The Beautiful Spaniard

Finding something to wear had been a challenge. Despite arriving in England with plenty of money, Teresia had no possessions and dressmaking - even bad dressmaking - takes time. Eventually her sympathetic landlady had found a dress in the attic which fitted tolerably well. Together they hung it out to rid it of the smell of mothballs and then set about changing the ribbons and lace. The end product was still out-moded, but presentable. It also, thought Teresia, would add credibility to her cover as someone who had fled the Terror with nothing but the shirt on her back.

"You would make a sack look like a ball gown fit for a princess!" exclaimed the sweet, old thing as she helped Teresia with the fiddly hooks down the back. I shall not have to eat anything, was what the Spaniard was thinking, but she acknowledged that she didn't look too bad... in fact the tight bodice was pushing her breasts upwards in a most flattering manner. With her hair dressed, cosmetics applied and jewellery strategically hung, Teresia Cabarrus awaited the arrival of her escort for the evening.

Lady Shipwash's soiree came as a heaven sent. What better forum for Teresia to make her appeal, than in a party held in honor of other rescued �migr�. He had almost forgotten that he had RSVPed for the thing before he left on their last assignment. It would be a decadent affair, where little Teresia would rouse the sympathy of anyone who listened to her tale, amongst them Sir Percy can gather the necessary details to effect the rescue which would help win Bathurst the girl. None of the other members of the league would have the balls to reveal their hands in the rescue, so Teresia could bestow all her gratitude on the man who helped her contact them - namely him.

He had written a brief missive to Percy, appraising him of what had taken place and of Bathurst intentions of bring the lady to Shipwash's and another to Teresia informing her of the opportunity he would provide her - oh she was sure to be delighted with his speed and efficiency! All that was left was to get ready and collect the little darling, then leave the rest in the days of luck. If luck was with him, he might have something warm to wake up to in the morning.

The better part of the afternoon was spent dressing, after all he did want to impress his dear little Marquise, and Sir Percy would be setting the bar high for them all. He tried on nearly every hat he owned, every cravat, and lamented he hadn't had any time to shop for the occasion. It was as he was trying on coats � he settled on the blue with red strips - that it occurred to him that perhaps he should have taken the woman to have a dress fitted for the occasion. Damnation, another opportunity missed! How much more impressed she would have been if only he had had the forethought. (Appropriately attired he would be the envy of every man there, could even the notoriously popular Lady Blakeney hold a candle to the Marquise?) What would she be wearing? Her wardrobe consisted of that dress that Sally had produced and a simple thing that came from her landlady�s collection. First thing the next morning he must remedy that.

The landlady was already by the room waiting for him when he arrived, anxious to see his reaction to the miracle they had performed with an out dated dress and a bit of make-up. The effect exceeded the woman�s expectation as Bathurst stood, mouth agape, watching Teresia�s entrance. He was captivated by her tiny waist, her fully snowy white breast, her long slender neck, her sparkling eyes. �Mad� Madame� you look�� He was having trouble remember her proper name, so engrossed he was. He wanted to call her his dear little Teresia, but that was too forward. Giving up all hope, he decided to go straight to the point. �My carriage waits outside to take us to Shipwash�s.�

Must look up, must look her in the eyes and not the cleave � as if any man with eyes could help but stare. Bathurst raised his eyes to meet hers and found her grinning, her eyes were eyes were laughing � lord, oh lord! She�d caught him in the act. He coloured and cleared his throat. �Lady Shipwash,� he corrected her, taking the fine boned hand she offered and pressed it to his lips. �A widow. She�s taken in some of French �migr�.� Who probably returned her kindness in trade, if he knew those French devils.

�I�d nearly forgotten about this little soiree, until I got home and my valet asked which suit I�d be wearing,� he pulled her arm through his, acknowledged her landlady with a nod, and proceeded to propel Teresia out the door. �I realized the perfect opportunity was right under my nose. Lady Shipwash is holding this party for this little Frenchie� which means that the fellow we�re looking for might be attending as well.�

Bathurst won more ground during the course of the carriage ride, appearing the more the knight in shining armour to her damsell in distress. What came next was the hard part� parading the delectable little dish before the pack of wolves waiting at Shipwash�s party. Fending them off would take work. He wondered if she had any idea of the situation she was being led into.

He was just concluding an anecdote about an incident at Shipwash�s last soiree when the carriage pulled to a halt just short of the steps leading to the Lady�s manor. The carriage had scarcely come to a stop when a liveried footman clad in cream with brown piping, pulled the door open and set the step so that Bathurst could descend. Lord John stood between the footman and the open door to help Teresia down � no one was going to lay hands on the lady but him. �This should be a refreshing change from all that you�ve experienced over the last few weeks.

�Lord John Bathurst and the Marquis de Foutney.� Bathurst noticed more than a few glances in their direction, they intrigued by an unfamiliar name amongst them and much to Bathurst�s dismay there were a number of those glances that linger to take in the voluptuous curves of the little Marquis. Wolves licking their chops. If they had any designs on the little lady, he�d show them they had another thing coming!

�I�ve just considered that Lady Shipwash�s guest may be someone you know who has escaped as well, wouldn�t that be a treat,� Bathurst whispered as he steered Teresia towards Lady Shipwash to be received, however Teresia�s express was difficult to comprehend. Perhaps it served to remind her of those still in that god-forsaken country � what a thing to remind her of!

�Lord John!� Lady Shipwash cried, offering her hand coyly. �It�s been nearly a month since I�ve seen you, naughty boy!�

�Business, my dear lady� dreadful business,� he emphasized to discourage any further questions. �But allow me to introduce you to the Marquise de Foutney�� Lady Shipwash inclined her head towards Teresia in acknowledgement. �She has recently escaped from that vile government they�ve got over there in France , she will really have to the story. It is simply amazing.�

Lady Shipwash�s eye bulged, �Were you rescued by that Scarlet Pimpernel? A little bird told me that he has he�s been making more mischief over there��

Valmont superficially inspected the gardens as he evaluated the Lady Blakeney through the corner of his eye. She was beautiful and married and alone at a party. There were two possibilities. One, she made herself beautiful to please her husband and he has neglected her or, two, she made herself beautiful to attract another man. In either case, she was a flower that desired the adoring rays of the sun. Lucky for her, he thought as he took two flutes of champagne from the steward's tray, the sun was about to rise. His movement caught her gaze and their eyes touched briefly...

"Valmont!"

He paused. No need to turn. The voice was quite distinctive. "Yes, Lady Shipwash."

"Valmont, you simply must hear this story. Really you must."

"Yes, Lady Shipwash."

"Oh! Champagne ! Thank you! You are such a dear."

"Yes, Lady Shipwash"

"Oh, the reality was not quite so romantic as you believe, I assure you." said Teresia modestly, whilst recalling that awful crossing, freezing cold and damp, stowed away in the darkest corner of the ship. She smiled at the newcomer and then began to tell her story from the beginning. How her husband had been forced to flee; how she had been hidden by friends; how they had been persecuted by the government, but had staunchly stood by her, declaring they had not seen her for months when in fact she was concealed in a priest-hole not three yards away; how they had been abruptly arrested; how she had disguised herself in the clothes of the eldest son and escaped before the soldiers returned to tear the house apart; how she now sought help for those who had helped her in her time of greatest need. "I pray God that I am not already too late!" she exclaimed at the end of her narrative, contriving to appear suitably distraught from re-living the nightmare.

Bathurst went through the motions of comforting Teresia while glaring at the little French who stared at Teresia a little too intently. It was only too apparent why Shipwash�s widow keep the little bugger around, Bathurst thought as he caught the glances the lady threw his way. �It is our hopes that Teresia�s story with reach the ears of that elusive Scarlet Pimpernel� after all, if he�s going to risk his life it might as well be for a good cause.�

Lady Shipwash patted Teresia�s hand comfortingly, �There, there my dear. I�m sure you will find who you are looking for� and when you do you must tell us all who he is.� Bathurst smiled at the joke indulgently, glancing around to see whether Percy was here in fact.

Hastings watched Bathurst act like a protective bulldog over the little Spanish hoyden and considering her manner of dress, Bathurst would be busy all night. She was likely to draw the attention of every man there and Bathurst would be there to snap and snarl at each one. No class! �Do you think so? There is a difference between abolishing the monarchy and murder,� he replied to Hawkesbury�s remark even though he was only half listening to the conversation.

�I hear there is talk of trying him,� Melbourne argued. Hastings had heard the same thing while in Paris, in fact he helped to bring that news to England along with Percy, Tony, and Bathurst, funny it was to be hearing it third� fourth� fifth hand. �Robespierre has been calling for the king�s blood.�

�If you wish confirmation, perhaps you ask their Ambassador,� Hastings laughed. �He seems to be everywhere these days.� Over Lord Hawkesbury�s shoulder, he saw Fanshawe signal him to join him. �If you�ll excuse me, gentlemen� I see Mrs. Daunton and am most anxious to avoid the conversation she�ll pull me into.� That earned him a few sympathetic looks. Weaving his way through the crowd, he found himself following Fanshawe to the terrace. �You�ve news for me?�

�Your little friend, Chauvelin�� Fanshaw said softly �� I�ve reason to believe he�s been to Dover.�

�When?�

�Three days ago. The fellow who saw him only arrived this morning� but is fairly certain that it was Chauvelin and a couple of those thugs he keeps with him.�

�Are you sure?� Hastings asked, Fanshawe nodded. The league was in Dover three days ago, well that night� that was also the night Armand Saint-Just disappeared.

Where the devil was Blakeney? Or Dewhurst? Or Ffoulkes for that matter? They had confirmed that they would attend. Since he arrived he had only seen Hastings and Fanshawe� Stowesmarries on the dance floor. He�d be buggered before taking Teresia to meet Hastings � Perhaps he should work his way around the room while he looked for other members of the league and while doing so introduce Teresia to some of his older, and less rakish, acquaintances. As it was Lady Shipwash�s attention had drifted to the next couple entering the room.

Turning to Teresia, �Would you do me the honour of partnering me for the next dance. A bit of dancing might lighten your spirits after having to relive that horrible experience.� It would also give him the opportunity to search the room, while showing off his prize.

"I would be delighted." she replied as the orchestra struck up something jaunty yet respectable for couples to perform those fashionably rigid maneuvers to. People were still arriving. She paid little heed to the announcements, but did notice that one caught the attention of her dance partner. She wondered if this Andrew Ffoulkes was the man she was looking for, but knew better than to give away the fact that she'd noticed a change in Bathurst 's _expression. Instead she said, "Lady Shipwash seems very nice, but I'm not so sure about her guest," she meant Valmont, "He was looking at me in a peculiar way." He'd been making obvious reconnoiters of her bosom, but Teresia thought it best not to tarnish her halo in Bathurst's opinion by admitting that she understood that kind of look.

Bathurst perked up a bit as Andrew's name was called out, when the set was finished he would have to introduce her to the young Scot - so long as Ffoulkes minded his manners. Even if he couldn't introduce her to Percy, Andrew would certainly be able to convey he message. "Lady Shipwash seems very nice, but I'm not too sure about her guest... He was looking at me in a peculiar way."

"I'll bet he was..." Bathurst mumbled, glared at the little French who seemed every bit the rake as he blatantly stared at every pretty girl in sight. Someone needed to pound some manners into the little frog. "I just heard the name of a dear friend of mine, we'll have to seek him out when this set is finished.

If Chauvelin was in Dover at the time that Armand disappeared then it was entirely possible that Chauvelin knew where Armand was. The whole thing was perplexing to say the least. Armand arrived with the other then, within a matter of minutes disappears � leaving with a man in black. Chauvelin, who despite fashion always wears black) was sighted earlier in the day at the same location. A couple days later Chauvelin visits Blakeney manor in Richmond (could he have been there the entire time?). If Armand did meet Chauvelin then it made Hasting wonder what he was doing in Richmond � collecting information from Marguerite, giving her a message from her brother? Perhaps Percy had a better perspective� As soon as he caught the distinct notes of Percy�s unique inane laughter, Hastings followed it to its source.

At the conclusion of the set, Bathurst waited a moment to see if Andrew had partnered for the next, however the young Scot, as usual, was not making life easy for him. �I think you�ll like my friend, Sir Andrew, terribly clever fellow,� Bathurst told Teresia as he ushered her through the crowded rooms in search of the elusive Sir Andrew Ffoulkes. Was it possible he�d slipped off upstairs with some wench already? Mores the pity for the little du Tournai girl who seemed to have taken a fancy to promiscuous Sir Andrew. �Yes, terribly clever fellow� did I mention he�s from Scotland � whereabouts exactly have slipped my mind. He has a decent voice for singing� do you sing?� He was babbling, Ffoulkes was frustrating him by not being easier to find.

�Well, I�ll be demmed if he didn�t disappear.�

<Percy>

He stood over six feet tall in his polished-to-a-mirror boots, and looked damned uncomfortable playing the unfamiliar role of wall-flower. He feared that his big feet had become conversation topics along with his too-bright coat - stripes of an iridescent silver mated with a pewter so sedate even the King of England would have approved. What was wrong with this picture, Sir Percy Blakeney wondered. People he knew were supposed to be in attendance, but he knew no one and...and the whole thing was deuced boring. God, he would be dancing with his wife next thing and what a scandal that would be!

The divine Margot Blakeney had dropped him like a hot potato at the entrance door, floating away in her tulle and brocade as if she had an appointment. Odd's fish, the woman had all but snarled, "Don't wait up," as she departed. Did she imagine he would scour the lavatories for her? Snoop beneath pillows in all the guest rooms? If she was so keen on taking a lover - well, then, so be it. Percy snapped his fingers and Henshaw stood before him. "I can't imagine what milady is up to, Henshaw, but I expect you to keep tabs on her. Go now. I shall be circulating and I expect you to find me if anything dire comes up - you hear me?" Henshaw nodded before he slunk away.

Good man, that Henshaw. Knew what was what. Mrs. Davis, Marguerite's maid, would have no compunction in reporting any untoward occurrences to him, provided Henshaw could keep up with the pair. Lady Blakeney was wearing her war mask this evening and Percy was certain she was determined to create as much mayhem as possible.

Deuced boring party this...no one around that he recognised. He snagged a glass of champagne from a tray as he wandered around the conservatory, noting the majority of the conversation was French and related to the war. Robespierre...damn that name! One would think the man had taken up residence in the vestibule! Percy continued to wander down the hall, noting a number of closed doors. Interesting! Was it international relations taking place on linen sheets, hmm? Or perhaps good old fashioned English adultery? He bit his tongue, thinking about the Duchess of Devonshire who had been banned from society this year by her husband for conceiving her lover's child. Lady Melbourne had been delivered of a son she had named George . . . many people said in honour of the Prince of Wales. Perdita Robinson was in the news again, screaming abuse over an allowance owed her for the baby she'd born the prince and...and...and...what was it about romance, marriage, sin and adultery? Did no one believe in fidelity anymore?

Percy had made his way from the conservatory, past the library to the ballroom where the strains of something lush and sweet beckoned him inside. Music always made him think of Ffoulkes who adored music the way most men went soft over the vision of thick eyelashes and bouncing curls. Sir Andrew hummed while he danced and Percy suspected he pictured the written music in his head with each step of the dance. Lord, the man was obsessed by music! Suddenly, someone trod on his toes and Percy's eyes opened wide.

"I beg your pardon..." he shouted, then stopped as the man who turned was..."Bathurst? Good god, milord Bathurst, I certainly didn't expect to find you here!" Percy's friend turned a confused look on him, actually looking back over his shoulder at whomever he'd been following before turning back and blinking once again. Percy wondered if his hair was less than perfect. Why else would Lord Bathurst look at him in that way?

She felt her companion yank her arm as he turned. At first she thought he had spotted this Ffoulkes fellow elsewhere, but one glance behind told her otherwise. Chauvelin, she thought, I must congratulate you, your description was par excellence! So this was the rival... the man who'd stolen Marguerite St Just away to England ... the man whom she'd agreed to seduce. "Will you not introduce me?" she asked Bathurst sweetly. Time to make the man's acquaintance, but first things first, she wouldn't change allegiance until Bathurst had led her to the Pimpernel. Business before pleasure, she told herself and, surreptitiously eyeing Blakeney up and down, she thought it certainly would be a pleasure. She didn't care if Chauvelin did think the man an utter fool, for what Teresia Cabarrus had in mind, polite conversational skills would not be required!

MacKensie glanced down at his waistcoat, gently running his gloved fingers across the delicately stitched needlework. The demmed thing had cost him a fortune! Oh, how he would have rather been out hunting...or sailing. Hell, even for the shy fellow that he was, he would have prefered to have been out chasing a bit of skirt downtown or by the coast. That always proved to rouse a bit of amusement from his mates.

The name Chauvelin brought him out of his reverie. And Saint-Just... "Word is that snake will be here in person to-night." He never looked up from examining his stitching. Something had caught his attention, and he now observed it from the corner of his eye. Someone had come quite near them -- a young, somberly dressed, extremely tall foreigner. French, by the look of it. But he did not appear to be interested in the two Englishmen. No, the tall scarecrow was too busy scanning the rest of the crowd, in search of a face he had yet to find. He hardly gave MacKensie and Hastings a second glance.

"Blakeney is here," MacKensie said casually, straightening up and nodding over Hastings shoulder towards the place Bathurst and Percy had met up. "Who is the woman with Bathurst ? It is a face I have never seen before...one I am not too likely to forget any time soon, either. A picture, don't you think?"

Tony was late... even more late than usual. So late in fact, it was almost unfashionable... almost. He nearly jumped out of his carriage and ran the driveway to the steps he was so ripe with anticipation. However, dignity kept him adhered to his seat. He tugged at his cravat, knowing that it was one of the most perfect knots he had tied. Tying cravats had always reminded him of the time he spent as a shipmate on the Daydream on it's frequent trips from Dover to Calais. The knot about his neck would have made the captain give a second look it was so well crafted. The sound of the door opening brought him from sea to clay and gravel and Tony stepped from the carriage and made quick work of the climb to the foyer. He quickly spotted Lady Shipwash.

"My most sincere apologies milady! I fear I was held up by some business back at Dewhurst manor. I hope that the party has persisted, despite my absences." He gave a dashing smile as he lowered his face over her hand, placing a kiss on her fingertips. Their exchange was brief... too brief for Lady Shipwash for she looked as though she would chase after Tony as he hastily toured the occupied rooms. His comrades holed up in a dreary corner, only made more dreary by the presence of a dark clad gentleman who appeared to be Chauvelin. Tony had only seen the man once or twice, but that had been in the dark and had he seen the citizen in daylight, it was very possible that Lord Dewhurst would not be able to identify him. Tony slowed as he saw the Frenchman. What in the devil was that bastard doing at this party? Surely Lady Shipwash wouldn't have invited him. Perhaps Tony would convince Percy to persuade the good woman to permanently remove Chauvelin from her guest list.

Tony lowered his head in acknowledgement as he passed the dark figure and quickly joined his friends.

"Well, gentlemen! You seem rather engrossed in conversation, which would be fine if it involved more young women! Egad I have never understood how you boys could attend a lively party such as this and spend the entire time acting as though they'd mistaken you for paper and glued your garments to the wall! And please do not tell me that I will be the only one here asking for a dance... with none of you, I can assure you." He laughed and slapped MacKensie's shoulder.

�We were talking about our little French friend� the one we parted company with in Dover ,� Hastings whispered, pointing at a particular swirling pattern on MacKensie�s coat for the benefit of anyone watching. �I spoke with Fanshaw this evening. He informed me that a certain Ambassador took leave of London a few days ago and was not seen to return until yesterday� what�s more is that you may have only just missed the fellow, since he was seen in Dover the very day you arrived. Interestin� wouldn�t you say? Especially if you recall that good old Jellyband mentioned that Armand left with a man dressed entirely in black.� Hastings read from MacKensie�s and Dewhurst�s expressions that they too understood the significance of that information.

�I�d wager,� Hastings said a little louder, �that Sir Percy would fancy having a look at needlework.�

"Ah, he'd be demmed ashamed, I do say! Have you seen what he is sportin' to-night? Methinks I could not compete with his shadow. But mine tailor will have a lengthy visit this weekend, do not you doubt it." He smiled a slow, easy smile. The only benefit that came from wearing such rot was the admiration of the ladies. Soft, admiring gazes from underneath cool, long lashes made it all worth the trouble -- and the embarrassment of the other gents.

He removed his monocle from his breast pocket and toyed with its golden chain. That tall foreign character was still stalking back and forth in the hall, craning his long neck over the shorter English dandies and allowing his dark eyes to dart from face to face. If he meant to be discreet he was quite the fool. He stuck out like a sore thumb in this bit of society.

"I'll wager our lonely guest would have an idea of Saint-Just's whereabouts," the baronet said casually, flicking his eyes towards the stranger a dozen or so metres away. "And I'd bet my fastest horse that it is that same aforementioned Ambassador who has sent this turkey to keep watch on our English soil. Seems subtlety was not his forte." He stuck the monocle back in his pocket, only to pull it out again. Chauvelin was no fool -- surely he had a dozen spies filtrating through the British society. How would they ever know? He glanced uneasily back at his friends.

<Percy>

It was when Bathurst turned fully around and gave his attention to Blakeney that Percy first discovered his friend was not alone. Involuntarily, he sucked in a breath as he took in the woman he recognised...after a fashion. The snarl of shiny black curls he'd first seen soaking the floor at Fishserman's Rest were now dusting her white shoulders and curling around a breast. Percy blinked, then looked again. Generous mounds they were. She was laced into a gown whose bodice was so snug each breath threatened to squeeze her lovelies right over the top. Percy bit his lip as he watched Bathurst all but drooling into the woman's cleavage. The poor lad was likely to have a heart attack before the night was over, straining his eyes so over the lace edging an escarpment of warm flesh.

'Will you not introduce me?' the woman demanded, forcing Bathurst back into the conversation. 'This is the Marquise de Fountenay...' Percy bent over her tiny hand and when he faced the marquise once more he wore his blandest expression.

"Enchantez, madame. Welcome to England! Tis a fortunate thing for you to have discovered Lady Shipwash who is so enamoured of the French that she could cheerfully welcome everyone who lives on the rue Saint-Honore...the good side, of course...and consider it the grandest party." Percy's eyelids canted to half-mast and as he pretended to stifle a yawn he eyed the woman more intently. As far as he could discern, she didn't remember having seen him in Dover. Perhaps she'd been too sunk in misery to have noticed him what with Dewhurst, Ffoulkes, Bathurst and whomever-all admiring the way her round breasts threatened to pop the buttons of the thin shirt she'd covered herself with. Suddenly Percy regretted the marquise's unfashionable gown, for while the tight lacing did much to showcase her stunning figure, a shift would have been more revealing overall. The marquise was tall for a woman and Percy suspected she would have sensational legs...

He shook himself. What was he thinking? God in heaven, his girl-chasing days were long over! Was he envying Bathurst the night he'd have with the marquise? He would - Percy knew Bathurst too well to doubt the outcome. Or Ffoulkes - hadn't Andrew been taken by her? Percy tutted aloud as he turned away from Bathurst and the lady. Unless he missed his guess, Percy had just crossed paths with the last woman Andrew would sleep with before he married the little du Tournai.

"Dressed as a lad, hmm?" Percy said as if he'd been consumed with that thought. �Forgive my impertinence, dear madam, but I can't imagine so feminine a creature as yourself making any type of credible boy-figure. No doubt it was witchcraft that saved you. Men such as my friend here were, no doubt, so overcome by your stunning beauty that they couldn't believe what they were lookin' at." His inane laughter filled in a space while Bathurst looked agog and the lady's eyes rounded incredulously. Percy bit his tongue, begging god to forgive him that shocking remark. Were Marguerite to catch wind of it, he doubted he would hear the sweet side of her tongue for the rest of his life!

"Witchcraft?" she asked, ignoring Bathurst 's suggestion. "I wouldn't admit to that... I hear the English burn witches." she was flirting slightly, she couldn't help it. For some unknown reason she was attracted to this man and he appeared to reciprocate, if only on a highly superficial level. However, she recalled the purpose of her mission. Bathurst would not take her to the Pimpernel if she spurned him now. "But in all seriousness, I was hardly in a condition to enchant anyone after that awful voyage and were it not for your gallant friend here, I should be in an even more pitiable state now." She gave Bathurst a beaming smile full of warmth and allowed him to lead her away, but something... just something made her turn her head to get one more look... just one more brief glimpse at the man she'd met.

Was his dear little Marquise flirting with Blakeney?! The thought stabbed right through him. Was it possible that she was just another lying manipulative jade? For a moment he began to see her in a new light � no longer the epitome of perfection and goodness � she was just like every other member of her sex. Given the opportunity he�d still bed her (what man in his right mind wouldn�t?) � but somehow she was no longer the woman he imagined her. Now that he was free of her spell things would be different � he would be on his guard.

�� were it not for your gallant friend here, I should be in an even more pitiable state now,� as she said this she turned to face him with those trusting eyes, the fluttering eyelashes � was it his imagination or did she glow when she looked at him. How could he have thought her anything but perfection? (The shape of her lips when she smiled made his knees weak!) It was Blakeney who was trying to steal his sweet Teresia away! The scurvy dog! With a dark look at Blakeney, Bathurst pulled Teresia away.

�I must apologize for my friend�s poor manners. I fear he must be in his cups,� Bathurst explained, putting as match distance as possible between them and Percy. �My friend, Ffoulkes, is much more agreeable company.� He hoped. Ffoulkes was also a notorious drinker and womanizer, but he had already told Teresia he would introduce her� no turning back now.

He's jealous, thought the Spaniard as Bathurst once more began clearing a path through the crowd. At present that was a good thing, it meant he would do anything for her; but later on things might turn messy. No te precupes, she told herself. Besides, she added mentally with a glance at the man on whose arm she now dangled, if he were to fly into a rage and spit that oversized tailor's dummy in a duel it would please Chauvelin and save her a task. A small worry wormed its way into her thoughts. You don't want to be 'saved a task', do you? it goaded, not this time. You're attracted to him, aren't you? Admit it!

He's nothing, she retorted to the voice inside her head, just another spoilt rich fool too used to taking whatever he wants, but he'll be taking me on my terms, mine! All the same that nagging doubt lingered...

He sensed her distraction and wondered if only just now she was beginning to comprehend the nature of Blakeney�s crass remarks � the bastard! Why couldn�t he have reserved such language for his own shrewish wife? That would be talk she was all too familiar with. Maybe it was because of his wife that Blakeney spoke thus.

Andrew. Where the hell was Andrew? Bathurst knew he was here� but where? The man was slippier than a herring. Knowing him he had probably fallen head over heels, courted, and was probably coupling furiously with some little debutante or other even now.

��I think he said he�d been in Scotland this last month�. something to do with land. I wasn�t paying too much attention when starting into those big beautiful eyes�� Bathurst recognized the voice of young Miss Dunstable, the little vixen Hastings had stolen from him. Off to break someone else�s heart. �� I hear he�s having an affair with Lady Blakeney� I just saw them together!�

�I would think she was a bit too old for Sir Andrew� I heard she was 27!� So Andrew was with Percy�s wife, no wonder the man was on of sorts. In that case it was almost certain the pair were in some upstairs room. �Let�s go back to the dance, my dear. Sir Andrew is a fine one for dancing.�

In a world of her own, Teresia had not heard the comments which set Bathurst in a spin, but the vortex caught her as once more he changed direction... this time back the way they had just come. She didn't want to go back to the dance floor. Blakeney might be there and she knew her behaviour around him would not withstand a second encounter in Bathurst 's eyes. No, she couldn't risk it. Blakeney must wait until after Bathurst had led her to the Pimpernel. "I thought we were going to find your friend?" she queried, pulling him up short as she firmly, yet politely, refused to be dragged hither and thither any more. Have you forgotten why I need to speak with him? her eyes asked reproachfully, would you have my friends perish for the sake of another gavotte?

Bathurst reddened. He could tell her he suspected that the man who he had praised as a saint was most likely upstairs boffing another man�s wife. That would lose her trust for sure. He had to logically follow this through. �Of course we are looking for my friend, m�dear,� Bathurst dissembled, �However, Lady Shipwash�s estate is vast and it is entirely possible for one to wander around all evening and not meet someone else who may be doing the same. For the moment it looks like Sir Andrew has eluded us, however I happen to know how much he enjoys dancing� and it is popular among the ladies so that whenever he is up to it he�ll never be wanting for a dance partner (the lucky bastard), so that I think our purpose would be better serve if we were t wait for him where he is most likely to show up or where we are likely to hear where he�s got himself to.�

There was nothing for it, so reluctantly she allowed her companion to lead her back towards the dance floor. They waited whilst the music for the previous dance crescendoed to a halt, then took the floor with at least a dozen other couples. Was one of them the man she had come so far to meet? If the Spaniard had hoped for something lively, she was to be disappointed. The dance was a slow, studied one. At least, she consoled herself, it gives ample chance for the dancers to survey the other occupants of the room. She hoped that Bathurst was taking full advantage of the opportunity. Glancing around herself, she caught sight of Blakeney, across the far side of the room chatting. Fortunately he did not see her... at least she prayed he had not, for she wished no further meeting until she was ready to give her all to the performance. For the rest of the dance, Teresia fixed her soulful brown eyes upon Bathurst 's countenance alone.

He had been a fool � a damned fool! He thought her a flirt when it was so very clear that she was in love with him. The way she gazed up at him with such affection and long made his insides melt. Somewhere between Dover and the minuet she had fallen in love with him, depended on him to help her in her darkest hour of need. And he would. Percy was already informed� in a fashion. Although he doubted the chief would remember much when he sobered up, he and Andrew would fill him in on the detail. Percy would be ever so delighted to help, in light of the fact that it would give him reason to get away from the treacherous little vixen who roped him into marriage.

The trouble was finding that reprobate Ffoulkes! Should he scour the upstairs rooms for Andrew before his little Spaniard lost faith? Bathurst grabbed a hold of a passing footman carrying a tray of champagne glasses. He took one and handed it to Teresia and, as he grabbed his own, he dropped a gold piece onto the tray. �There are two more if you find Sir Andrew Ffoulkes for me,� he murmured. The man nodded and set off on his errand. �Well, while we wait for Sir Andrew to appear, why not a toast to new and lasting friendships,� he looked meaningfully into her eyes as they clinked glasses. She was in love with him.

The Champagne alleviated a bit of his tension - only a bit. There was still Ffoulkes to find and there was only so long Teresia's patience would last. If he didn't find Ffoulkes soon, he'd have to find Tony to relay the message to the sobering Percy, he dare not try Percy again - lecherous dog! Teresia was upset enough by his presence, no need to distress her any further.

"My father told me the best way to find who you are looking for at a party is to stay in one place and eventually whoever you are looking for...Speak of the devil!" he exclaimed, then gave her an apologetic glance. He must have entered from the other side of the room - the little devil - with Lady Blakeney in tow. So he was right about his earlier assumption, which would explain why Percy was miserable and drunk so early in the evening.

"That fellow over there with the fair hair..." Bathurst pointed him out "... is that friend I was telling you about, Sir Andrew. I think we can catch him at the end of this set for a proper introduction."