Lauren Willig by The Seduction of the Crimson Rose
Authors: The Seduction of the Crimson Rose
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lines around Vaughn’s eyes deepened with sardonic amusement. “You didn’t truly believe
you and I? No, no, and no again.”
“I find myself exceedingly relieved,” Mary said stiffly, “to find that we are once again in agreement.”
Vaughn wasn’t the least bit fooled. He smiled lazily. “My dear, if I had wished to arrange an assignation, I would hardly have been so clumsy as to leave you in any doubt of my intentions. This matter is purely business.”
“But whose business is it, then?” Mary challenged. “Why didn’t they contact me directly?”
“My dear girl, if you were meant to know, why do you think our friend would have sent me?”
“I find it even less likely that you would agree to play errand boy, my lord.”
Vaughn refused to be baited. He contemplated the serpentine head of his cane, twisting it so that the fangs glinted in the light. “I prefer go-between. So much less menial.”
“Whatever you choose to call it, you still haven’t explained why.”
“Wouldn’t you rather know what ?” Vaughn inquired lightly. “I should think the substance of my communication ought to interest you more than my motivations, which are of no concern to anyone at all other than myself.”
“Aren’t they?” asked Mary, but left it at that. Vaughn’s tone might have been casual, but there was a fine edge of steel beneath that forbade further inquiry. “All right, then. What does your Roving Rosebud want of me?”
Vaughn winced. “A better name, I should think. No, no, don’t bother. It will do for present. My friend seeks your assistance in the removal of a particular thorn. A thorn called the Black Tulip.”
Mary took great pleasure in saying, “You are mixing your horticultural metaphors, my lord. Am I meant to know who this unusually thorny Tulip is?”
“If any of us knew who it actually was, there would be no need to enlist you.” Having scored his retaliatory point, Vaughn went on: “The Black Tulip is the nom de guerre of a spy in the employ of the French government. He started off, in the usual way of such creatures, by leaving arch notes in inconvenient places. Along the way, however, he developed an irritating habit of skewering English agents. The, ahem, Rosebud would like to see him removed.”
“And you want me to bring you his head on a platter?” Mary made no effort to hide her derision.
“Metaphorically speaking. I gather that the platter is optional these days.” Vaughn paused to admire the effect of his rings before adding, “You have, shall we say, certain attributes that would be most advantageous to the goal in question.”
Men had admired Mary’s attributes before. This was, however, one of the more ingenious stories she had been presented with.
“You must think I am very green,” she said gently.
“Oh, not so very green.” Lord Vaughn’s eyes danced silver. “Just a trifle chartreuse around the edges.”
“Inebriating?”
“Unschooled.”
That would teach her to fish for compliments from Lord Vaughn. “Not so unschooled as to believe that any spy would seek me out to serve as his personal assassin.”
“Ah, that explains it.” Lord Vaughn’s understanding smile was a miracle of polite derision. “Your role would be merely ahow shall I put this? A decorative one. You do have some experience in that field, I believe. Your services are required not as assassin, but as bait.”
Well, that certainly put her in her place. Mary raised a brow. “Weren’t there any other convenient worms to hand?”
“None so well suited as you.” Oh, bother, she had walked right into that one. Before Mary could come up with a suitably cutting rejoinder about snakes and their habits, Vaughn went on: “The Black Tulip has a curious conceit. He makes it a point to employ women with your particular
“I find myself exceedingly relieved,” Mary said stiffly, “to find that we are once again in agreement.”
Vaughn wasn’t the least bit fooled. He smiled lazily. “My dear, if I had wished to arrange an assignation, I would hardly have been so clumsy as to leave you in any doubt of my intentions. This matter is purely business.”
“But whose business is it, then?” Mary challenged. “Why didn’t they contact me directly?”
“My dear girl, if you were meant to know, why do you think our friend would have sent me?”
“I find it even less likely that you would agree to play errand boy, my lord.”
Vaughn refused to be baited. He contemplated the serpentine head of his cane, twisting it so that the fangs glinted in the light. “I prefer go-between. So much less menial.”
“Whatever you choose to call it, you still haven’t explained why.”
“Wouldn’t you rather know what ?” Vaughn inquired lightly. “I should think the substance of my communication ought to interest you more than my motivations, which are of no concern to anyone at all other than myself.”
“Aren’t they?” asked Mary, but left it at that. Vaughn’s tone might have been casual, but there was a fine edge of steel beneath that forbade further inquiry. “All right, then. What does your Roving Rosebud want of me?”
Vaughn winced. “A better name, I should think. No, no, don’t bother. It will do for present. My friend seeks your assistance in the removal of a particular thorn. A thorn called the Black Tulip.”
Mary took great pleasure in saying, “You are mixing your horticultural metaphors, my lord. Am I meant to know who this unusually thorny Tulip is?”
“If any of us knew who it actually was, there would be no need to enlist you.” Having scored his retaliatory point, Vaughn went on: “The Black Tulip is the nom de guerre of a spy in the employ of the French government. He started off, in the usual way of such creatures, by leaving arch notes in inconvenient places. Along the way, however, he developed an irritating habit of skewering English agents. The, ahem, Rosebud would like to see him removed.”
“And you want me to bring you his head on a platter?” Mary made no effort to hide her derision.
“Metaphorically speaking. I gather that the platter is optional these days.” Vaughn paused to admire the effect of his rings before adding, “You have, shall we say, certain attributes that would be most advantageous to the goal in question.”
Men had admired Mary’s attributes before. This was, however, one of the more ingenious stories she had been presented with.
“You must think I am very green,” she said gently.
“Oh, not so very green.” Lord Vaughn’s eyes danced silver. “Just a trifle chartreuse around the edges.”
“Inebriating?”
“Unschooled.”
That would teach her to fish for compliments from Lord Vaughn. “Not so unschooled as to believe that any spy would seek me out to serve as his personal assassin.”
“Ah, that explains it.” Lord Vaughn’s understanding smile was a miracle of polite derision. “Your role would be merely ahow shall I put this? A decorative one. You do have some experience in that field, I believe. Your services are required not as assassin, but as bait.”
Well, that certainly put her in her place. Mary raised a brow. “Weren’t there any other convenient worms to hand?”
“None so well suited as you.” Oh, bother, she had walked right into that one. Before Mary could come up with a suitably cutting rejoinder about snakes and their habits, Vaughn went on: “The Black Tulip has a curious conceit. He makes it a point to employ women with your particular
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