Too Dangerous For a Lady Read Online Free PDF Page B

Solange said. “You are weak, Granger.”
    â€œI look to our main purpose. Many will be disturbed by the death of a child.”
    â€œThey will feel as we wish them to feel. Durrant will ensure that, won’t you, my friend?”
    Durrant actually flushed with pleasure as he agreed.
    Mark disliked them all, but he detested Solange Waite. He detested her vile plans, but he was revolted by her past for personal reasons. She’d been an ardent supporter of the revolution in France twenty-five years ago, and active in the worst times, commonly called the Terror. She claimed to have killed a number of “aristos” with her own hands, including women and children, and to have been present to see both the king and the queen lose their heads on the guillotine. She had dipped her fingers in their blood and smeared it on herself, and danced the day and night away in celebration. A celebration she hoped to repeat here.
    Had she been present to see his uncles, aunts, and other relatives perish that way? Had she dipped her fingers in their blood? Such murder was why he’d fought Napoleon, and why he’d sunk himself into this work—to keep Britain safe from the bloody French.
    How she’d come to marry Waite, Mark didn’t know, but she’d turned a muddled Spencean organization into a dangerous revolutionary one. Despite her sober appearance, she was the vicious goddess of the Three-Banded Brotherhood and Mark knew he should kill her. It might come to that, but he’d never killed anyone in cold blood and hadn’t yet been able to bring himself to do so. He planned to bring them before the law and see them all hang.
    Dinner over, they set to a review of the day. It was tedious, for Waite was like an accountant about such things, going over and over details as if in search of a missed penny. He fretted about whether enough people would turn up tomorrow.
    â€œThey will flock to hear you speak, sir,” Pete Tregoven said, “and the Brotherhood members will bring their women and children as instructed, to deter any soldiers who are ordered to attack.”
    Tregoven was a toadeater, who could be depended upon to stroke Waite’s pride. He dressed his wiry frame like a dandy and was overly fond of gaming and drink. His onlyuseful service was as an artist. He created scurrilous cartoons showing royalty and government in the worst light, and noble illustrations of Waite addressing the multitudes. These were printed off and sent to Three-Banded Brotherhood groups around the country.
    After a bit more fretting, Waite closed his record book and Mark hoped they were done, but Solange spoke again. “Isaac has something to say.”
    Solange had found Isaac Inkman early in the year and brought him into the Crimson Band despite objections. She appeared to dote on him, and perhaps she did, for he knew a lot about the destructive capabilities of chemistry. He was a pale, pudgy young man who hardly ever spoke for himself and now his eyes shifted. Mark thought he wouldn’t say anything, but then his eyes flickered with excitement.
    â€œExploding letters,” he said.
    â€œA, B, C?” queried Tregoven with a sneer.
    â€œCorrespondence,” said Solange coldly.
    â€œA damp letter,” Isaac said. “When it dries . . . bang!”
    Even Waite seemed unimpressed. “How is it damp, Isaac?”
    â€œSent damp. In an oiled pouch.”
    It sounded idiotic, but Mark didn’t underestimate Isaac’s notions. None had proved effective yet, but all were alarming.
    Solange took up the explanation. “When the recipient opens the pouch and finds the letter damp, he will set it to dry so as to be able to read it. Perhaps even by the fire.”
    More interested, Waite asked Isaac, “How big a bang?”
    â€œShattered a pot nearby. Set things alight.”
    â€œImagine if the recipient was actually holding it,” Solange said. “The prime