by Laura Landon
ALSO BY LAURA LANDON
From Montlake Romance
Silent Revenge
Intimate Deception
Intimate Surrender
The Most to Lose
A Risk Worth Taking
Betrayed by Your Kiss
From Prairie Muse Publishing
Shattered Dreams
When Love Is Enough
Broken Promise
A Matter of Choice
More Than Willing
Not Mine to Give
Keeper of My Heart
Love Unbidden
The Dark Duke
Cast in Shadows
Cast in Ruin
Cast in Ice
Cast in Scandal
Where the Lady Belongs (novella)
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Text copyright © 2016 Laura Landon
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by Montlake Romance, Seattle
www.apub.com
Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Montlake Romance are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.
ISBN-13: 9781503935266
ISBN-10: 1503935264
Cover design by Michael Rehder
To my readers! I can’t thank you enough!
Contents
Prologue
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
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Prologue
England - February, 1855
Major Samuel Bennett lifted the freshly filled tankard to his mouth and took a long swallow of the ale they served in the Armor’s Inn. It was barely passable, but he’d tasted worse. A damn sight worse. Except that hardly mattered now. Even the finest brandy couldn’t dull his senses enough to make what he had to do easier.
Sam set his tankard back onto the scarred wooden table and when the door opened, he slowly lifted his gaze. He watched as his friend and fellow agent, the Marquess of Huntingdon, stepped into the smoke-filled room.
Sam lifted his tankard again and took another swallow. His gaze scanned the patrons sitting at tables around the room. None of them cast the marquess a second glance. But that was not unusual. Hunt was still alive because of his uncanny ability to blend in with any crowd.
Tonight Hunt was dressed like the tenant farmers who frequented the inn, in homespun tweed breeches and a worn flannel jacket. Even the sweat-stained hat on his graying head gave him the appearance of a man used to laboring long and hard both winter and summer, the same as each and every one of the workers that filled the taproom. The slight hunch to his shoulders and the hitch in his gait didn’t alert them to the fact that Hunt was really a peer of the realm. The heir apparent to the Duke of Bridgemont.
As well as one of England’s best spies.
Hunt stopped at the counter. The burly barkeep paused from wiping the worn wooden bar and silently listened, then reached beneath the counter and set a full bottle between them. Hunt leaned closer, and Sam saw the marquess slip a coin beneath the towel. A second later, a key appeared on the counter, which Hunt slipped into his pocket. With a slight nod, he slowly climbed the stairs and disappeared from sight.
Sam smiled behind the rim of his tankard. It was as if he were watching Hunt’s incomparable finesse for the first time. The extent of his talent still amazed him. But Sam’s smile faded when he thought of the task ahead of him.
After watching to make sure no one followed Hunt, Sam rose and trailed his mentor, his partner—his best friend.
When Sam reached the top of the stairs, he walked cautiously down the hall. The doors to all the rooms stood open, but none of them held a hint of welcoming. Each portal yawned like a dark empty pit, the entryways as foreboding as the narrow hallway.
A faint rustle echoed from inside one of the doorways, and Sam placed his hand over the hilt of the knife he always wore at his side. He took another step, then raised his knife. He spun around just as an arm closed around his shoulder.
Without hesitation, he pressed the blade against the base of the attacker’s throat. He pushed it hard enough to let the man feel the threat, yet not hard enough to do injury.
He lowered the knife when Hunt laughed.
“That was a damn foolish thing to do,” Sam said, his heart thundering in his chest.
“I was just testing to make sure you hadn’t gotten lax while idling these last few months in England.” Hunt dropped his arm from around Sam’s shoulder and stepped back into the gaping doorway.
Sam followed, then closed the door behind them and bolted it.
“I thought perhaps you had grown lazy. Basking in the success of our completed mission in Paris.” Hunt lit a lantern and set it on a small table in the center of the room next to the bottle Hunt had gotten from the innkeeper. “I wouldn’t want to see you let down your guard.”
“The Foreign Office has hardly given me time to let down my guard. I just returned from another visit to France.”
Hunt’s eyebrows arched upward. He held Sam’s gaze several seconds before he looked at the bottle on the table. “Can I interest you in a glass of the inn’s finest port? We’ll imagine it’s equal to the fine wines in my town house cellar.”
Sam smiled. “That will take a great deal of imagining, I think.”
“No doubt,” Hunt said on a laugh. Then his expression turned serious. “Perhaps someday we can share a bottle together in public.”
“You know that’s not possible. Not if we want to continue being of use to the government.”
Sam pulled out a chair and sat facing the door. Never exposing your back to the entrance of a room was one of the first rules Hunt had taught him. It had saved his life more than once.
Hunt gave him a knowing smile, then moved a second chair so neither man had his back to the door. Before he sat, he took two glasses from the pockets of his jacket. Sam shook his head, amazed at the marquess’s ability. Even he hadn’t seen him take the glasses. And he’d been watching.
Hunt poured them each a healthy amount and sat down. “I must compliment you, Sam. Your choice of a meeting place is perfect. Quite out of the way. And such an isolated setting.”
Sam noticed the grin on Hunt’s face. “I’m glad you approve.”
“Oh, I do. But I can’t help but wonder what was so important that you risked us meeting like this.”
Sam took a long swallow of the liquor Hunt had poured and struggled to speak. Hunt’s reputation as a loyal agent had never been in question before. His patriotism and love of country had never been in doubt. Until now.
Hunt leaned forward in his c
hair. “This must be terribly serious, Sam. I’ve never known you to be so hesitant to speak your mind before.”
Sam shoved back his chair and stood, then walked to the cold, lifeless fireplace. He turned his back to Hunt and stretched out his arms, grasping the brick mantel with both hands.
Tension mounted, their silence an uncomfortable barrier between them. Sam knew he couldn’t put it off any longer. He turned to face Hunt. “Since we left Paris, have you heard anything concerning our friend Roseneau?”
François Roseneau was a Frenchman who was suspected of being a Russian sympathizer and the reason Sam and Hunt had been sent to France nearly six months before to attend a ball he’d hosted at his Paris home. While they were there, they’d broken into Roseneau’s safe and stolen jewels he intended to sell to help Russia finance the Crimean War.
Hunt sat back, his body relaxed, the expression on his face obtuse. “Nothing, other than he departed Paris within days of his ball and is residing at one of his villas in the French countryside. No one knows exactly where.”
Sam walked to the window and leaned against the wall. He watched Hunt for any sign he might know more than he was saying. “Do you think the Russians know their jewels are missing?”
Hunt shrugged, then took another swallow of the liquor in his glass. “It’s possible. By now they’ve got to be suspicious, considering they haven’t received payment from the sale.”
“Then it’s also possible Roseneau’s informed them the jewels are missing and asked for their aid in searching for them.”
“That’s a possibility,” Hunt said, shifting in his chair. “But not likely. If I were Roseneau, I’d want to recover the jewels on my own.”
“But,” Sam said, taking a step closer to Hunt, “we can’t forget, Roseneau and the Russians aren’t the only ones who have an interest in the jewels.”
There was a slight pause before Hunt spoke. “Of course. The intended buyer will also be expecting word concerning the jewels.”
Sam watched Hunt even more closely. “Any idea who that might be, Hunt?”
“You have just as good an idea as I do, Sam. Unless you know something that I don’t.”
“No. Except, I wonder how Roseneau is going to explain the missing jewels to the Russians, and to what lengths he’ll go to get them back.”
Hunt sat forward in his chair, his demeanor unusually bland. The first niggling of unease stirred deep inside Sam.
Hunt took a breath before he spoke. “If I were Roseneau, I’d begin with everyone who attended the ball that night. I imagine the Russians have already put pressure on Roseneau to complete the transaction.”
“Yes, I imagine he’ll do what he must. And just what do you think that will be?”
Hunt slid back his chair and bolted to his feet. The two men faced off. “Is there a point to all these questions, Sam?”
“Yes, Hunt. There is.”
Sam slammed his fist against his thigh in an unusual show of temper. “Foreign agents have been swarming into England in droves since we stole the jewels. More than half a dozen by last count. Some are known Russian agents, while others have fluctuating allegiances that migrate to the highest bidder. I can explain a strange agent or two to the Foreign Office. But not the flood that’s crossing to our shores every day. What does it mean, Hunt?”
“How the hell should I know?!”
At Hunt’s outburst, a cold chill raced down Sam’s spine. In the dozens of times they’d worked together, Sam had never seen Hunt like this. Had never seen him lose his temper. As if, whatever this was, it was a heavier burden than he could bear.
Sam tried to ignore the fear that assaulted him but couldn’t. “I think you’d better tell me what the hell is going on.”
“Nothing is going on.”
“Yes, there is! And I want to know what it is. Now!”
Hunt paced the small space between the table and the door, then stopped and locked his gaze with Sam’s. Several long seconds passed before Hunt spoke. “You’re not going to give up, are you, Sam?”
“Would you?”
Hunt raked his fingers through his hair, then took a breath so agonizingly deep, Sam could feel the pain across the room.
“I took something else from Roseneau’s safe that night.”
Sam fisted his hands at his sides and held them tight. “I’m waiting.”
Hunt took another swallow of liquor, then looked at Sam. “It’s possible we have within our grasp something so significant it might bring about a quicker end to the war in the Crimea.” Hunt uttered a bittersweet laugh. “If it doesn’t get us killed first.”
Sam stared at Hunt, seeing clearly the worry and desperation on his friend’s face. “What did you take?”
Hunt dropped into a chair and leaned against the rough wooden back. “A red velvet bag containing a diamond-and-ruby necklace. I’ve since discovered it’s called the Queen’s Blood, and it’s been an important part of Russia’s history since the eleventh century.”
Sam pounded his fist against the wobbly table. “That necklace wasn’t one of the pieces we were supposed to take.”
“I know.”
“Then why did you take it?”
“That’s not important!” Hunt bellowed, then quickly lowered his voice. “The necklace wasn’t supposed to be there. I wasn’t sure the Russian government realized Roseneau had it until you mentioned the flood of foreign agents. And Russia can hardly raise the alarm, or their people will realize that they lost one of their prized historical possessions for a war that’s becoming increasingly unpopular.”
Sam raked his fingers through his hair and paced the floor. “Where is the necklace now?”
“It’s safe. She—” Hunt brushed his hand across his face. “It’s safe.”
“But you’re not, dammit! Roseneau’s not going to give up until he has that necklace back.” He swiped his hand through the air as the full impact of Hunt’s revelation hit him. “Bloody hell, Hunt. He’s already got agents over here searching for it. It’s only a matter of time until they find you.”
His friend’s hand trembled slightly when he raised his glass to his mouth.
“I’m being followed. I have been for weeks now.”
“Are they Russian?”
Hunt shook his head. “All I know is they’re good.”
“How good? Did they follow you here?”
“I don’t think so. I’m quite sure I lost them.”
“All right,” Sam said. “We’ll have to figure out how to get you out of this mess.”
Sam sat back down, keeping his gaze locked on Hunt’s serious expression. He needed to find an answer to get Hunt out of this.
“How did you do it? I was with you the whole time.”
“Not the whole time.” Hunt leaned his elbows on the table and slowly turned the glass in his fingers. “Remember when you went to the door to make sure the hallway was clear?”
“Yes, but we’d already removed the jewels by then.”
“But I hadn’t closed the safe yet. When you went to the door, I took a red velvet bag that was tucked at the back of the safe.”
“Bloody hell, Hunt. Why? We had specific orders. The Foreign Office wanted the theft to signal to the Russians that we knew what they were doing so Roseneau wouldn’t mistake it for a random robbery.”
Hunt shrugged his shoulders. “Who knows? Perhaps I wanted it.”
“For her?”
Hunt looked surprised. “Claire? No. For . . .” Hunt hesitated. “Perhaps for no other reason than to take Roseneau down a peg. I didn’t know the necklace was so valuable. Not until I had time to examine it.” Hunt stood, then turned his back. “There’s more.”
Sam braced his hands on the top of the table and closed his eyes. “What?”
“Hidden inside the bag were some papers.”
Sam’s eyes shot open. “What kind of papers?”
“Coded messages.”
“Where are they?”
“Safe.”
<
br /> Hunt locked his gaze with Sam’s. “We were wrong, Sam. All along we assumed someone was buying the Russian jewels and the money was going to fund the war. That isn’t what Roseneau was doing. He was trading the jewels for military secrets.”
Sam’s breath caught. “Do you know what you’re saying?”
Hunt nodded. “Oh, yes. I know. Roseneau may be a Frenchman, and is therefore a citizen of one of our allies, but he’s greedy. And I think he’s made a hefty profit acting as courier between the Russians and someone here in England.”
“Stop right there, Hunt.” Sam paced the small room like a tiger on a short leash. “If you’re right, it means that either a very influential member of British Society who has connections to the military, or someone in the Foreign Office, is a traitor.”
The look on Hunt’s face told Sam they’d both come to the same conclusion.
“Why is that so difficult to believe, Sam? For months, you and I have both suspected that someone was leaking military secrets to the Russians.”
“We need that necklace, Hunt. When the Russian ambassador meets with Her Majesty at the end of June, that necklace could be the advantage we need to save thousands of lives.”
Sam slapped his fist against his thigh and spun to where Hunt stood. “And we need those papers. They can lead us to the traitor. Why didn’t you give them to someone before?”
“To whom?” Hunt said, slashing his hand through the air. “I wouldn’t even trust the Queen with this. Anyone could be our traitor.”
Sam sucked in a breath. “Even me? Is that why you didn’t come to me with this? Is that why I had to come to you?”
Hunt shook his head. “I didn’t want to involve you.”
Sam paused. “Roseneau isn’t a fool, Hunt. He knows someone who attended the ball that night stole the necklace and the papers, and if he’s sent agents over, that means he suspects you. You’re not safe.”
“And now, neither are you.”
“Then we’ll have to watch each other’s back until we can discover the traitor’s identity. Maybe there’s a clue in the message that will reveal who he is.” Sam paced the small room. “As long as we have the papers and the necklace, we may be able to draw our traitor into the open.”
He stopped in front of the curtained window and lifted the worn drapes. The night was black outside, with only a sliver of the moon lighting the gravel courtyard below. “Do you think it possible your wife knew your true purpose for being in Paris?”
