call.

“You haven’t finished your business here, have you?” Marcus cut their chatter.

Barnard and Genevieve faced him, her lips parting gently. Did she know her fate?

He pressed again. “What elsedo you have to say?”

The old man had the grace to tuck his chin. “I’m very sorry, but Herr Wolf insists he won’t leave until he has what is his by right of law.”

“Because he guessed Lord Bowles only married me to save me,” she said. “After all, what man in his position would marry a woman from the Golden Goose?”

“Despite his outlandish size, Herr Wolf has a quick mind.”

“Hence, his continued stay in England,” Marcus ground out. He lodged himself on the settee’s cushioned arm, his booted feet wide on the floor. One hand braced his knee; the other he planted on the back of the chair behind his wife.

Barnard’s eyes flared wide at the uncouth display, but there was no mistaking the message. “I’m appealing to you as an Englishman.”

Marcus shook his head. “She stays.With me.”

Twin spots of color bloomed on Lord Barnard’s cheeks. “Bowles, you understand…this is king and country we’re talking about. Far beyond your reach or mine.”

“I already gave king and country my due.”

“What about your family?” Barnard blustered. “I was a good friend of your father’s. What would he say about this?”

Marcus’s fingers drummed the back of the chair. “Plenty, I’m sure.”

Wind stirred outside. Dry bits of mulch flew past the window, and the crow flapped his wings but held fast to his perch.

Fluster faded from the old man, replaced by eyes narrowed with calculation. “I can arrange a tidy sum for you and your brother.”

Marcus stood. Genevieve sat tall and silent beside him, a woman bartered like common goods. Again. She’d had enough men arrange her life for her. He’d fight for her. Kill the Prussian if he had to.

“I’ll remind you, sir, you’re speaking of my wife.”

Barnard’s fist clenched at his side. The hearth’s fire burned hotly behind mauve-clad legs. Marcus fancied that the old man had danced straight out of hell to deliver his news today.

“A ship leaves Alnmouth in ten days bound for Danzig. It is my job to ensure Herr Wolf is on it.” Barnard’s eyes hardened on Genevieve. “Whether you go willingly or not, my dear, youwillbe on it with him.”