“And I thank them for it.” Liverpool’s words were clipped, his thumb beating a restless tattoo on the desk. A sure sign of his ire. “Why would you wish to go this alone?”
John brushed at a bit of dirt on his sleeve. “You’ve shown no interest in using my talents of late. Have circumstances changed? Do you now wish to employ my services once more?”
“John.” Sutton’s voice was a warning, but John didn’t care. The one thing he had enjoyed, the one thing he remained competent at, Liverpool had taken. He’d been bored and miserable, until…well, until Netta and this issue with his brother had arisen.
Netta. He swallowed. He would keep her safe. But the idea of gambling her like she was nothing but chattel, even if he intended a double-deal, turned his stomach.
Liverpool blew out a breath and put his joined hands behind his head. He stared at the ceiling for a long moment. “You’re invested in this mission. Why?”
“Sudworth has the deed to my brother’s property with my ore mines on it. I want it back.” John clenched his hand, pressing it into his thigh. “I need it back. And along the way I’ll find out what the man’s up to.”
“A man should never let anything become so important that it becomes an obsession.” Liverpool cocked his head. “This feels too personal for you to be objective. Perhaps I should handle it myself.”
“You’ll have a hell of a lot of interference from me. I won’t sit back and do nothing.”
“Nor will I,” Montague said.
“We’re all in on this.” Rothchild opened a small wooden box on Liverpool’s desk and drifted his fingers over the cigars laying within. Liverpool snapped the lid shut, Rothchild’s fingers just escaping. He arched an eyebrow. “It would be better to work with us than have us underfoot.”
“Yes.” Liverpool’s pursed his lips. He looked John up and down and sighed. “It has been an honor working with the five of you. I do hope I won’t have to set my men against you boys. The security of England is of ultimate importance.”
His men.That phrase coming from Liverpool’s mouth used to include John. And now it was used as a warning.
He was well and truly out of the spy business. No more fooling himself that after a couple of months the prime minster would change his mind. There would be no more adventures. No more intrigues.
John’s shoulder blades eased down his back. And that knowledge wasn’t as devastating as it used to be. As his brother had so ably shown, there was trouble enough to battle without need of his country to provide diversions. And Netta—
John blinked. Netta entertained him better than any mission ever had.
He would be fine. He’d lost his career as a chemist, now as a spy, yet he still had hope life could throw interesting challenges in his path. And interesting people.
“I understand.” And he did. The prime minister’s only concern was the security of the nation. But John didn’t make compromises. He would uncover Sudworth’s plot, stop it, and recover his brother’s deed. He could have it all.
And perhaps that applied to his personal life, as well. If he and Netta were enjoying each other’s company, why limit it? They could go on as they were after this mission ended. He would attend her plays, then take her to the apartments he would set her up in and put on private plays of their own.
Yes, a diverting relationship that they would both enjoy until it ran its natural course. He’d never had a long-term mistress before. Never liked a woman well enough to give hercarte blanche.
To see her eyes light up, John would give Netta anything she wanted.
Liverpool scrubbed his hand across his jowls. “All right. Let’s hear this plan of yours.”
Chapter Nineteen
John pinched his forehead between his thumb and forefinger. A low throb pulsed beneath the skin. He folded the missive and slid it into his pocket.
It had been unrealistic to think Hampson’s tests on iron and carbon would yield any results, even with the assistance of Robert. While both men had shown an aptitude in assisting in the laboratory, it hadn’t extended to conducting their own experiments. Neither man had studied chemistry to the extent John had. Hampson could manage the smelt, but he wouldn’t be developing anything to replace their current production.
He removed a small key from the top drawer of his desk and crossed his study. He unlocked the door next to the bookcase and pushed it open.
Dust motes drifted in the light which streamed from the large window. The cloth-draped lumps on the long workbench made his chest ache. How long had it been since he’d last been in this laboratory? Two years? Three? Surely it hadn’t been that long since he’d made a clouding gas for one of his missions.
He ran his finger over the small burner, knowing every inch of its shape even hidden under the linen. The small potions he made to assist him and his friends for their work were nothing but a tease. Like a small bite of food when a man was starving, it only served to increase his hunger.
Robert had assisted Hampson with the experiments, that much had been clear in his manager’s letter. His brother had faced whatever trepidations he might have had after the accident and re-entered the laboratory.
Of course, it was easier for him. He hadn’t made the mistake.
Only suffered its consequences.
