My Lord and Spymaster (The Spymaster Series)
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After her father is wrongly accused of selling secrets to Napoleon, lovely Jess Whitby infiltrates the London underworld for the real traitor—only to end up naked in the bed of a rude merchant captain. Not only is she falling in love with him, but he may be the scoundrel she’s looking for.
considerably more decorum than you practice.” Claudia selected a card carefully, played, and lost again. No surprise, with Quentin dealing. The wingchair Eunice had put her in was sturdy as a tree. This would be the special property of the Captain. She could see Kennett coming home from business at the docks, tossing his hat on that table next to the front door. He’d shed his coat and leave it draped over the banister. Then he’d walk in here in shirtsleeves and drop into this chair with a sigh
more nervous than she was. The Captain was waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs. He followed her with his eyes the whole way down. Evening dress looked good on him. His breeches were the color of the desert in North Africa. His coat like night over that same desert, rich and black. He tied his cravat plain, the way they did in Paris. He’d put himself exactly where she’d have to walk right to him. A man who seized his opportunity, the Captain. “Miss Whitby.” He was being polite. Of
about plate armor.” “You’re an expert on troubled waters. I want to talk to Jess. You’re in the way.” He just grinned. In a good mood tonight, the Captain. “All right. Keep it above the belt. And you . . .” Right in front of Claudia, not caring what anybody thought, he reached out and trailed his index finger from her temple to where she’d been bruised on the cheek. “Behave yourself. I’ll find you later. Try not to draw blood with that tongue of yours.” Then he walked off, leaving her to
if you weren’t right about that, Mr. Buchanan. Here now, watch yerself on the steps. They just been washed.” He closed the door. Sebastian waited till Buchanan was down the steps and walking toward Booth Square. “Do you have to use that pig?” “Men of sterling worth do not spy on their employers for pay. He sells Whitby commercial information to several interested parties.” Adrian frowned and turned the letter over. “I wish he’d stop opening mail.” “I don’t like the idea of him close to Jess.”
“You’re a rich woman, I hear.” That was bad. Lazarus loathed the gentry. The blonde girl against the wall there, the pregnant one, was one of his toys. He kidnapped girls from rich homes, kept them a few months, and sold them back to their families. Evening the scales, he called it. Generally they went home pregnant. “Bloody rich,” she said. “Scares me sometimes.” He walked around her and finished up in front. “I never had one of my own people turn on me. Not one of my special ones. Only you.”