Chapter One
The old manlooked as pale as the white sheets that covered him as he lay propped up on pillows in the massive four-poster canopy bed.Rhys Seaton approached silently.He didn’t want to startle Lord Fleming, but he had been sent for.The note had been emphatic that he come immediately.Weak winter sun trickled in through one window from across the room.It was the only light, as the other windows near the bed were heavily draped to prevent drafts.Perhaps it wasn’t that the bed was so large but that the man seemed shrunken with illness.
Lord Fleming’s chest rose and fell weakly; his breath seemed to stutter in and wheeze out.Rhys frowned; maybe Fleming’s secretary hadn’t exaggerated his lord’s dire state of health.Shit.The old bloke had seemed better the last time Rhys had been here.The consumption had been stripping away the man’s strength for a year or more now.The doctors had continually been surprised at how long Fleming had stayed strong despite the damage to his lungs.
Rhys hadn’t shared their surprise.Lord Fleming’s mantra, for as long as Rhys could remember, had been that there was a solution to any problem.Fleming was simply too stubborn—and found himself too important—to give in to something as pedestrian as disease.
Fleming’s chest contracted with a racking cough, and his eyelids popped open as he tried to regain his breath.Rhys closed the distance between them and reached for a glass of water that sat on the bedside table.His mentor grasped the offered water and took small sips.“Seaton, you came.”His voice was soft and breathy.
Rhys nodded.“Nigel said it was important.”
“I’m not long for this earth,” he rasped as he struggled for breath.“I need you to do one last thing for me.”
“Today is just a bad day.You’ll be feeling better soon.”His chest tightened as he watched Fleming struggle to speak.
The older man shook his head, and his eyes closed.Seaton stepped away and grabbed a nearby chair.After setting it next to the bed, he sat and watched Fleming’s shallow breaths become erratic, and Rhys’s heart cracked a bit.This man had been the only father figure he had ever had.Fleming had plucked him off the streets to enter his elite training program full of lost boys.Boys that no one would miss if they got killed in the line of duty.
But as it turned out, Rhys had a propensity for stealth and as many lives as a damn street cat.He had continued to survive countless dangerous situations.Lord Fleming had full autonomy to run his stable of assassins for the crown.No one knew or cared who they were or where they came from as long as they continued to be effective tools.
“It’s about Lavensham.”Fleming’s voice startled Rhys from his thoughts.“He must be stopped.”
Fleming’s eyes were still closed, and his head tossed back and forth.He must be delirious.Stop the Duke of Lavensham from doing what?There was no doubt that Lavensham was a right bastard.The man had killed his own wife, for fuck’s sake.
Fleming’s hand shot out and grasped Rhys’s arm with surprising strength.“She’s in danger.Stop him.”His light brown eyes were open again now, clear and sharp as he stared at Rhys.“Promise me you will.”
“I swear.Now tell me what he’s done.”
A wet cough erupted from Fleming; his chest heaved as the man gasped for breath.His hand slipped from Rhys’s arm and fell limply to the bed.Rhys scrambled to grasp the hand.No.This man was indestructible.This couldn’t be happening.But Fleming’s chest rose and his last breath wheezed out.Then there was only silence.Rhys squeezed the gentleman’s hand.He stared down at Fleming and then gently laid the man’s hand back onto his chest.“Goodbye.”
Rhys rose to his feet and backed away from death.All too familiar.The air in the room felt stifling, and his chest was heavy with sadness that he didn’t want to feel.With one last look at the man who had controlled his life for the past ten years, Rhys turned and exited the room.
Outside the door, Nigel paced back and forth.Fleming’s secretary stopped mid-step, and his eyes widened in question.Rhys nodded.Nigel’s breath whooshed out.He sucked in another through his nose before straightening his shoulders.“Right, let’s build up the fire.”
“What?”Rhys asked.
“His instructions were clear.Burn all the files and correspondence.You can help me.”Nigel turned on his heel and strode down the corridor.
Rhys shoved his hands into his jacket pockets and stared at the man’s retreating back.He wasn’t here for cleanup.Bad enough that the man had died right in front of him.Bad enough he had made a fucking deathbed promise that he had no bloody clue how he would execute.Nigel turned and gave him an imperious look from down the hallway.Rhys sighed.Fine.He followed the man to Fleming’s study.
Once there, he crossed to the fireplace and built a fire.Nigel went to the far wall and opened a section with the push of a wooden rosette.The safe that Fleming kept behind the false wall gleamed black.Nigel made quick work of the lock and began pulling out files and ledgers.He calmly stacked them next to the hearth until the safe was emptied.Then he crouched next to Rhys, giving him a sideways look.
“Are you sure?”Rhys asked.
“Boss’s orders.”He picked up a sheath of paper off the top and threw it into the fire.They watched the papers curl and burn away.“To freedom,” Nigel said.
Rhys picked up a stack and tossed it into the flames.He knew that these must be lists of agents and records of all the jobs they’d been sent on.He’d seen how meticulous Fleming had been with his notes and files.He lifted another stack of files and tossed them into the fire.Although he wouldn’t mind reading what his file said, he didn’t want to know who else worked for Fleming.Secrets were currency, but some knowledge would just plain get you killed.
He glanced at Nigel.The man stared into the dancing orange flames.How much did Fleming’s secretary know?
“Don’t look at me like that,” Nigel said as he tossed more papers into the fire.
“How am I looking at you?”
“Like you are contemplating slitting my throat.”He sat back on his haunches.“I’ve never read these documents.He gave me the key to the safe this morning after he asked me to summon you.Once I get his affairs in order, I will be taking my savings and leaving the country.So don’t you worry about me.I have no plans to stick around and become a dead man.”
Rhys stared into the fire and contemplated what Fleming’s death truly meant.No doubt the crown would look to replace Lord Fleming.Who would be in charge now?Who, besides the king, even knew of the existence of the program or its mission?Didn’t matter.Nigel was correct; this meant freedom.He would never again have to kill for king and country, except for his promise.Stop Lavensham.
Stop him from doing what?Had Fleming simply wanted him to kill the man?Unlikely.The Duke of Lavensham was a longtime friend of Fleming’s, part of a circle of friends that had bonded through traumatic circumstances as children and had watched out for each other ever since.Unfortunately, that often meant they covered up each other’s sins.And there were sins aplenty.
