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“Come now, Davies,” Wardale began, taking on a syrupy tone that turned Rafe’s stomach. “Haven’t you ever engaged in a little quid pro quo? What will it take to keep you happy?”
The voice in Rafe’s head screamed,Get up. Get up and leave right now.He refused to be beholden to anyone, especially this man. But a mission like this was an unusually delicate matter. Possibly a dangerous one.
Before Rafe could answer, Wardale pressed on. “I know you live and breathe your work, just like I do. And I also know what it means to be constantly proving yourself to men who look down their well-bred noses at you,” he added with surprising emotion. “Think of what I could do for your career. For your future. In no time you could have more power than any man downstairs. Even more than your brother.”
Rafe steepled his fingers. He had been recruited years ago by Sir Alfred to carry out special assignments for the government. The spymaster’s death had exposed a number of security breaches, and Rafe had spent most of the summer and fall cleaning up the mess left behind while simultaneously forming a plan for a new, more secure organization with strict protocols that didn’t revolve around the whims of a single man.
“Distrust between branches of government created a situation that was exploited by Sir Alfred,” Rafe began. “There needs to be one solely dedicated to intelligence gathering and carrying out missions with highly trained staff. Britain has been lagging behind her adversaries since Napoleon. We don’t even have a codebreakers department anymore.”
When he had brought this up to Gerard, his brother had wrinkled his nose and called itungentlemanly. It was a refrain Rafe had heard many times before from men who were all too happy to use the information he procured while turning their noses up at the process. Gerard had begrudgingly agreed to pass on his proposal, but Rafe didn’t entirely trust him. However, Wardale looked intrigued, and the prime minister in particular had an avid interest in foreign affairs. Surelytheywould see the advantages of his proposition.
“If I uncover the mole, I want the funds to form and manage an elite group of agents.”
Wardale leaned back in his chair and stared at Rafe for a long moment. “I can ensure that the PM is informed of your proposal and give him my full support,” he finally announced. “What say you?”
For years the work had been more than enough to sustain Rafe, but perhaps he had been a fool to stop at the little corner he had carved out for himself while other, more privileged men bungled the opportunities handed to them on silver platters. Like Wardale, Rafe couldn’t make the blood that ran in his veins any bluer, but he could rise up the ladder of power, if given a proper chance.
Even he couldn’t deny it was a tempting prospect.
“All right,” he said. “Who do you suggest I start with, then?”
Wardale’s smile returned. “There’s a good chap. I made a list for you,” he said as he passed over a slip of paper. “I want to know everything you uncover, even if it doesn’t seem relevant. We can’t be too careful. My majordomo has been instructed to give you whatever you require. And here.” He held out a ring with several keys. “These should open all the guest rooms in the house.”
Rafe hesitated a moment. He had undertaken similar tasks dozens of times—and hadn’t once felt any qualms about it. It was rather an inconvenient time to develop a conscience, but this seemed excessive even to him. So far he had observed nothing that suggested this theory Wardale had pieced together. But men like him saw enemies in all corners, usually with good reason. And if one of the guests did take the letter for nefarious purposes, Rafe could uncover it easily enough. No one suspected anything was amiss so far, and even Rafe’s sudden appearance at the castle was readily accepted without much comment. Over the last few months he made sure he was known as just the sort of fellow to turn up somewhere unannounced and uninvited. If the guilty party was among them, they were extremely confident. And Rafe would give them no reason to suspect otherwise.
“Wearein agreement. Aren’t we, Davies?” Wardale raised an eyebrow, still holding out the key ring.
Think of your career. Of all that you could accomplish. All you could be known for.
Rafe clasped the ring between his fingers, ignoring the unsettling chill that raced up his arm. “Yes, sir. Completely.”
Chapter Three
Sylvia returned to the blessedly empty suite she shared with Mrs. Crawford and Georgiana. She would ask to have a dinner tray brought up instead of attending supper later. Then she should have the evening to herself until Mrs. Crawford came in demanding to be read to. The woman possessed several strange habits, but Sylvia had come to enjoy this little nighttime ritual. They were halfway through a rather sensational—and absurd—Gothic novel, as her employer had an absolutely burning passion for penny dreadfuls.
Her room, slightly bigger than a closet, was just off the communal sitting room. She entered and went to the washstand in the corner. Though her stomach had indeed begun to roil, it was hardly the reason behind her abrupt exit. Sylvia splashed water over her face and then pressed a soft cotton towel to her cheeks.
It was a ridiculous feeling, of course. A momentary panic brought on by her overwrought nerves. Whatever she thought she saw in his gaze, Mr. Davies couldn’t read her mind and certainly couldn’t see into her heart.
He doesn’t know a thing.
Sylvia closed the door behind her and sank to her knees in front of her travel trunk.
No one does.
She ran her trembling fingers over the smooth edge and lifted the lid, then began removing each item until the bottom of the trunk was exposed.
Not even Georgiana.
Sylvia pulled out the false bottom and gave a huff of relief. The plain brown envelope was still there. Still untouched. Just as it had been days ago when she first packed it away after retrieving it from Mr. Wardale’s bedroom. After noting the movements of both the upstairs maids and her host’s valet, she entered during a time the room would be empty and found the envelope in a bedside table drawer, just as her blackmailer had predicted. Her hands had shaken for nearly an hour afterward as she’d waited for someone to call out her misdeed and banish her from the property. But the day had continued on as usual, as if the theft hadn’t occurred. As if she were a perfectly ordinary lady’s companion.
Sylvia’s blackmailer had warned her against opening the envelope, claiming that the information inside washighly sensitiveand could put her at risk. She snorted as she recalled the warning, just as she had on the afternoon a nondescript letter had appeared sans return address a mere day before they left for Scotland. It still seemed like a wildly far-fetched description meant to put her off, but she obeyed anyway. Whatever the envelope contained, whether it was of a personal nature or involving one of Mr. Wardale’s many business ventures, she wanted as little to do with it as possible, and the more ignorant she remained, the better.
Her mysterious blackmailer had laid everything else out quite plainly: the writer knew about her past as an advocate for social reform, the scandal that had resulted, and that Georgiana had deceived her husband and aunt so Sylvia would be hired as a lady’s companion. They had even included one of her more radical columns fromThe Defender, the newspaper she had once written for, in which she argued in favor of equal wages for women to support their economic independence rather than relying on marriage. The truth would be revealed if she didn’t provide the information they demanded, beginning with the envelope she had taken from Mr. Wardale’s room.
Sylvia simply couldn’t let that happen.
She stared at the envelope until her eyes began to water, until her fingernails bit into the paper’s rough grain. She had already lost so much these last few years: her home, her family, her future. She couldn’t lose Georgiana, too. Her dear friend faced everything life had thrown at her with a serene pragmatism, but the mask Georgiana wore for the world was for her own protection. And she would be roundly punished by the viscount for anything that marred the faultless image he demanded.
