“I wasn’t dismissed,” Montague protested. He climbed out. “I retired.”
John squeezed past Sutton before he could exit, earning a shove to the back. “An early retirement Liverpool was only too eager to accommodate.” He glared up at the townhouse. How many times had he met with Liverpool here or at his club? How many tasks had he undertaken for no recompense, only from duty to his country?
And amusement. Being a spy was bloody fun, but Liverpool didn’t know that. He’d traded on John’s and the others’ patriotism and in return had given them the boot the first instant they’d become inconvenient.
He followed his friends up the front steps. Politicians. He huffed. They were all alike.
The butler who answered their knock asked them to wait in a small sitting room by the front entrance. John stared at the portrait of Liverpool on the far wall. The grey hair was combed neatly in the picture when it usually wasn’t in real life, but the bushy eyebrows were true enough. John’s fingers twitched, itching to pluck the blade he’d placed in his boot that morning and throw it smack dab into that pompous face.
“Gentlemen.” The man himself stepped into the room and shut the door behind him. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”
His friends looked at John, waiting for him to take the lead.
John rested his arse on a windowsill and crossed his arms and legs. “I’ve been asked to steal a document from the Dutch embassy.”
Liverpool’s eyes went sharp. “By whom?”
“Harlow Sudworth. He’s a capitalist, with fingers in everything from trade to industry to agriculture.” His research into the man had shown a diversity of endeavors that had impressed even John. Perhaps if he had branched out from more than just steel and gunpowder, he would have been able to weather the loss of his ore mine.
“I know who he is,” Liverpool said. “A man doesn’t become as wealthy as he without us taking notice.”
“Well, he seems to think I’ll be amenable to treason in return for some property I’ve lost.” John gripped the window sill. “I, of course, let him believe there might be some truth to that.”
Liverpool raised a thick eyebrow. “Sporting of you.” He circled his desk and sat behind it. “What does he want you to steal?”
“I’m not certain,” John said. “Only that it is a document signed by King William with a map attached.”
Liverpool frowned. “Well, what do you think his game is?”
Sutton rocked back on his heels. “I’ve discovered the majority of his trading routes originate or traverse Dutch holdings. He could be trying to gain leverage over the king for plum trading agreements.”
“That doesn’t explain Raffles, though.” Montague rubbed his chin. “Although the colony he is attempting to establish in Bencoolen used to be in Dutch territory.”
“What are we doing in Bencoolen?” Sutton asked.
“The usual.” Montague shrugged. “Trying to end slavery and create an outpost to challenge Dutch hegemony in the area.”
“Raffles?” Liverpool interrupted.
Montague shot John an apologetic look.
John couldn’t blame the slip. They weren’t in the habit of keeping information from the prime minister. “The first job Sudworth had me do was add a letter to Sir Stamford Raffles’s file in the Home Office. I believe he wants it to discredit the man.”
“And you did this?” Liverpool’s voice was deceptively pleasant, but John wasn’t fooled. He knew he was treading a fine line.
“I did, but not with the letter Sudworth gave me.” John crossed his arms over his chest. “I forged a new letter so if any inquiries proceed, a close examination will show the letter to be false and no harm will come to the man’s reputation.”
Liverpool laced his fingers over his round belly and twirled his thumbs around each other. “You boys have been busy. How long has it been since Sudworth approached you?”
John forced his gaze to remain even with the prime minister’s. He wouldn’t act like a contrite school boy caught stealing a pudding. “A couple of weeks.”
His thumbs stilled. “And you’re just coming to me now?”
“We wanted to gather as much information as we could first.” Montague dropped into the chair across from the prime minister and crossed one leg over the other. “After all, that’s what we’ve been trained to do.” The smile he gave the older man was bland.
Liverpool pressed his palms to his desk and leaned forwards. “You thought you should make that decision on your own?” he asked, his voice rising.
John pushed off the sill and stood behind Montague. He placed his hand on the duke’s shoulder. “I only recently informed my friends.” Except for Sutton. Sutton had known almost since the first, but he didn’t feel it necessary to point that out. “I thought, and still do think, that I can handle Sudworth on my own. They advised me to consult with you.”
