Chapter One
London 1814
“I am sorry Mrs. Adare, but his Lordship will not see you without an appointment.”
Mrs. Elizabeth Adare rose from the bench seat in the foyer of Lord Stanton’s London house and offered his clerk an entreating smile. She’d come a long way to see the deputy director of the home department, and see him she would. “Come now, Mr. Idle, surely he can spare a few minutes of his time?”
Idle cast a nervous glance down the hallway, his russet hair disheveled. “His lordship is out.”
Liar. She eyed the harried clerk and then the door where he’d exited less than a minute past. Lord Stanton was most certainly in and behind that door. “Then I shall wait for him.”
Idle shook his head, blue eyes narrowed. Contempt rested there, along with fear. “No, no, you will not. Now, I must insist you take your leave, madam.”
Why Mr. Idle was threatened by her was odd, but not important. Elizabeth had a mission, and she’d see it through. People’s lives depended on it. She pushed past him and strode to the door, her heart beating madly in her chest.
Frantic footsteps followed close behind. “Mrs. Adare, what do you think you’re doing?”
“I must see his lordship.” She lengthened her stride, determination surging through her. It was critical that she have an audience with Stanton, and nothing and no one was going to stop her.
“Mrs. Adare, stop at once!” Idle ordered.
She dashed the last few feet to the door. Breath coming in pants, she clasped the lock and the well-oiled metal slid easily in her hand. The door swung open.
Idle threw himself in front of her, his back toward the office. Fury was emblazoned on his thin face. He glared at her, his knuckles white from his grip on either side of the door frame. “He. Is. Not. In.”
“Idle, what are you about?” a man asked, coming to stand behind the clerk.
The man surveyed her with questioning hazel eyes. Elizabeth’s heart beat unaccountably quicker at the sight of him.
“I was just seeing Mrs. Adare out, my lord.” Idle dropped his hands to his side, the threat of retribution reflected in the harshness of his stare.
“Lord Stanton, I must speak with you about a most urgent matter.” Ignoring the clerk, Elizabeth offered him a curtsy. Now that she had him in her sights, she was not about to let him go. Lord Stanton was certainly younger than she expected and well turned out. His dapper coat of blue superfine fit his broad shoulders to perfection.
“Apparently.” Lord Stanton cocked one strong brow, a trace of amusement about his full lips.
She fought the blush from coming. This wasn’t how she’d imagined her first meeting would begin. The situation placed her at a disadvantage, but she could turn it around. Or at least she prayed she could.
“I told you he is not available,” Idle said.
Elizabeth ignored the taciturn clerk. If she gave into every threat she’d received over the years, she’d get nothing of value accomplished. “My lord, I have come a long way to see you. Can you please spare me five minutes of your time?”
Stanton studied her. He had compelling eyes, flecked with gold and rimmed by dark lashes. After a long moment, he seemed to decide. “Since Mrs. Adare has traveled all this way to call...” He motioned to the room behind him, showing that she should precede him.
“But my lord—” Idle said, panic underlying his protest.
“I shall hear her complaint and send her on her way,” Stanton said with a forceful smile.
Interesting. He didn’t seem to like his clerk much. The feeling was mutual. Elizabeth followed Stanton through a doorway leading into an elegantly appointed room dominated by a mahogany desk. He held out a chair for her and she caught a whiff of clean linen and wood as she passed him. She resisted the urge to inhale and perched on the edge of the seat.
He took the seat next to her and their knees brushed. “Mrs. Adare, does your husband know you’re here?”
“I am a widow.” Even after five years, the words still sounded strange on her tongue. Harold had died a year after they married, but she hadn’t come to London to discuss her personal life, no matter how attractive Stanton was.
“As I have written in several letters, Lord Reginald Randell heads a smuggling ring that is holding the town of Rayburn hostage,” she said.
To sit close to him was unnerving, and she found it difficult to meet his intense gaze. She settled her attention on his perfectly tied cravat, but soon became distracted by the contrast of the white linen against the golden skin of his neck.
“And you’re certain of this?”
