An Echo in the Bone Read Online Free PDF Page A

to occur here … He touched the secret pocket in his coat, and was reassured by the muffled crackle of paper.
    He hesitated at the top of the stair, but there was no point in furtiveness; clearly, he was expected. With a firm step, he walked down the hall and turned the white china knob of his door, the porcelain smooth and cool beneath his fingers.
    A wave of heat engulfed him and he gasped for air, involuntarily. Just as well, as it prevented his uttering the blasphemy that had sprung to his lips.
    The gentleman occupying the room’s only chair was indeed “Frenchy”—his very well-cut suit set off by cascades of snowy lace at throat and cuff, his shoes buckled with a silver that matched the hair at his temples.
    “Mr. Beauchamp,” Grey said, and slowly closed the door behind him. His damp linen clung to him, and he could feel his pulse thumping in his own temples. “I fear you take me at something of a disadvantage.”
    Perseverance Wainwright smiled, very slightly.
    “I’m glad to see you, John,” he said.

    GREY BIT HIS TONGUE to forestall anything injudicious—which description covered just about anything he might say, he thought, with the exception of “Good evening.”
    “Good evening,” he said. He lifted an eyebrow in question. “Monsieur Beauchamp?”
    “Oh, yes.” Percy got his feet under him, making to rise, but Grey waved him back and turned to fetch a stool, hoping the seconds gained by the movement would allow him to regain his composure. Finding that they didn’t, he took another moment to open the window, and stood for a couple of lungfuls of the thick, dank air, before turning back and taking his own seat.
    “How did that happen?” he asked, affecting casualness. “Beauchamp, I mean. Or is it merely a nom de guerre ?”
    “Oh, no.” Percy took up his lace-trimmed handkerchief and dabbed sweat delicately from his hairline—which was beginning to recede, Grey noted. “I married one of the sisters of the Baron Amandine. The family name is Beauchamp; I adopted it. The relationship provided a certain entrée to political circles, from which …” He shrugged charmingly and made a graceful gesture that encompassed his career in the Black Chamber—and doubtless elsewhere, Grey thought grimly.
    “My congratulations on your marriage,” Grey said, not bothering to keep the irony out of his voice. “Which one are you sleeping with, the baron or his sister?”
    Percy looked amused.
    “Both, on occasion.”
    “Together?”
    The smile widened. His teeth were still good, Grey saw, though somewhat stained by wine.
    “Occasionally. Though Cecile—my wife—really prefers the attentions of her cousin Lucianne, and I myself prefer the attentions of the sub-gardener. Lovely man named Emile; he reminds me of you … in your younger years. Slender, blond, muscular, and brutal.”
    To his dismay, Grey found that he wanted to laugh.
    “It sounds extremely French,” he said dryly, instead. “I’m sure it suits you. What do you want?”
    “More a matter of what you want, I think.” Percy had not yet drunk any of the wine; he took up the bottle and poured carefully, red liquid purling dark against the glasses. “Or perhaps I should say—what England wants.” He held out a glass to Grey, smiling. “For one can hardly separate your interests from those of your country, can one? In fact, I confess that you have always seemed to me to be England, John.”
    Grey wished to forbid him the use of his Christian name, but to do so would merely emphasize the memory of their intimacy—which was, of course, what Percy intended. He chose to ignore it, and took a sip of his wine, which was good. He wondered whether he was paying for it—and if so, how.
    “What England wants,” he repeated, skeptical. “And what is your impression of what England wants?”
    Percy took a swallow of the wine and held it in his mouth, evidently savoring it, before finally swallowing.
    “Hardly a secret, my dear, is