They sat in the study of the lodge. Avers noted the floral wall paintings that peeped between the many books lining the walls. It was entirely at odds with the otherwise masculine domain, and yet somehow it suited Dartois, the noble who was at once pleasantly affable and terrifyingly unhinged.
“Information? So, it isn’t just brandy and lace you are selling after all,” Avers replied, feigning disinterest by observing the cuffs of his jacket and straightening one, then the other. “I assume, whatever it is, the information must be high profile for you to have asked me outside of Paris and to—ah—test my loyalty?”
“Still sore over it?” asked Dartois who sat behind the ornate desk, his booted feet carelessly resting on its polished top.
“Not at all,” Avers replied, keeping his tone even. “I am only pleased the experience had purpose—I hope, a lucrative one.”
Dartois smiled. “We hope you may help us with that.” He nodded to the Comte.
“It is your cousin’s offices that have provided the information,” Vergelles explained.
Avers gasped, as if surprised. “No wonder my cousin has been in such a foul mood. How did you come by it?”
“The important part is that we did,” Dartois said, brushing off the question, “and this intelligence is worth a small fortune to interested parties.” He tapped a finger on a set of innocuous looking papers on the desk.
Avers eyed them. “Are those the documents?”
“Yes,” Dartois replied casually. “We have identified a buyer for the information, and we believe with your connections, you will be able to meet with them for the exchange without attracting attention.”
Avers shifted in his chair to face Dartois. While the Comte had started this conversation, and the Marquis had handed over to him once, it was feeling more and more as though Dartois was leading. The relaxed and amusement-driven Marquis had an air of authority about him since they had left Paris.
Avers glanced towards the papers again. They were there—the stolen papers that Wakeford’s career rested upon. Not wanting to attract attention, he allowed his gaze to drift lazily up to Dartois again and raised a single brow. “And the buyer is?”
Their explanation of the business they were offering him did not add up with Wakeford’s recent conversation. According to his friend all the valuable information had already been sold to the French. There had to be another party.
“Have you heard of the Commissioners of the Continental Congress who have lately arrived in Paris?” asked Dartois.
The colonists from the Americas? Wakeford had mentioned them in his initial briefing.
“Franklin isn’t it? And two others. Over from the colonies.”
“When there is rebellion,” Dartois said smiling, “information is as valuable as weapons, and we have enough here to interest them.”
But if they had already sold the information to their French compatriots, wouldn’t they pass it on to the colonists? After all, the French were subversively financing the colonists against the British already. Or was the Comte doing a double deal before the information could pass between them? Make them pay twice for the same information.
“And you think I can draw out the Commissioners with my connections in the British government?”
“They are here to petition the King for French aid, but that does not mean they would be averse to speaking with a British nobleman, especially one who may have information to help their cause. You have far more reason and influence to meet with them, thanks to your position at your cousin’s offices.”
He remained quiet while he allowed the information to percolate in his mind. The Comte continued to watch him and Avers couldn’t help but wonder why he was suddenly the submissive one in the partnership with Dartois. Was it because he did not trust Avers and so he was sitting back and observing?
Avers’ eyes were drawn back to the papers beneath Dartois’ hand. If he could get hold of them, he might save Wakeford’s neck and do a service to his government in one fell swoop.
“And the prize?”
Dartois laughed. “Are your uncle’s strictures pinching so much?”
“Yes.”
“I told you, Vergelles, that this was the man. He is so very willing.”
The Comte’s face remained impassive, but he inclined his head in acknowledgement.
“When would you like me to arrange the meeting?”
“Tuesday,” Dartois answered without missing a beat. He picked up the papers and dropped them in the top drawer of his desk, shutting it and turning the key. “In the Place Dauphine on the Île de la Cité.”
“Very well,” Avers said with a nod. “And the price I am to negotiate?”
“Twenty thousand livres should suffice. You would enjoy twenty percent—naturally.”
“This is promising indeed,” Avers said, rising from his chair and forcing a smile, all the time wondering how hard it would be to force the lock on the desk drawer.
“And you’re quite happy, not knowing the information you’re selling?” asked Dartois, leaning back in his chair still holding the key in his hand. “You have no curiosity over its contents?”
“Need I? I’m sure our colonial friends will see any potential leverage over my fellow countrymen as worth the risk of a meeting.”
Dartois chuckled. “Bien.” Finally dropping his legs from the desk, he walked over to the sideboard upon which sat several crystal decanters holding liquids of varying hues. “Will you not stay and toast to our enterprise?”
“That excellent brandy of yours couldn’t hurt,” Avers replied.
Once the drinks were poured and handed out, Dartois and the Comte fell into a discussion about the hunting trip, and Avers was left to sip his drink in quiet reflection. He’d learned a great deal in the last half an hour, and with all the information at his disposal, his mind was fast at work hatching a plan to steal the papers.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
The hunting around Dartois’ lodge offered excellent shooting and, had Avers not been completely preoccupied with a theft, he might have enjoyed himself. It was not until half the afternoon had gone and they had bagged a good number of game birds, that he conjured up an adequate reason to slip away.
