you’re doing?”
A small smile touched Rem’s lips. “Samantha is the most guileless, trusting young woman I’ve ever met. It would never occur to her to suspect anything other than genuine friendship.”
“Friendship? Rem, what if the innocent, young Lady Samantha, like every other breathing female in the world, develops feelings for you?”
Rem’s smile faded and his jaw tightened reflexively. “Feelings won’t be an issue.”
“I could argue that point, but you’d be too stubborn to listen. So, let’s discuss physical involvement instead. Exactly how far are you willing to carry this scheme?”
“I won’t ruin her, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Only use her, then discard her.”
“Dammit, Boyd!” Rem slammed down his fist. “Since when have you become so bloody noble?”
“Nobility has nothing to do with it—pragmatism does. Drake Barrett is a powerful, influential, hotheaded man. By toying with his sister, you’re inviting trouble.”
“Trouble? Hell, Boyd, we’ve got a crisis on our hands!”
“And are you going to explain that crisis—along with all our other secret missions—to the Duke of Allonshire when he calls you out?”
“Allonshire needn’t know anything. Not if I’m discreet. His valet, Smithers, tells me the duke is preoccupied with the forthcoming birth of his second heir. It’s doubtful he’ll even make an appearance this Season.”
“Berkshire is a mere hour’s drive. Gossip travels faster than coach.”
“Enough!” Rem exploded. “That’s a chance I’ll just have to take, then. What the hell’s gotten into you, Boyd? Our only concern is to eliminate the threat to England.”
“Yes, our sole duty … to see that justice is done.” Boyd’s gaze was filled with sorrowful understanding of the forces driving his friend. “Very well, Rem. Have it your way.”
Rem averted his eyes, staring intently at a single spot on the carpet. “Let’s not argue further over Samantha Barrett. She is but one thread in this web of discovery. The Season is commencing with its first official ball at Almack’s the night after next. Imagine the information I can glean there.”
“As always,” Boyd agreed.
The fashionable world was Rem’s undisputed domain, mingling within it one of his most fruitful methods of garnering incriminating details.
Ignorant of Rem’s connection to the Admiralty, the ton never questioned that Lord Gresham was exactly what he appeared—a dashing earl, returned from sea to drown in life’s wanton pleasures. And Rem used that impression to his advantage; attending one ball after the next, charming men and women alike until they lowered their guards, revealing tidbits that often alerted Rem to possible suspects.
Too often, traitors and thieves were actually respected members of the peerage who had fallen out of favor with the Crown or foolishly squandered away their wealth. If Rem happened to hear of a notoriously destitute nobleman who was suddenly and inexplicably brandishing large sums of money, or an ousted member of the House of Lords who was receiving mysterious visits from powerful foreign figures, his warning bells would immediately sound. Nine times out of ten his instincts were right, the culprits were apprehended, and no one was any the wiser.
“The ton will, once again, be caught unaware as you strip them of their secrets,” Boyd murmured with perpetual amazement. “More’s the pity, for they will never know how truly brilliant you are.”
“Not brilliant, Boyd, just resourceful. As for the naiveté of the beau monde, it is essential to our cause that they remain so. Let them see only that side of me I choose to reveal—it harms no one but those who deserve to be harmed.”
“Remember that in your dealings with Samantha Barrett,” Boyd added quietly, and with far greater insight than Rem could yet perceive.
“You’ve made your point … quite clearly.” Rem frowned, more bothered by Boyd’s words than he
A small smile touched Rem’s lips. “Samantha is the most guileless, trusting young woman I’ve ever met. It would never occur to her to suspect anything other than genuine friendship.”
“Friendship? Rem, what if the innocent, young Lady Samantha, like every other breathing female in the world, develops feelings for you?”
Rem’s smile faded and his jaw tightened reflexively. “Feelings won’t be an issue.”
“I could argue that point, but you’d be too stubborn to listen. So, let’s discuss physical involvement instead. Exactly how far are you willing to carry this scheme?”
“I won’t ruin her, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Only use her, then discard her.”
“Dammit, Boyd!” Rem slammed down his fist. “Since when have you become so bloody noble?”
“Nobility has nothing to do with it—pragmatism does. Drake Barrett is a powerful, influential, hotheaded man. By toying with his sister, you’re inviting trouble.”
“Trouble? Hell, Boyd, we’ve got a crisis on our hands!”
“And are you going to explain that crisis—along with all our other secret missions—to the Duke of Allonshire when he calls you out?”
“Allonshire needn’t know anything. Not if I’m discreet. His valet, Smithers, tells me the duke is preoccupied with the forthcoming birth of his second heir. It’s doubtful he’ll even make an appearance this Season.”
“Berkshire is a mere hour’s drive. Gossip travels faster than coach.”
“Enough!” Rem exploded. “That’s a chance I’ll just have to take, then. What the hell’s gotten into you, Boyd? Our only concern is to eliminate the threat to England.”
“Yes, our sole duty … to see that justice is done.” Boyd’s gaze was filled with sorrowful understanding of the forces driving his friend. “Very well, Rem. Have it your way.”
Rem averted his eyes, staring intently at a single spot on the carpet. “Let’s not argue further over Samantha Barrett. She is but one thread in this web of discovery. The Season is commencing with its first official ball at Almack’s the night after next. Imagine the information I can glean there.”
“As always,” Boyd agreed.
The fashionable world was Rem’s undisputed domain, mingling within it one of his most fruitful methods of garnering incriminating details.
Ignorant of Rem’s connection to the Admiralty, the ton never questioned that Lord Gresham was exactly what he appeared—a dashing earl, returned from sea to drown in life’s wanton pleasures. And Rem used that impression to his advantage; attending one ball after the next, charming men and women alike until they lowered their guards, revealing tidbits that often alerted Rem to possible suspects.
Too often, traitors and thieves were actually respected members of the peerage who had fallen out of favor with the Crown or foolishly squandered away their wealth. If Rem happened to hear of a notoriously destitute nobleman who was suddenly and inexplicably brandishing large sums of money, or an ousted member of the House of Lords who was receiving mysterious visits from powerful foreign figures, his warning bells would immediately sound. Nine times out of ten his instincts were right, the culprits were apprehended, and no one was any the wiser.
“The ton will, once again, be caught unaware as you strip them of their secrets,” Boyd murmured with perpetual amazement. “More’s the pity, for they will never know how truly brilliant you are.”
“Not brilliant, Boyd, just resourceful. As for the naiveté of the beau monde, it is essential to our cause that they remain so. Let them see only that side of me I choose to reveal—it harms no one but those who deserve to be harmed.”
“Remember that in your dealings with Samantha Barrett,” Boyd added quietly, and with far greater insight than Rem could yet perceive.
“You’ve made your point … quite clearly.” Rem frowned, more bothered by Boyd’s words than he
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