Elliott shrugged on his suit coat in the library, his thoughts on the evening ahead. He had to make an appearance at three different events followed by a meeting with a brothel madam, but first he had an appointment with two associates from the Intelligence Office.

His work over the past few days brought forth hints of an alarming plot by anarchists to send a bold message to the Empire. With luck and a little prodding of certain parties, he hoped to gain enough information about the anarchists’ plans to identify both their target and the timing of their attack.

The message he’d received earlier today from Gladstone advised that Her Majesty wanted an update on the situation. In order to prepare for that, he needed more details, hence the meetings.

There had been a time in his past when he would’ve reveled in the challenge of the night. But this evening, he only felt weary and worried. Weary of making the rounds, doing all he could to prevent a problem when another simmered on the horizon. Worried that despite all his efforts, innocent people would die as he hadn’t been clever enough to recognize the signs of what was to come.

He would much prefer an evening at home. His grandmother had been under the weather the past two days and that concerned him as well. Though she insisted it was nothing, the normal sparkle in her eyes had dimmed. He didn’t care for that.

“My lord?” Sophia’s quiet voice from the doorway caught his attention. Her hands were clasped before her, her expression solemn.

“How kind of you to see me off.” He gave a cocky grin as he strode toward her. He’d done his best the past few days to advance on her the rare times he saw her, renewing his efforts to encourage her to quit. Not that it seemed to be working.

She ignored his comment. “May I please have a moment of your time to speak with you about the countess?”

He dropped the façade without a second thought. “What is it? Has her condition worsened?”

“Perhaps not worsened, but I wonder if the doctor should see her.”

The worry in Sophia’s expression increased his own. “I spent a little time with her earlier. I suggested that as well, but she insists she only needs rest.”

“I was told the same.” She managed a smile but it didn’t reach her eyes.

“She seems to think the housekeeper’s homemade remedies are more helpful than anything the doctor would prescribe.”

Her gaze held his for a long moment. “I wanted to be certain you were aware of the situation before you left for the evening. I’m sure you’ll be quite late.”

The disapproval in her tone was undeniable. Rather than pleasing him, since that had been his goal of late, it only added to his guilt. Perhaps he should find a way to stay in this evening.

“My lord?” Codwell stood just behind Sophia. “The carriage is waiting.”

He felt pressed between two impossible responsibilities. His meeting with the other intelligence officers shouldn’t take long and was of vital importance. Perhaps one of them could assist him with his other commitments.

As though sensing his tension, Sophia stepped closer to reach out a hand to touch his arm, only to pull back. “I’ll do my best to keep watch over her. And I will notify Codwell if anything of significance occurs.”

For once, he was pleased she was here. How selfish of him to want her gone when he was rarely home. Why shouldn’t his grandmother have someone to keep her company? Certainly, she had friends who visited and she was always surrounded at social events, but her time at home should be just as enjoyable.

He hated to think of her as lonely. It bothered him more than he could say.

At the moment, none of that mattered. He’d have to wait until later to decide if he truly approved of Sophia staying. For now, he was grateful for her presence.

“I’m pleased you’re here to watch over her.” He could at least offer Sophia that. “I will return as soon as I can.”

Her lips pursed and her gaze dropped as she backed away and sank into a curtsy, as though placing both physical and emotional distance between them. He realized without a doubt he didn’t care for it.

She departed before he could say anything more.

“Will you please check on the ladies this evening, Codwell? If Grandmother doesn’t show signs of recovery by the morrow, we’ll send for the doctor.”

Codwell raised a brow. “I hope you’ll be the one to advise her of that. She won’t be pleased.”

“Have no fear. I will take the blame.” In short order, he was riding away in the carriage, but his thoughts remained at home.

“Shall I read more, my lady?” Sophia knew the countess’s interest in the new mystery they were reading had waned.

She seemed unable to rest, as though she couldn’t find a comfortable position. Her face was flushed, but she told Sophia she didn’t have a fever. In all honesty, the countess made a poor patient. She refused to admit anything was wrong.

“I believe I have heard enough for now.” She sighed and turned her head to look toward the window. A distant expression came over her face, making Sophia wonder what she was thinking.

“Can I get anything for you?”

“Do not fuss so, Sophia. I am merely under the weather, not dying.”

Sophia couldn’t help but smile. That sounded more like her usual self. “I am well aware of that. But I don’t care for it when you’re not feeling well. You are normally so vibrant.”

The countess chuckled. “My husband often used that word.”

“You must miss him terribly.” The countess spoke of the old earl fondly. They’d obviously enjoyed their life together. It was difficult for Sophia to appreciate such a thing from what little she remembered of her mother and father.

“Five years. I still miss him every day.” She turned to look at Sophia. “Elliott is very much like him.”

“No wonder the two of you are so close.”

“I’m sure that has something to do with it. He’s a good man, my Elliott. Just like his grandfather.” She chuckled again. “He plays the part of a scoundrel like my husband did.”

Sophia didn’t understand why the countess found that so amusing. Why wasn’t she angry that her husband had been a rogue and that Elliott followed the same path?

Something in her expression must’ve revealed her confusion, as the countess added, “Sometimes there is more to people than meets the eye.”

She met the countess’s gaze, wondering what she was trying to say. Unfortunately, she said nothing more, only giving Sophia an enigmatic smile. “I think I will rest for a time.”

“Shall I return to check on you? We could have supper here if you would like.”

“That would be nice.” Her eyes drifted closed, the hint of a smile still on her face.

Sophia left quietly, hoping sleep would prove restorative for the countess. She’d grown very fond of the woman and much preferred her previous vitality than the shadow she’d become the past few days.

Restless, Sophia remained in her room for a time then ventured down to advise Codwell of the arrangements for the evening meal. Next, she went to the library to find something to read to distract her from worrying.

As she perused the shelves, she was amazed once again at the variety as well as the organization of the books. Had Elliott collected them? Some were quite old while others were new. Books on farming techniques and land management. Classic Greek and Roman texts. Some so old she didn’t want to risk pulling them from the shelves for fear they might disintegrate.

The selection of fiction near Elliott’s desk by the windows offered new and old books, mysteries, romance, and adventure. The choices were overwhelming. Despite that, she couldn’t set aside her unease at invading Elliott’s personal space. He spent what little time he was at home in his library.

Well aware it would take an intriguing story to hold her attention this night, she took her time. She pulled down several books and set them on the desk to take a closer look. A note fell from between the pages of one, fluttering to the floor under the desk. Dismayed that she might have lost someone’s bookmark, she bent to retrieve it.

Something else caught her eye as she reached for the fallen message. Another missive was stuck in a narrow space, where the wood joined to form the inside corner of the desk.

Curious she tugged the note free and unfolded it before she thought twice. The writing had a masculine look to it. The note was brief, signed only by a single initial.

H.M. requests an update.

G.

What on earth did that mean? She shook her head, annoyed at herself. She shouldn’t be reading the notes, yet she couldn’t help but open the one that had fallen from the book.

The second missive was written in a feminine slant, the loops wider than the first note’s writing. The idea of it being from one of his many conquests made her hesitate, but her gaze swept over the words regardless.

A.

Additional details have arisen.

Meet me at my home this evening. Midnight.

L.H.

She reread the swooping letters. That didn’t sound like a simple rendezvous with a lover. Details? What sort of details? Heart racing as she cursed her inquisitive mind, she examined the other joints of the desk but did not open any drawers. That was a line she wouldn’t cross.

Nerves fluttering, she glanced at the door, expecting Elliott to stride into the room and berate her for spying on him. Yet no one entered. That didn’t slow her pounding pulse.

When the desk didn’t reveal anything further, she turned back to the books, doing a quick search of the volumes by tipping them toward her to see if any additional notes were hidden. She found nothing more on the shelves before her, so she moved along, randomly searching as she went.

Overcome by guilt, she soon gave up her quest. She wasn’t meant to spy—her nerves couldn’t take it. She returned to the desk, reading the notes one more time. What did they mean? Why had he saved them? Or was it simply that one had been used as a bookmark and the other had fallen?

Added to these were the countess’s words about how there was more to Elliott than one might think. Along with her own questions and observations, what conclusion could she draw?

None that she could see.

Though frustrated with the lack of answers, she refused to search further. Elliott’s activities were none of her business. She returned the note to the book and tucked the other one into the crack in which it had been wedged. The messages only added to the mystery of the earl and who he truly was.

His reputation as a rogue surely had merit based on facts. Why else would he travel so often, if not to enjoy gambling and women in distant cities? Yet she knew he enjoyed spending time with his grandmother. She couldn’t deny the times he’d spoken with her and the genuine connection she’d felt with him.

Elliott was a puzzle. Each time she thought she understood him he did something unexpected. The curious notes only added to her confusion.

She made her selection and returned the rest of the books to the shelves. Reading no longer sounded appealing but pondering Elliott’s conduct would serve no purpose either.

After spending a restless hour in her room, she went to look in on the countess. Light shone under her door, so Sophia opened it slowly, not wanted to wake her with a knock if she was sleeping.

To her surprise, the bed was empty. When she opened the door farther, her surprise turned to horror. The countess lay crumpled on the floor, unmoving.

Elliott braced himself as he entered the brothel on Church Street late that evening. It didn’t matter that this was a more refined establishment, catering only to lords and diplomats of a certain status. It was still a brothel.

In his younger days, he might’ve enjoyed the amenities offered but the more he visited these the less tempted he was. This evening was no exception.

He had lingered in the lower rooms of brothels often enough to realize few of the women were pleased to be there. He knew Prime Minister Gladstone made a habit of walking the streets at night to convince prostitutes to find a new way of life.

Elliott wondered if something more could be done to help. While these women were perhaps more fortunate than their counterparts who worked on the streets, they were still prostitutes. He would mention it to Gladstone when next they met.

As he waited for the madam, concerns over his grandmother tugged at him, along with the memory of the expression on Sophia’s face as she’d bid him good evening. He often felt torn when his duties took him away, but tonight was far worse.

His previous meetings had raised additional concerns, hence his visit to the brothel. Several sources pointed here. The madam had been recruited to assist in collecting intelligence three years ago and had proven helpful, especially with the diplomats who visited her establishment. Men often bragged of their activities after a drink or two in mixed company, despite the delicacy of said activities.

The décor was exactly as one might imagine, red velvet drapes, gold and crystal chandeliers, and touches of dark mahogany. Ostentatious was all Elliott could think as he waited in the drawing room.

The woman who escorted him into the room had poured him a drink, but he refrained from drinking. Remembering Codwell’s words, he avoided pouring it into the plant and dumped a good share into a vase of flowers instead.

With luck, the madam would be forthcoming with information, and he could share it with his contacts and return home within the hour. He shook his head. Since when had he become an optimist? It would take at least two hours before he was done with all this.

Guilt flooded him. The matters he’d uncovered could not be dismissed lightly. Innocent lives were involved, yet all he could think of was how long it would take before he could go home.

Perhaps he was no longer the best person for this position. Spying was a dirty business. Few of his peers were willing to admit it was needed let alone participate. The government was loath to fund intelligence work. At some point, more formal action needed to be taken, starting with the Queen.

For now, Her Majesty preferred to think of those in the Intelligence Office as loyal men who happened to come across the information they collected rather than actively gathering it. ‘Spying’ was a term to be avoided. Thankfully Gladstone understood the situation and found a way to pay those working in the office as well as reimburse them for the information they had to buy, else Elliott’s coffers would’ve been seriously reduced by now.

Before he could consider the matter of his future further, the door opened.

“What a delight, my lord.” Josephine Blakely sank into a graceful curtsy, a suggestive smile curving her lips.

An attractive woman in her fifties, she’d inherited the brothel from her aunt. Ambitious, well connected, and intelligent, she’d taken the modest operation and moved up her clientele’s standards.

Her efforts had paid off in spades from what little Elliott knew. She now received additional funds for catering to foreign diplomats who frequented her establishment, not to mention the money she received from the British government for any intelligence her girls gathered.

“I appreciate you seeing me on such short notice.”

“To what do we owe the honor of this visit? You so rarely grace us with your presence.”

“I’m hoping you can assist us with a situation.” He raised a brow, wondering if he needed to clarify further.

“Of course.” She glanced at his empty glass. “Perhaps we could share a drink upstairs in my personal drawing room so we might visit. In private.” The emphasis she placed on the words made Elliott smile.

Her methods of “visiting” were known far and wide. Her skills in the boudoir were unmatched, if one listened to the gossip. “I’m afraid I must keep my visit brief, but I would appreciate a few moments of your time.”

She bit her bottom lip while her gaze swept over him. She appeared disappointed with his answer. No amount of sultry looks from her would change it, but he took care not to offend her. She could change sides as easily as a tree swayed in the wind.

“Come along then.” She reached for his hand, surprising him. “We must keep up appearances.”

He nodded, allowing her to guide him through the foyer. A few other men he recognized mingled with their chosen ladies for the night. One nodded as they passed, while others pretended not to see him.

No wonder his reputation as a scoundrel continued to spread. Moments like this added to it. With a resigned sigh, he escorted Josephine up the stairs to her suite. She unlocked the knob with a key tied to her wrist.

Releasing a melodic laugh, she pulled him through the door and locked it behind her. Her expression sobered as she released him. Apparently, that had been for show. “Now, shall we have that drink?”

“Allow me.” He made his way to the polished table that held crystal decanters of various shapes, eyeing the liquids to determine which she might prefer. Sherry seemed too mild for a woman such as she. “Brandy?”

She smiled, as though pleased he’d guessed. “Perfect.”

He poured them both a short one, hating to waste the woman’s liquor since he had no intention of drinking it.

“Now then.” She settled onto a settee before the fire and patted the tufted cushion beside her. “What may I help you with, my lord?”

Though he knew her to be a trustworthy source, that didn’t mean he could come straight out and ask. People rarely said what they meant and often times, they interpreted things differently than someone else who heard the same information.

“I’ve heard disturbing rumors and am interested in learning if you have heard them as well.”

She raised a brow as she took another sip, watching him over the rim of her glass. “You already know I’m happy to help our government.”

Unless another entity offered her more.

But he kept the thought to himself. She was in business and he respected that, as long as it didn’t interfere with his mission. This cat and mouse game was a challenge—getting the other party to talk without revealing too much of what he knew was never easy or straightforward.

“Your assistance is appreciated. I thank you on behalf of Her Majesty.” It never hurt to name drop and remind her of whom they served.

The woman’s eyes widened at the mention of the Queen. “My pleasure.”

Elliott gave her a charming smile. He’d learned from the start that flattery and flirting were a requirement in these situations. “Rumors have surfaced that certain Russian factions intend to send a brash message to the Queen.”

“The Russians are always so...passionate. I believe they often mistake the British reserve for indifference.” She set her glass on a side table and trailed her fingers along his arm. “But that couldn’t be further from the truth, could it?”

“Has the Russian diplomat who frequents your establishment mentioned anything?” He did his best to ignore the hand moving slowly along his chest.

“He was here a few days ago. He mentioned that many activists would like to see Britain slow their empire building and concentrate on the problems within their own borders rather than continuously expanding.”

It took far longer than he’d hoped but Josephine at last revealed that she expected the Russian to visit again on the morrow. Now that she understood where to lead the conversation, she might have more luck in gathering details.

When it became clear she knew nothing else, at least nothing she was willing to share, he eased into his goodbye.

“I do wish you would stay for a time now that we have concluded business.” She looked at him from under her lashes, sliding her hand along his shoulders. “Though I see only a few clients myself these days, I would make an exception for you.”

“I’m afraid I must respectfully decline.”

Her lower lip protruded in a pout. “Are you certain? We could spend an enjoyable few hours together.”

No doubt her skills in the boudoir surpassed the majority of his previous companions, but he wasn’t tempted. Thoughts of Sophia and worry over his grandmother held all his attention.

“It would certainly be a memorable evening but duty calls.”

“Duty? Or a woman?” She studied him as she asked.

Sophia’s image immediately filled his mind.

“Ah. I see the answer. A woman has caught your eye.” As he shook his head, she placed her hand along his cheek to still him. “No need to hide your interest. Pretending it doesn’t exist doesn’t make it go away.”

Was that what he’d been doing? Masking his attraction to Sophia with his attempts to chase her away? He’d excused his behavior by telling himself he was trying to convince her to leave. Somewhere along the way, that had no longer become true.

“Is this a surprise to you?” She smiled, as though delighted she’d helped him.

“Perhaps.” That was as much as he was willing to admit.

Josephine had obviously become adept at reading others. In truth, that was how she made her living—anticipating men’s needs and wants before they admitted them.

And Josephine was very good at her business.

“May I offer you some advice, my lord?” At his reluctant nod, she added, “Do not wait. Life is short and so often unexpected events occur.” A shadow passed over her features, leaving him to wonder what had happened in her past. “Grab any chance of happiness with both hands and do not let go. Not even for Her Majesty.”

To his surprise, her words echoed in his mind as he rode home in a hansom cab. Was that what was at stake with Sophia? Happiness? Something in his chest twisted at the thought.

The word had become foreign in his life. He couldn’t deny the feeling that washed through him each time he came upon Sophia, as if his heart leapt at the sight of her. He’d thought it simple anticipation of their battle of wills.

How ironic that a conversation with a brothel madam had caused such a deep revelation in his life.

Yet the question remained—-what should he do about it?