"Barred shipyard? Shaven haven? Short seaport? Wrestled vessel? Overwhelmed helm? Surpassed mast? Dismayed quay?"

The unexpected voice startled her and she looked up to see Angelford also contemplating the widow.

"You’re not Stephen."

He turned his attention to her, an amused expression on his face. "How astute you are this evening."

"I had some questions concerning sailing."

"I see." He lifted an eyebrow.

It was as if cobwebs instantly formed on her tongue and in her brain when he moved within a few steps of her. Calliope stared unseeing at the widow, trying to determine how to salvage the conversation. Otherwise, she wouldn’t be able to use the caricature idea after all. Stephen popped into view next to the barely clad woman.

"Stephen’s not the most ardent admirer, hmm?"

Angelford had been on active attack since Newmarket the previous week. Each night brought them face-to-face in a new battle.

The surprising moment’s kinship over the widow retreated, and Calliope easily fell into temper. She smiled sweetly. "He’s ardent when it counts, my lord."

A wisp of a smile flitted across his face. Or maybe she imagined it.

"Good to hear Stephen can hold up. Wouldn’t want his prowess to be questioned."

With superhuman effort, she restrained a blush. "Stephen’s prowess is not in doubt."

The corner of his mouth lifted. "I have a pleasant solution for eliminating doubt."

" Alcohol? "

"No, you strike me as the adventuresome type." At the last few gatherings he had hinted at her being worse than an adventuress. "The kind of lady who would like to try new things. Maybe play different roles?"

She gripped her dress. "Sounds interesting."

"You must find it so liberating, a woman in your position. Much easier for you to do as you please than, say, someone within the ton."

Calliope plucked a morsel from a passing waiter’s tray and took a bite. "Mmm, yes, you can’t do nearly as many delicious things."

"How is the devil’s cake?"

"Mouth-watering."

"It looks divine from here. Would you like another?"

She leaned into him and traced a finger down his cravat, her lids heavy and her lips slightly apart. "Desperately."

His warm hand secured hers. "Careful what you ask."

The look in his eyes told her to retreat. Retreat quickly. She smiled lazily and withdrew, trying not to give him the advantage. "I’ll keep that in mind, my lord."

He stared hard into her eyes and then turned and walked away. She watched him join a group. which included the new Cabinet minister, a rich merchant’s daughter and an actress. It was the beauty of these types of entertainments. They allowed class fusion.

She took a deep breath to slow her quickened heart. Angelford was much more dangerous when he played nice. And much more disconcerting.

A gentleman brushed her backside as he passed, an unquestionably intentional caress. Good Lord, if she received one more proposition she would scream. Indecent offers were all part of the act, but chats with Angelford always made her extra sensitive. She had to stop letting him unsettle her.

Stephen walked over. "How are you managing? "

He looked concerned. She must have let her emotions slip through.

"A bit out of patience with some people, but fine otherwise."

His eyes twinkled. "I missed a good fight? Damn, knew I should have rushed over here sooner."

Calliope gave him an exasperated look. "Right. And miss that lovely view above the widow’s dress? I doubt it."


Stephen walked the familiar steps to Lord Holt’s brick townhouse, feeling more tired than usual, and happier than he had been in a long while. Calliope Minton, alive after all these years. If only they had found her after the fire, how many wrongs could have been righted?

It wasn’t too late to mend things. He owed it to his late mentor to try. And Calliope was like the sister he had never had, which made the days and nights filled with activity fun. Their outings were even more amusing when James was present. Stephen had never seen him react to a woman with such intensity.

James seemed to feel it was his to duty to protect Stephen from his own folly. His eyes followed Calliope’s progress around the room at every event, and Stephen was pretty sure protection was not foremost in his mind.

James was in serious trouble if he thought to wiggle out unscathed. It was obvious whatever was going on between the two of them would have James gnashing his teeth for a long time. The tension between them set the air on fire. Every time they were within ten paces of each other sparks erupted.

Stephen enjoyed the fireworks.

Yes, the romantic downfall of the Marquess of Angelford would be spectacular. He smiled as the a butler opened the door and escorted him to Holt’s study.

"Chalmers, good to see you. Wondered when you’d get around to debriefing."

Lord Holt sat in his favorite chair, the leather permanently dented from long use, and gestured for him to be seated.

Stephen looked around and saw nothing had changed since his last visit to his superior. The room had been designed for intimidation. Low light streamed through shuttered windows, highlighting the visitor. On the other hand, Holt, spymaster of the Foreign Office, was cast into dark relief. It was a good visual effect, as it masked his more subtle expressions. The furnishings were dark and designed to put the visitor at a disadvantage.

Stephen sat comfortably in the offered chair. He was no longer the green lad he had been at twenty. The room, best known for the interrogations held there, had become a room like any other.

"The others should arrive shortly, Chalmers. We need to make some quick decisions, especially given the recent data we have gathered," Holt said. He stroked his pointed chin in the familiar rhythm he had adopted long ago. Stroke, stroke. Pause. Stroke, stroke.

Stephen nodded. He had expected a large gathering. Discussing the options and possibilities of the mission from various perspectives was normal. When the five gentlemen arrived, the questions began. Stephen leaned back in his chair and let the answers roll fluently off his tongue. From years of practice, part of his brain detached to appraise the group while the other segment supplied the information the men craved.

Each man present was a member of Holt’s elite group, selected because each held a unique position and possessed an important skill. Only Angelford was absent, having been unexpectedly called to another task. But Stephen had filled him in earlier and received his feedback.

Stephen looked worriedly at the duke, who appeared as ill as the gossips claimed. His face was wan and drawn. He was known for his logic and candor, and Stephen hoped he was consulting a doctor about his health.

The earl seated to his left, a wizard at languages, looked distinguished as usual with his sleek black and silver-shot hair, but something in his demeanour had always put Stephen on edge. Involved in numerous cases on the continent, he was the member Stephen knew the least.

Another earl, to his right, was a leader of the ton and a skilled marksman. He had always reminded Stephen of a bulldog, and the image grew stronger the longer he stared at his blunt features and stubborn eyes. Stephen let his gaze slide away. The earl was a likable fellow of passing cleverness. Of the team he seemed the least suited to intelligence work. Yet Holt included him in most projects.

Continuing to the right was the baron whose features were as inscrutable as usual in his tanned face. The shadows concealed the lower portion of his face, but Stephen would have bet a five o’clock shadow had already appeared, the bane of his valet’s existence. The baron was a good friend and Stephen had always admired him for his ability to mask his emotions, a most useful tool for a spy.

The only other non-titled gentleman, whom Stephen referred to as Mr. Righteous, looked faintly bored with the proceedings, a strange reaction considering the importance of the topic at hand. The man’s pinched features usually looked to be on the verge of shattering but today appeared less brittle than usual.

Stephen wound down his presentation.

"In Paris, are you sure?" The duke looked aggrieved.

Stephen nodded.

"But how would it come to be there?"

"I believe-" Stephen hesitated as he looked at Holt, who was rolling a ring in his right hand, while stroking his chin with his left. The insignia design on the ring was a bird of prey.

Stephen had seen a ring just like it the night before.

"-it was moved two months ago. We still have time to eliminate it," Stephen continued, picking up his line of thought quickly. Dangerous thoughts were racing through his mind.

Discovering Calliope Minton alive, the ring and the spy list, all within a matter of weeks. Stephen didn’t believe in coincidences.

The men in the room continued to ask questions and plan strategy, as other questions circled through Stephen’s head.

The old but clear memory of his mentor’s dying expression came rushing back and he had to fight the need to hurry home. It was imperative he reach his townhouse.


Calliope’s maid bustled into the room. "Is there anything else, miss?"

"No, Betsy, thank you. Have the others left?"

"Yes, miss. The footman, Herbert and I are the last to leave." Betsy was bobbing and shifting her feet back and forth as if the floorboards had turned into hot coals.

"Have a good night, Betsy. "

"You too, miss." Betsy hesitated in the door- way. "Begging your pardon, miss, but I’d like to thank you for giving us the night off. Some of the others might think you’re a tad strange, but I think you’re an angel."