Three months later

“I’ve found it,” Vivian whispered, waving for James to come over to her. As soon as he slid into place next to her, she shone her candle on the slip of paper, tapping her thumb on the postmark on the letter.

“Very good,” James praised.

She’d expected that after three months of heavy training with the Clocktower, his commendations would begin to matter less to her. Yet with every new achievement, she still loved to hear him extol her success. He supported her, giving her enough free rein that she felt independent on missions, but he was still always there for her if she needed him.

“Now what do we do?” she asked, careful to keep her voice quiet.

They’d snuck off at a soirée hosted by a wealthy magnate, Mr. Samuel Rivers, who apparently owned half of Bristol. But more importantly, James had received a tip from one of his assets in France that Mr. Rivers had been seen last month with several key members of the First Consul’s government.

James took the letter out of her hands, slipping it in his coat pocket. “We filch the letter and run like hell.” He motioned toward the door.

She blew out the candle, dropping it in her reticule. Her new lady’s maid, Kinsey, would decry the waxy residue, but desperate times called for desperate measures. She certainly couldn’t leave the candle behind, nor could they risk anyone seeing the light. Moonlight already streamed in through the big windows, a spy’s worst enemy.

But the risk was worth it. That piece of paper contained tangible evidence that Rivers conspired with one of Napoleon’s top generals to provide him with several shipments of arms.

Besides, in the past three months, she’d grown accustomed to stalking about in the dark. Sometimes, she even preferred it now, for she no longer feared for her life when a shadow crossed her path. Sauveterre was heavily guarded in gaol, awaiting execution for his crimes. As James had predicted, he’d given them a list of all the people he’d personally known in the organization, including several names neither James nor the rest of his agents recognized.

She followed James, her slippers making no sound on the floor as she crept toward the entrance of the library. Every part of her body was on alert, ready to act.

Footsteps sounded outside the door, and James signaled for her to take cover. She ducked, scurrying behind the couch. She held her breath. The footsteps continued, past the library door and down the hall.

Vivian exhaled, her heart beat returning to normal. James stopped at the door, holding up five fingers. She should wait five minutes before exiting after him. He opened the door, glancing around to make sure no one was coming. Then he stepped out. He’d meet her in the music room, where some of the ton’s most eligible debutantes were performing a set of staid classical numbers, each one more boring than the last.

Yet the rest of the guests clapped eagerly, as though this night was the highlight of their lives. She couldn’t help but pity them. They all turned up their noses when she entered a room, but she did not need their approval. She was the Duchess of Abermont. Their existences were sedate, a strict adherence to social strictures.

Her life was not summed up by the title, but in the thrilling missions of the Clocktower and the adoring embraces of her husband.

She knew real excitement, and she would never trade that.

The minutes passed. She peeked at the pocket watch she’d slipped into her reticule earlier in the evening. Five minutes were up. Time to meet James, and hopefully retire early from this dreadful party. Provided they weren’t waylaid by any of his seemingly endless circle of acquaintances, they should have several hours to themselves at home before any of his sisters came home to the townhouse. Lord Thomas would already be asleep. Though she loved having his family near, she did cherish the alone time she spent with James.

She made her way back to the music room, cringing at the excruciating sounds coming from the pianoforte in the corner, as though the instrument was being beaten into submission by the raven-haired woman on the bench.

“I see we still need to work on hiding your emotions.” James sidled up behind her, his breath hot on her neck. He stood with his back to the wall. He was far too close to her for society’s standards, yet she certainly wouldn’t tell him so.

“What can I say? I’m a work in progress,” she murmured. “One success at a time.”

His voice was so low that only she could hear him over the raucous tune. “I’ve handed off our bounty to Archer.” Deacon Drake attended the party, and he’d take the note to Wickham. Soon, they’d arrest Rivers for his treason.

“So that means we’re free to take our leave?” She didn’t bother to keep the hopefulness from her tone.

Because she stood directly in front of him, his hands were not visible to the greater crowd. He took advantage of this, squeezing her rear. “Precisely, Your Grace.”

She felt his grin against her skin, and she spun around. “Good. Because I am quite ready to leave.”

“Do you remember when I told you that there were things sweeter than revenge?” He placed his hand on her arm, leading her toward the exit. “I think I shall show them all to you tonight.”