His Spanish Bride Read Online Free PDF

booted foot over the other. “I want you to help him get the letter back.”
    Suzanne stared at her spymaster. “If the Marques de Flores and Linford fought a duel it could bring about a breach between Wellington’s forces and the Spanish. What am I missing?”
    Raoul tented his fingers. “We want to protect Edward Linford.”
    “Because— Sacrebleu . He’s one of ours?”
    “Not brilliant, but an excellent source of information. And with gambling debts that make him willing to betray his country for the right price. The last thing we need is the Marques de Flores putting a bullet through him or running him through with a rapier.”
    “So you want me to help Malcolm.” She shook her head at the irony. “Perhaps it’s a fitting start to our betrothal.”
    Raoul’s gaze moved over her face. She could not have put a name to what lay behind it, but she felt its force against her skin. “You’ve decided then?”
    She hadn’t realized until that moment that she had. She gathered the folds of her cloak tight about her. The wind seemed to have sharpened. “You told me once that we could only win by taking advantage of every opportunity offered. How could I do anything else?”
     
     
    Raoul O’Roarke watched the slender figure vanish into the distance along the side of the plaza. Nerves of steel and reckless brilliance wrapped in black lace and dun-colored wool. It should be a question of odds and probabilities. He should be able to remove the personal element from the equation, weigh the benefits and dangers, calculate the odds.
    But if there was an equation for the tangle of personal relationships, it was one too complicated for him to master.
    The truth was he’d never been as detached as most credited. And certainly not where Suzanne was concerned.
    For a moment a vision hovered before his eyes, like the bright lights that warn of a migraine. Brazil, Venezuela, the Argentine. Somewhere they could make a fresh start. If he couldn’t legally marry Suzanne, at least there there’d be no one to know they weren’t married. His wife, whom he hadn’t lived with for years and who had never forgiven him for his actions in the United Irish Uprising, would be relieved to be rid of him. He could attempt to be a father. And a husband.
    And turn his back on the cause he’d fought for and the game he’d been playing for a quarter century. From his student days at the University of Paris through the first heady days of the Revolution. The time in Les Carmes prison when he’d fully expected to go to the guillotine. The fervor of the United Irish Uprising and the ashes of defeat. The reforms Bonaparte spread across the Continent even as his own government turned more monarchical. Through it all Raoul had believed in the possibility of change, the possibility of making a difference. Suzanne believed in it. Even if he was ready to leave, he wasn’t sure she’d go with him.
    And then there was Malcolm Rannoch to consider. The man he’d known since he was a boy, whose childhood he’d helped guide. For a host of reasons, Malcolm had to be part of the equation. And the damnable thing was, Suzanne might be the making of him.
    A gust of wind shot through the plaza. Raoul watched Suzanne vanish down a side street, then pulled the folds of his greatcoat round him and turned in the opposite direction.
     
     
    A military band blared “God Rest You Merry, Gentlemen” outside the embassy. So very English. The antithesis of her world. The core of the world she was about to start living in. They must be practicing for Christmas Day. Which was little more than three weeks away, Suzanne realized. Somehow in the press of the past weeks she hadn’t realized how close the holiday season was. It was a long time since she’d had much leisure to celebrate. Mostly the holidays signaled a frustrating delay in work, as both armies took time off. Though holiday entertainments could offer excellent intelligence-gathering opportunities