Shana Galen (4 page)

His nephew would undoubtedly inherit the title and accompanying estates, and Winn thought the lad would make a fine baron. If Elinor only knew how little time he spent worrying about his title and his lands. Until recently. Recently, he’d been thinking a hell of a lot. Too much. He’d never considered what would happen if—when—he retired from the Barbican group. He hadn’t really believed he ever would retire until…

What would he do when his time at the Barbican was through? His children were growing up before his eyes. Soon they’d be having children of their own. And his wife—well, Winn was relatively certain, at this point in their lives, she hardly cared whether he lived or died. If he was not careful, he would end up alone, like Crow. He’d die a solitary old man, with no one to mourn him.

His mother would have said he was too much like his father—absent and inattentive. He shuddered at the possibility that Elinor might follow in his mother’s footsteps and marry her groom were Winn to suffer an untimely death.

A slight movement caught his attention, and he blinked, uncertain for a moment as to whether he was imagining things. Ghosts? But no, there was a man sitting on his garden bench, reading the forgotten novel. As Winn stared, the man looked up and gave him a jaunty wave.

Winn cursed.

It was Blue.

Winn threw on a shirt, not bothering to fasten it at the throat, and made his way silently through the house and out into the garden. When he reached it, Blue signaled to him to move back into the shadows and out of sight. Once away from the house, Winn said, “What the devil are you doing here? I’ve told Melbourne time and again, I don’t like to be contacted at home.”

“Sorry, old boy,” Blue said, fingering his frilly cravat. “It was unavoidable.”

Like Winn, Blue was an agent for the Barbican group. These men were the best the Foreign Office had to offer, remarkable in their talents for everything from combat to code breaking to ferreting out rival spies. Winn did not know the other members of the Barbican. Out of necessity, the members of the group kept their identities secret. Occasionally, operatives worked together. He and Crow had been paired time and again. Winn had actually liked working with a partner, but he couldn’t help but think, time and again, that it might have been better if he had worked alone.

Better for Crow as it turned out.

“Melbourne needs to see you,” Blue said.

Winn did not know Blue’s real name. He was a bit on the short side, at least in Winn’s opinion, but not in the least thin or scrawny, though he seemed to want to portray the air of the effete aristocrat. His movements were calculated and smooth. He had a nondescript face, nondescript hair, and startling blue eyes. Every time Winn saw those eyes, he wondered if they could be real. Winn had never seen Blue when not on assignment, so he was a bit surprised at the other agent’s yellow waistcoat replete with spangles. His wool coat appeared to be a shade of green that matched his breeches. His pumps—he must have come from a ball—were decorated with some sort of jewel.

Winn frowned. “What are you wearing on your feet?”

Blue, seeming unfazed by the sudden change of topic, turned the shoes this way and that. Yes, those were definitely rubies on his shoes. “Do you like them? I’m afraid they won’t fit your monstrous hooves.”

“Thank God.”

“As much as I enjoy standing about in cold, dark gardens discussing fashion, I am here on business.”

“Melbourne wants to see me.”

“Yes, first thing in the morning.”

Winn sighed. It appeared he was unlikely to catch up on lost sleep tonight. “Very well. Anything else?”

“Yes.” Blue held out a hand. “Give me the key.”

Winn stepped back. “I don’t think so.” Normally, he was not so possessive of items he’d been instructed by the Barbican group to obtain, but he’d fought long and hard to hold onto this one. And obviously someone out there wanted it quite badly. He was not going to simply hand it over, not even to someone he trusted as much as Blue.

“Melbourne wants it put away for safekeeping.”

“Then I’ll give it to him myself in the morning.” And with it, he would take the leave he’d been promised. If nothing else, his exchanges with his wife tonight had convinced him he really did need to take a leave of absence from the Barbican group. When Elinor had mentioned Georgiana’s birthday, Winn had been momentarily taken aback. It was her birthday again? Hadn’t it been her birthday last month? And what was she now? Thirteen? Fourteen? By God, he still saw her as a three-year-old racing about the house with her little sister toddling after her.

And his wife… well, he needed to take her in hand before half the rakes of the
ton
moved in to feed. For once, his personal life would take precedence over the Barbican. And there would not be another time as good as this. He had completed all of his missions and had no others pending. With Napoleon’s capture, the world and England were once again at peace. The Barbican could spare him for a few months. “I assure you,” Winn said to Blue, “the key will be safe until I deliver it.”

Blue said nothing, finally shrugging and stepping back. “Have it your way.” He took the beaver hat from under his arm and set it carefully on his head. And still, it perched at a jaunty angle.

“Good-bye,” Winn said.

Blue smiled. “Not for long.”

Winn had long ago ceased wondering what the devil Blue meant by his cryptic comments. He had also learned Blue was always correct. But he wasn’t thinking about Blue when he marched into Melbourne’s office at the ungodly hour of half-past eight in the morning. He waited with arms crossed while Melbourne signed a document as directed by his secretary. When he finished, Melbourne waved his man away and looked up at Winn. Winn judged Melbourne to be in his early fifties. The rumor was the man had been a highly regarded operative in his day. Now the still hale and hearty man was the leader of the Barbican group.

“You look like hell,” Melbourne said, his eyes narrowing.

“You always did know the way to my heart.” Winn took a seat opposite Melbourne. “I was told to come first thing. Did you miss me that much?”

“You’re a cocky bastard.”

Winn raised a brow. “Could you at least save the insults until I’ve broken my fast? If I have to slap you with my glove, I don’t want to miss.”

Melbourne poured two cups of tea from the service on his desk and handed one to Winn. Winn nodded acknowledgement and took the warm cup. Melbourne crossed his arms over his chest. “Little as you like it, you’ve always been a man who obeyed orders, Baron. That’s why you’ve come so far so fast.”

Winn wouldn’t have called his ascent in the ranks of the Barbican group
fast
. He was eight-and-thirty and already beginning to feel he was too old for this sort of work. His shoulder was still sore from ramming the door in Ramsgate’s town house, and his nose was tender from being bloodied.

Ten years ago he would have laughed outright if a man had told him he preferred sitting in a warm chair by the fire and reading
The
Times
with his wife and family to the action of a mission. Now he wasn’t so certain he’d scoff.

He sipped the tea. Something was missing in his work for the Barbican group. It wasn’t that Napoleon had finally been exiled for good. There were always other villains. But he didn’t find the work as fulfilling anymore. Or maybe it was that he’d destroyed the one thing that made the work fulfilling. And Winn couldn’t help but think he should have been the one lying in a barren, unmarked grave in Cadiz.

“I have a new mission for you,” Melbourne was saying now. “I want you to report to the home of Lord and Lady Smythe at—”

“Wait a minute, my lord,” Winn interrupted. Melbourne raised his brows. Winn knew one did not interrupt Melbourne, and he never had before. But he could not listen idly to new orders. “I have an extended leave coming. You all but ordered me to take it before the last mission.” Winn reached into his pocket and extracted the key. He set it on the desk and pushed it toward Melbourne with one finger. “Mission accomplished.”

Melbourne lifted the key. “Very good. But your leave has been revoked.”

Winn shook his head. Had he heard correctly?

“As I was saying, at the request of Lord Smythe—”

“I don’t give a bloody farthing about Lord Smythe,” Winn said. “I have leave coming.”

Melbourne rose to his feet. “And I have men dying. Tell me, Baron, have you heard of a man named Foncé?”

Winn shook his head.

“You will. This key belongs to him.” Melbourne twirled the key before pocketing it. “He won’t be happy to learn you managed to steal it from him.”

“I have many enemies.”

“Not like this one you don’t. Your leave pales in comparison to the damage Foncé and the Maîtriser group have done to this organization in the last few weeks alone. Agents are dead, Baron. I want every available agent assisting this investigation.”

“It warms my heart to learn how utterly indispensable I am to the Barbican group,” Winn said, finishing the tea. “But I will take my chances.” If he did not take his leave now, Elinor was never going to forgive him. He could not disappoint her yet again or risk disappointing Georgiana too by missing her birthday party.

He would
not
become his father.

“Will you risk the life of your family as well?”

Winn narrowed his eyes. “What are you saying?”

“Your wife and your daughters are in danger as long as this man is free.”

Baron clenched his fists. “Then why hasn’t anyone caught him? What about Blue or the legendary Wolf? I’m not the only agent you have. What about Saint? He always gets his man.”

Melbourne smiled thinly. “As it happens, Agent Wolf requested your assistance. I agreed. It is done.”

“No, it is not,” Winn said. “You know I work alone.”

Melbourne pressed his palms to his desk, his look stony. “I don’t recall offering you a choice.”

Winn waved a hand. “No need to apologize.”

Melbourne’s look might have melted steel, but Winn didn’t look away. He wasn’t working with Wolf. He didn’t need another partner. He didn’t know Wolf, but he wasn’t going to be responsible for the man’s widow.

“I’m not apologizing,” Melbourne said, “and you are to be partnered with Wolf.” He held up a hand before Winn could argue. “This partnership is only temporary. Wolf is not officially a member of the Barbican group any longer, but he is more knowledgeable about Foncé than any of my agents. I need a Barbican man working with him.”

“And if I refuse?”

Melbourne’s lips thinned. “You’ll find yourself in the dungeon filing old cases.” The dungeon was the term Barbican agents used for the warehouse under the offices of the group. It was damp, cold, and dark. The number of files was astronomical. Winn knew his eyes would cross within hours of stepping foot inside. Rumor was agents had become lost amid the files and were never seen again.

Winn leaned back in his chair. “Wolf or the dungeon? Difficult choice.”

“No, it isn’t.” Melbourne’s expression softened, and Winn curled his hands into fists. He knew that sad-eyed look, and he didn’t want it directed at him. The last thing he wanted was Melbourne’s pity. “Baron—Winn,” Melbourne began, “what happened was a tragedy, but it wasn’t your fault. You were cleared of any wrongdoing—”

“Yes, yes, I know. I should be the one with the code name
Saint
. Sometimes even I cannot fathom how virtuous I am. Clearly, I should be granted leave. Failing that—and I know how you hate to part from me—I should be given a new assignment working alone.”

Melbourne held his gaze. “Request denied. Meet Agent Wolf at this address. Lord Smythe will introduce you.” He handed Winn a card. “Ten this evening, or I’ll have your head.”

***

Elinor watched Georgiana glide across the floor with her dance instructor, Mister Winkle. Mister Winkle must have been about sixty; he had been her own dance instructor. He was firm but kind and had a manner that put young ladies at ease. In the corner of their modest ballroom, near the open windows, Caro sat with the girls’ governess and painted. It was a bright, sunny day, and a light breeze wafted through the room, rustling the gauzy curtains.

Elinor could think of few places she’d rather be than here, with her two girls, on such a lovely day. Not that they noticed her. They were too busy with their own pursuits. As usual, she was an unnecessary addition. Perhaps if she freed the girls from their studies and took them for a ride in the park later this afternoon…

“My lady.” A footman holding a tray stood beside her. Elinor glanced down at the small white note, lifted it, and broke the seal.

My dear Elinor,

If you value my friendship at all, please come immediately. I need you.

Desperately yours,

J

Elinor shook her head. So much for her plans for the afternoon. “Girls,” she said when there was a pause in the music, “Lady Hollingshead has sent a note. She needs me for a few hours.”

“Oh, might we come?” Caro asked. Elinor did not realize Caroline even knew her mother was in the room. Of course the girl wanted to go. She was close friends with Lady Hollingshead’s middle daughter.

“No. Stay and finish your studies. And do not forget to practice the play you have been studying. I was promised a performance tonight.”

Georgiana clapped with excitement. “We will be ready, Mama.
The Princess and the Pirate
will play one night only.”

“I cannot wait.” Elinor turned to leave.

“Mother?” That was Caroline. Elinor paused, knowing she had been foolish to think it would be so easy.

“Yes, dear?”

“Will Father be home for the play?”

Elinor felt her shoulders tighten and her lips thin. “I do hope so, Caro, but you know—”

“—your father is very busy,” Caroline finished for her. “That means no.”

“I…” But Elinor simply sighed. Let Winn defend himself for once. “I will see you for dinner.” She kissed them both on the cheek and then called for the carriage.

It was a lovely day, unseasonably warm for fall. She knew Viscount Hollingshead had a beautifully manicured garden, and Elinor thought she might enjoy an afternoon sitting in a comfortable longue, staring at a clear blue sky dotted with puffy white clouds, and surrounded by a lush green lawn and the last of the summer flowers.