Kirkland sighed wearily. “Haven’t we all?”


Chapter 2

Paris, May 1803

“Time to wake, my beautiful golden boy,” the husky temptress voice murmured. “My husband will return soon.”

Grey Sommers opened his eyes and smiled lazily at his bedmate. If spying was always this enjoyable, he’d make it a career, rather than something he merely dabbled in. “‘Boy,’ Camille? I thought I’d proved otherwise.”

She laughed and shook back a tangle of dark hair. “Indeed you did. I must call you my beautiful golden man. Alas, it is time for you to go.”

Grey might have done so if her stroking hand hadn’t become teasing, driving common sense from his head. So far, he’d acquired little information from the luscious Madame Camille Durand, but he had increased his knowledge of the amatory arts.

Her husband was a high official in the Ministry of Police, and Grey had hoped the man might have spoken of secret matters to his wife. In particular, had Durand discussed the Truce of Amiens ending and war resuming again? But Camille had no interest in politics. Her talents lay elsewhere, and he was more than willing to sample them again.

Once more indulging lust led to drowsing off. He awoke when the door slammed open and a furious man stormed in, a pistol in his hand and two armed guards behind him. Camille shrieked and sat up in bed. “Durand!”

Grey slid off the four-poster on the side opposite her husband, thinking sickly that this was like a theatre farce. But that pistol was all too real.

“Don’t kill him!” Camille begged, her dark hair falling over her breasts. “He is an English milord, and shooting him will cause trouble!”

“An English lord? This must be the foolish Lord Wyndham. I have read the police reports on your movements since your arrival in France. You aren’t much of a spy, boy.” Durand’s thin lips twisted nastily as he cocked the hammer of the pistol. “It no longer matters what the English think.”

Grey straightened to his full height as he recognized that there was not a single damned thing he could do to save his life. His friends would laugh if they knew he met his end naked in the bedchamber of another man’s wife.

No. They wouldn’t laugh.

An eerie calm settled over him. He wondered if all men felt this way when death was inevitable. Lucky that he had a younger brother to inherit the earldom. “I have wronged you, Citoyen Durand.” He was proud of the steadiness of his voice. “No one will deny that you have just cause to shoot me.”

Something in Durand’s dark eyes shifted from murderous rage to cold cruelty. “Oh, no,” he said in a soft voice. “Killing you would be far too merciful.”


Chapter 3

London, 1813

Cassie returned to the private boardinghouse that Kirkland maintained for his agents near Covent Garden. She stayed at 11 Exeter Street whenever she was in London, and it was the nearest thing she had to a home.

Packing didn’t take long because whenever she returned from France, she had her clothing laundered and folded away in her clothes press to await the next mission. It was winter, so she selected her warmest garments and half boots. All were well constructed but drab because her goal was to pass unnoticed.

She was finishing her selections when a knock sounded on the door and a female voice called, “Tea service, ma’am!”

Recognizing the voice, Cassie opened the door to Lady Kiri Mackenzie, who was balancing a tray with a teapot, cups, and a plate of cakes. Lady Kiri was tall, beautiful, well born, rich, and confident to the bone. Amazing that they had become friends.

“How did you know I was here?” Cassie asked. “I thought you and our newly knighted Sir Damian were still honeymooning in Wiltshire.”

“Mackenzie and I returned to town yesterday. Since I was near Covent Garden, I thought I’d take a chance and see if you were here.” Kiri set the tray on a table. “Mrs. Powell said you were, so behold! I arrive bearing tea.”

Cassie poured a splash of tea and decided it needed more steeping. “I’m glad you returned in time for a visit. I’ll be leaving by the end of the week.”

Kiri’s face became still. “France?”

“It’s where I am useful.”

“Do be careful,” Kiri said worriedly. “Having had a brief encounter with spying gave me a sense of how dangerous it can be.”

Cassie tested the tea again and decided it was ready. “That was an unusual circumstance,” she said as she poured. “Most of what I do is quite mundane.”

Kiri didn’t look convinced. “How long are you likely to be gone?”

“I’m not sure. A couple of months, perhaps more.” Cassie stirred sugar into her cup and settled back in her chair. “Remember that I am half French, so I’m not going to a foreign country. You’re half Hindu, so surely you understand that.”

Kiri considered. “I take your point. But India can be dangerous even though I’m half Indian. The same is true of France. Rather more so since we’re at war.”

Cassie selected a cake. “This is my work. My calling, really.” The cake was filled with nuts and currants and very tasty.

“From what I can see, you’re very good at spying.” Kiri chose a spice cake. Mrs. Powell’s kitchen could always be relied on for good food. “Does Rob Carmichael mind you going away for so long?”

Cassie’s brows arched in surprise. “I beg your pardon?”

Kiri flushed. “I’m sorry. Was I not supposed to know about your … your relationship?”

Kiri must have seen Rob and Cassie together. Not surprising since the women had lived under the same roof for several weeks. “Our relationship is that we are friends,” Cassie said astringently.

“And I should mind my own business,” Kiri said, her voice rueful. “But he’s a fine fellow. I … I thought there was something more than friendship between you.”

Cassie felt a sharp pang of… envy, she supposed, that Kiri could believe in love. Not that her friend hadn’t had problems to overcome. Her father had died before she was born, and since she had been raised in India with mixed blood, she had faced prejudice when her family came to England.

But Kiri had a loving mother and stepfather, not to mention wealth, position, and beauty to protect against an often cruel world. Cassie had been born with some of those advantages but had lost them early, along with her faith in happy endings.

Newly wed and madly in love with a man worthy of her, Kiri lacked the experience to recognize the many ways men and women might connect. A desperate need for warmth could draw people together even without love.

Not wanting to try to explain that, Cassie said merely, “Friendship is one of life’s great blessings. It doesn’t need to be more.”

“I stand corrected.” Kiri made a face. “I appreciate how patiently you’ve educated me on worldly matters.”

“You learned quickly.” Cassie chuckled. “Kirkland said he’d hire you as an agent in an instant if you weren’t unfortunately aristocratic.” She paused. “He probably has put you to work listening to what is said at Damian’s since so many high officials and foreign diplomats choose to do their gambling there.”

“The possibility might have been touched on,” Kiri said with a twinkle in her eye. After demolishing another cake, she opened her reticule. “While in the country, I spent some time playing with a scent you might find useful.” Kiri pulled a small vial from her reticule and handed it over. “I call it Antiqua.”

“Useful?” Cassie accepted the vial with enthusiasm. Kiri came from a long line of Hindu women who were perfumers, and she created marvelous scents. “I thought perfumes were for allure and frivolity.”

“Take a sniff and see what you think,” her friend said mysteriously.

Cassie obediently unstoppered the vial, closed her eyes, and sniffed. Then again. “It smells … a little musty, in a clean sort of way, if that makes sense. Earthy and … very still? Tired? Not exactly unpleasant, but nothing like your floral and spice perfumes.”

“If you caught this scent in passing, what would you think of?”

“An old woman,” Cassie said instantly.

“Perfect!” Kiri said gleefully. “Scent is powerful. Dab on a bit of Antiqua when you wish to be unnoticed or underestimated. People will think of you as old and feeble without knowing why.”

“That’s brilliant!” Cassie sniffed again. “I detect a hint of lavender, but I don’t recognize anything else.”

“I included oils I don’t use often, and when I do, they’re usually disguised by pleasanter fragrances,” Kiri explained.

“When I’m in France, I often travel around in a pony cart as a peddler of ladies’ sundries. Ribbons and lace and the like. I make myself look plain and dull and forgettable, and this will add to the effect. Thank you, Kiri.” Cassie stoppered the vial. “Would you have time to make more before I leave?”

Kiri pulled out two more vials. “Once I thought the scent worked, I made a larger batch.” She chuckled. “I put some of this on and crept up on Mackenzie and he didn’t recognize me until I caught his attention by doing something highly improper.”

Cassie laughed. “If you could creep up on Mackenzie unobserved, this scent should make me invisible.”

Kiri pursed her lips. “If you’re going to be traveling as a peddler, I have a remedy that might be a good item for you to carry.”

“Perfumes that aren’t quite up to your standards but are still lovely? That would be wonderful,” Cassie said.

“I hadn’t thought of that,” Kiri said, “but it’s a good idea. I have a number that aren’t quite what I wanted, but pleasant and too full of expensive ingredients to throw out. You’re welcome to them. But what I had in mind was thieves’ oil.”

“What on earth is that, and why would any honest country housewife want any?”