Page 7 of Lord Ashley's Beautiful Alibi
“Do have a seat, Ashley,” Scarlett said with a tone that told Kane she accepted his apology even though she feigned impatience with him. But she’d called him by his new title, which spoke of her concern and regard at his new role. Withhis inheritance still only two weeks old, he wasn’t used to his servants bowing and scraping to him with “Lord” this and “my lord” that. He preferred his first name, Kane, or his old moniker, Whit, short for the family name Whittington. For now, he’d just allow Scarlett to call him whatever she wished to call him. She was his director. He’d be a good boy, sit down, and shut up.
With a forced smile, Kane settled into the chair next to his cousin, Dirk Fournier. “This is a rare gathering of us, ma’am. Do tell us the details.”
“For each of you, we have a new assignment,” said the tall, red-headed beauty who’d inherited this business from her father two years ago upon his demise. She had doubled the profits of the import-export company since she took over, but now, she wanted to extend her reach into the Italian coast, Constantinople, Joppa, and Egypt. Britain controlled the seas. Alas, the Little Corporal, Bonaparte, kept winning battles that had him obstructing many of those ports like a Colossus of Rhodes. “But you will cooperate with each other.”
Kane frowned. Never had he worked with Pelletier. Only once had he worked with Ram and once with Dirk, each separately. Successfully. They had not been complex missions. Not dire criminal objectives, like the assassination attempt at Malmaison two years ago. Since then, Kane had preferred to work alone. Usually he won his point with Scarlett. He’d try again.
He opened his mouth, but she arched both elegant red brows at him. “No. You cannot appeal this one. The conditions are ripe for our exploitation, and I will not hear objections. Unless, of course, any of you wish to resign.”
A chorus of “hell no” and grunts mingled with silent consideration of her lovely person.
All right.Kane folded his hands. He was not in charge. Plus, at the start of any assignment, she gave an advance of cash. Hemight have Roberts working on sales and investments, but Kane still needed money now. New stone fences at Ashbrook. A new roof on the London townhouse. His two dead brothers’ debts to a gaming hell and their mistresses. The expenses never ended. No wonder his siblings died early. It was the cheapest way out of debtors’ prison.
Scarlett gathered herself, squaring her shoulders and training her forest-green eyes on each of them. Though she wore skirts—and had the fashion sense of a duchess—she was a rigid taskmaster. Her organization was one fine thing, her due diligence an animal of incomparable ferocity. Her instincts about her agents were wise beyond her years. She had studied their resumés—most of them were once based in Continental towns as tradesmen of fabrics or laces, woods or gems. Kane had established himself in Ostend and Amsterdam with Dirk as exporters of French and German wines and laces.
So if Scarlett Hawthorne had a private life, if she hungered for a man in her bed or children in her house in St. James, she shared no hint of her desires to anyone. If she had, Dirk had always vowed he would be first in line to undo the pins from her flame-red hair and spread her voluptuous body across fine linen sheets.
But she hadn’t indicated she wished to romp with Dirk or anyone, including Kane. His long-abandoned reputation in bedrooms was too risqué for her, and she had told him so. He hadn’t dared to break the precious bond between director and agent, especially since he had lost his taste for mindless affairs after that day in the road to Malmaison.
Sighing, Kane unbuttoned his frock coat. This was the third time he’d been in this room. Each time had been an occasion of great import, as Scarlett Hawthorne, the head of Britain’s second largest trading company, performed her other dutyfor His Majesty’s government and directed the most extensive private espionage network on the Continent.
Scarlett frowned at him. “Kind of you to join us.”
Kane inclined his head. The waves of her anger rolled away. Silent and congenial, he knew how to chill her ire.
She signaled to her man Carlton, who promptly stepped toward the door and closed it. With shrewd eyes, she scrutinized each of Kane’s friends. A woman of few words, she folded her arms and strolled to her window overlooking the bustling crowd on the street in the city’s trade district. When she faced them again, her sultry features were fierce as Athena off to war. “I assume you’ve seen yesterday morning’s newspapers.”
Each of the four gave an indication he had.
“And noted the stipulations of the treaty?”
“Quite a piece of work,” said Ram. “What in hell is Lord Cornwallis thinking to give Boney all that territory?” The fellow who had surrendered at Yorktown Virginia to the Americans still got important diplomatic positions, such as this one negotiating with the French.
“Exchanging all the prisoners was a fine idea,” noted Pelletier of the new treaty of peace between the British and the French signed at Amiens. “Many have been locked away in the filth of those prison hulks for nearly ten years.”
“Half the total are long since dead, Pelletier.” Dirk ran two hands down his finely tailored wool breeches. “Ram and I had two friends among them. Good men, gone.”
“Much,” declared Scarlett, “is wrong with this new treaty. But we are not here to debate its value.”
Kane crossed one long leg over another. He was eager to get on with this. He needed an assignment, a diversion, an entertainment. Hopefully, it would not be too far from London. He had to pay attention to more, he was certain, but he had little time, expertise, or funds to address. Yes, he needed money.A lot of it. Thousands. And quickly, too. Scarlett paid damn well, and he was one of the men she counted on to deliver any object worthy of her good gold coin. The last assignment Kane did for her was retrieve love letters for an MP who was being blackmailed by his wife’s lover. “What is it we’re after this time, ma’am?”
Scarlett went to pull out her massive upholstered chair, and Carlton sprang to do it for her. She gave him an arch look that dismissed the presumption of his courtesy, then proceeded to access the chair herself. She sat with a grace that told of her many years of lessons in deportment. Her father had insisted that his only child have a superb education as a lady. Even though she was a cit. “You will each go to Paris.”
Hell.
Dirk grumbled.
Kane had less desire to go to Paris than his cousin. Dirk had just left that city two weeks ago with one woman sobbing that he was going and another thrilled he had to leave.
“You have all been instrumental in helping us secure the health of the government here. But now you will each do the Crown a greater service.”
Oh, here it comes.Kane winced. The Crown. A bad sign. He hated diplomacy. Finesse was wasted on men. With it, women could be won in a heartbeat. “We’re assigned to the ambassador’s staff?”
“Yes.”
“The most boring job on earth,” said Dirk. “Is there nothing else—?”
She arched a long red brow. “Pelletier will aid you. He will send you help for any mission.”
