A Clandestine Affair
Emilee Harris
Copyright © 2020 Emilee Harris
All rights reserved.
Contents
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Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Epilogue
Next in the Series
A Captain’s Surrender Sneak Peek
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Author’s Note
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Get your FREE copy of The Commodore’s Daughter, prequel to Emilee’s Currents of Love series when you sign up for the author’s mailing list at:
www.authoremileeharris.com
Chapter 1
London, England 1814
Death from exposure to sunlight. Thomas began to wonder if the affliction might not be restricted to the nefarious creatures lurking in the fanciful novels none of his set admitted to reading. Retreating from the explosion of light his valet incurred by ripping open the heavy draperies concealing Thomas’ bedroom windows, he groaned and curled himself in the other direction on his bed, tugging the sheets up over his head.
Though he did his best to ignore the man, the irritating servant made a point to thrash about. He’d taken on the habit of late in an attempt to keep his master on some reputable schedule. Had he not been in Thomas’ employ for a significant number of years and provided excellent service, Thomas would long since have ended the battle of wills by firing the man.
This morning, the valet took particular glee in trampling through the disorganized room and pulling back the curtains to send razor-sharp streaks of fire directly into the face of his employer. Thomas shoved his face further into the pillow. Even the heavens were against him, forsaking their typical English gloom to heighten his discomfort.
“Confound it, man,” he growled out of the corner of his pillow, “you have far too much faith I’ll keep you on.”
“Forgive me, sir,” the man began, his tone indicating no hint of apology, “but it’s nearing noon and your aunt has been asking about you.”
“My aunt is always asking about me, why should that necessitate barging into my quarters and upsetting my rest?”
“You’ve also received a summons from Lord Addington,” the valet continued, ignoring the venomous accusations.
Thomas groaned and forced himself to roll to his back, his eyes no more inclined to deal with the consequences of sunlight than they were only seconds before. A stabbing ensued as the light skewered through his eyelids, prompting a harsh pounding in his head. He had no wish to meet with his employer today, or any day for that matter. He’d never got on well with the man, who lacked any perceptible sense of calm or humor, and recent events endeared him even less to the unyielding taskmaster. The fact the man maintained strong ties with the uppermost echelons of government and headed the country’s largest and most successful network of intelligence agents did nothing to humble his opinion of himself either.
Continued rustling back and forth indicated his valet’s efforts to collect whatever clothing pieces Thomas had strewn across the floor as he crawled into bed during the wee hours of the morning, and paused only to make room for the sound of pouring water as the man filled the washbasin.
“I’m going to take these things to laundry, sir, I’ll be back for your shave in a few minutes.” The disembodied voice wandered through the room toward the door, punctuated by a loud click as he exited, only a decibel or two shy of a slam, sending reverberations rolling through Thomas’ mangled brain and setting his stomach churning.
Taking in several deep breaths, he gave in to fate and managed to prop himself into a sitting position on the edge of his bed, but required several moments more before the spinning subsided and he mustered enough courage to attempt blinking his eyes open. The room shone painfully in vibrant hues, sounding renewed alarms and protests from every corner of his beleaguered head. He attempted to focus his bleary eyes on the washbasin, but not with any thought to use the item as his valet intended. His stomach had started up a churning violent enough to make him question his ability to keep it from revolting.
Swallowing down both bile and regret at once again allowing himself to descend to such a state, he stood on shaking legs and focused on his destination as he set one unstable foot in front of the other. He barely made it to the foot of the bed, however, before his foot collided with one of his boots, tossed aside blindly the night before, and sent him sprawling with a curse. Grabbing hold of the offending footwear, briefly noting the scuffs and mud marring the once pristinely polished leather, he tossed it across the room before struggling to his feet again.
To his great surprise, he eventually managed to shuffle over to the basin and the chair beside it, collapsing into said chair with all the grace of a winded mountaineer a moment before his valet reentered the room carrying a tray laden with grooming necessities and the note from Lord Addington.
The man did nothing to hide his distaste when he caught sight of Thomas, pressing his lips together as he marched over, no doubt to prevent himself from clicking his tongue and shaking his head.
“What does the summons say?” Thomas mumbled, rubbing lightly at his eyes with one hand, mainly to use the shade his hand provided to cover his eyes. Requesting his mail read to him was also a recent addition to his habits, born of necessity when his eyes refused to focus in the late mornings. Not a welcome habit for either himself or his valet, given the information Thomas received was often meant for his eyes alone. He could imagine well enough his valet’s expression, having seen it often of late. The subtle pop of the seal breaking and rustling paper ensued, scratching on his nerves with the same subtlety as the sound of rats crawling through the wall.
“You are to attend a meeting with Lord Addington at half past one this afternoon.”
“What time is it now?”
“It’s nearing twelve thirty, sir.”
“Confound it.”
Thomas leaned back in his chair, giving in to his man’s insistence and allowing him to attempt to arrange him into some semblance of gentility. Thomas had no doubt the task became more difficult with each passing day. He’d devolved to the point of being practically incapable of dressing and grooming himself without assistance. The last time he tried to shave himself he came out of it looking as though he’d crawled face first through brambles. Whatever shame or disappointment he felt at his behavior, however, failed to deter him from repeated offenses.
Thomas paused to catch his breath as he neared Lord Addington’s business offices. The unassuming facade of the building belied its purpose, the gray stone walls blending seamlessly with the dull surroundings. Near London’s financial hub but claiming space just on the outer edges, the building provided enough uncertainty as to the affluence of its occupants to maintain a level of anonymity. As a result, though the general public could guess some well-stationed businessmen maintained their offices there, no one became curious enough to wonder just what kind of business occurred there.
With a final steadying breath, Thomas stepped out into the street, only to jump back a moment later when a sundries cart went flying by, the driver shouting incoherently and glaring as he headed passed. Thomas didn’t acknowledge the man, instead sprinting across the street
behind the cart.
Receiving the summons came as no surprise, if he were truly honest with himself, he’d been expecting it for weeks now. Nothing he’d done since his break with Eric Langdon proved successful. He continued his job as he always had, collecting information, relaying information, yet as though to emphasize the error of his treatment of his friend, it now all came back to him marred, black marks upon his reputation as an intelligence agent and a gentleman.
He knew he worked better with Eric as his partner. The two of them had been fast friends for years, they understood how to work with each other, their strengths and weaknesses. He hadn’t realized how deeply reliant he was on his friend’s strength. Now that Eric worked independently, the rift between them grew exponentially, with a glaring disparity between their talents. He’d always believed He had decent enough ability on his own, but that was proving not to be the case. It was inevitable his higher-ups would take notice and call him in for a rebuke.
Sighing, he mounted the front steps. Unable to ignore or evade the event, he made do with hoping whatever reprimand was coming wouldn’t require too much time. Reaching for the handle of one of the large double doors, he paused as he caught sight of his reflection in the window glass.
He’d dressed hurriedly once his valet had finished with him and left the room, the man preferred not to witness Thomas adorning himself with rumpled and wrinkled clothing topped by poorly tied cravats. He had once taken pride in his appearance, taken great pains to look the part of the gentleman, but he saw no point in maintaining the ruse now. By the time he completed his task and hurried down the hallway, buttoning his cuffs as he went, he had just enough time to get to Lord Addington’s office… He thought. With his luck he would arrive late and incur additional railing from his employer. Despite his rush, however, he paused in his purpose when he heard his aunt’s fragile voice emanating from her sunroom.
“Goodness me, it seems as though I hardly see Thomas anymore. But he does such important work you know; I can’t possibly be upset about it. Well, I hope his meeting doesn’t last too long, though I’m sure it must be necessary. Perhaps I shall see him this afternoon.”
The hand of guilt clenched at his heart as he paused outside the door and peeked in. His aunt faced away from him, her features searching for the warm sunlight from her window, but even had she been turned the other way, her cataract eyes would have prevented her from detecting her nephew in the hall.
Unaffected, however, stood Thomas’s valet, who had stopped in his tasks to aid the mistress of the home. The man assisted the old woman to ease into her favorite chair beside the window and didn’t bother to conceal a reproving look as he glanced at Thomas over the woman’s head.
Dutifully shamed, Thomas turned back to his own task and continued along the way to exit his home, attempting not to dwell on the kind, elderly woman who’d only ever doted on him. His aunt was the eldest daughter of his father’s family and now the sole survivor of that brood. His father’s birth had surprised them all, with him arriving at a time when all his siblings were almost grown. This elder sister had all but raised him and later turned her affections on Thomas with just as much vigor.
Turning away from his reflection, Thomas shoved through the door, proceeding past the lobby and down the polished hallway toward Lord Addington’s office suite.
“So my summons did in fact reach you,” Lord Addington’s voice greeted him as he entered the room in the wake of the man’s docile and bookish secretary “I was beginning to wonder if I should have sent it along to the pub instead.”
Thomas stood in front of the desk as a man faces the executioner’s block, preparing for the worst and hoping for a swift end. The harsh sunlight he’d been subjected to that morning did nothing to soften his employer’s normally sharp features, and although Thomas was tall, Lord Addington met that height and added at least an inch with his intensity. Thomas had always respected the man’s position but doubted any soft sentiment resided in the stony shell the man presented to the world. The man wasn’t that much older than him but had grayed prematurely and hosted harsh lines along his brow and at the corners of his mouth which heightened his stern appearance.
“As I’m sure you are already aware,” Lord Addington began without further preamble, “You’re becoming a considerable embarrassment to this organization. Not only have I questioned your methods in the past, which you seem not to have learned from, but your current means of operation lend nothing to your productivity. My partners in Parliament have forgiven your questionable foresight in recruiting a deaf man, only due to the fact he appears to be accomplished despite the embarrassment of having him in our ranks.
“They are less inclined to forgive your consorting with the French in completing what was perhaps the most vital mission we’ve taken on in the past year. Only your sheer luck that the gold shipment to Wellington made its mark saved you from immediate imprisonment. But then you had the gall to flaunt your luck and abuse your connections to absolve the man of his incriminating background.” Lord Addington emphasized his statement with a harsh slap to the top of his desk and a glare heated enough to incinerate Thomas on the spot.
Thomas ducked his head but refused to regret or apologize for his actions. They may have been a risk, but they resulted in saving the life of Marissa Langdon and led to her current happy marriage to the criminal in question, who appeared to be a fine man from what Thomas had seen. The entire fiasco brought about the one pleasant outcome Thomas could claim in recent months, and he clung to it.
“I had thought the demotion of your assignments to more trivial tasks might finally incur some recognition in you or stir a sense of self-preservation. Apparently, I was mistaken in that assumption as well.” Lord Addington straightened, crossed his arms over his chest and paced to the window.
“In the past six months you’ve managed to relay misinformation, falsely accuse, and generally depress the functionality of this office. Were it not for the fact you continue to have a very few staunch supporters in influential positions, I would release you from duty immediately. Unfortunately, that option is as yet unavailable to me. Therefore, I’ve done the best I can.” He turned back to face Thomas, sending an immediate wave of dread through him. “As of this moment, you are suspended from duty. Indefinitely. You will cease all activities on any current assignments. Rest assured that other, more trustworthy agents are now assigned to them. Don’t bother to send inquiries; if and when this office decides your assistance is again necessary, we will contact you.”
The office door reopened on cue, Addington’s lackey likely standing with an ear pressed to the keyhole the entire time. The man stood at the door while Lord Addington resumed his work at his desk as though Thomas had already left. Just like that, Thomas lost the identity created through years of diligent service. News of his dismissal would circulate through the ranks of agents within the hour, shattering what remained of his reputation with them.
Retreating through his mental fog, he wandered back to the street, pausing to look first in one direction, then the other, uncertain which route to continue on.
Chapter 2
“No, no, Yvette!”
Sarah looked up from her embroidery in time to see her not-quite-one-year-old niece making a valiant attempt to climb up onto a chair from which vantage point she was likely to reach the plate of biscuits set out on the table for tea.
Unfortunately, her method of using the tablecloth to support her movements was not in her best interest, as the table also housed the pot of tea itself.
Swooping in, Sarah’s sister-in-law, Angelique, grabbed up her child and sat in the chair as she diligently worked to unfurl the tiny digits clamped around the edge of the tablecloth. It required a moment of struggle, but she accomplished her task and got up again to walk the girl over to the opposite side of the room where abandoned toys lay strewn.
“Just like your father,” Angelique grumbled. “Won’t listen to reason and have to learn by bringing the whol
e roof down atop your head, don’t you?”
“Definitely like her father.”
Sarah shifted her gaze toward the new voice, taking in her mother’s features as Ayanna, Lady Langdon, entered the sitting room. “I can’t tell you how many teapots succumbed to James’ antics. If he didn’t pull the table down entirely, then he managed to run into it with his gallivanting about the room and upset the entire arrangement.”
Sarah smiled. She knew it was difficult for Angelique, with James being gone months at a time at his naval command, but Angelique understood it could be worse. At least James was not gone years at a time as some men were. With any luck, though he’d had to leave before Yvette could even sit up properly, he would be home for her first birthday and, they all hoped, in time to see her first steps.
Setting her embroidery down on the seat beside her, she tightened the shawl around her shoulders. The Langdon home perpetually glowed with the warmth of love, but though an infant spring bloomed outside the window, the bright weather struggled to combat the late-season chill. She sat in the bay window to take advantage of the best lighting, but the glass panes did little to keep the cold from her bones. Standing, she crossed the room to the table where the family habitually gathered to take their afternoon tea. Tea and cakes already set out, the maid had just returned with additional tableware which Sarah helped to arrange as her mother paused to coo at her grandchild.
A Clandestine Affair (Currents of Love Book 5) Page 1
