“Ah, ah, ah, careful making fun of those of us who have a title, Grim. I hear you’re about to become a marquess any day now,” Rafe replied, a sly grin on his face.
“Is that true?” Cade Cavendish shook his head. “Can’t believe it. The good general, a future duke?”
“Yes, it’s true,” Oakleaf replied, taking a quaff of his ale. “Now I’m the only one of the lot of you who doesn’t have a title. Woe is me.”
“Shut it, Oakleaf. You know we envy you for it,” Cade replied, elbowing the runner in the ribs.
“Yes, enough to pretend you’re me from time to time, eh, Cade?” Oakleaf, arched a brow in the privateer’s direction.
Cade shrugged. His grin didn’t falter. “At the time, I waspersona non gratain London. Needed your good name to get me through the door. We look alike, or so I’m told. Though I think I’m a sight more handsome than you’ll ever be.”
“Then you won’t mind if I pretend I’m you the next time I’m in a pinch?” Oakleaf asked Cade, blinking innocently.
Cade bristled and sucked down a healthy portion of ale. “Ugh. I suppose I do owe you one.”
“Perfect,” Oakleaf replied, setting down his mug with a satisfied sigh. “The next time I need to pretend I’m a pirate knight, I’ll be certain to invoke your name.”
All four men laughed.
“What are you doing here, Grim? Got another mission for us?” Rafe called over a barmaid and ordered himself and Mark a mug of ale.
“No,” Mark replied. “I’m completely devoid of missions. Now that I’m Home Secretary, I’m working on my new plan for the police force.”
Oakleaf whistled. “Yes, well, the police force sounds far less exciting than being a runner.”
Mark cast him a wry look. “It might be, but I’m attempting to secure funding from the government so you and your lot won’t have to rely on bounties.”
“Can’t say I’ve ever disliked relying on bounties. They’ve made me a wealthy man,” Oakleaf replied with a grin. “I reckon if this police force business takes off, I’ll go into private practice as an investigator.”
“I wouldn’t blame you, Oakleaf,” Mark replied. “The police force won’t earn the same purses you have.”
The barmaid returned and plunked down an overflowing mug of ale in front of Mark.
“Where’s the missus, Grim?” Cade interjected. “I was hoping you’d introduce us at long last.”
“Yes, Daphne and Danielle want to have you both over for dinner sometime soon,” Rafe threw in. “They nearly had fits when we told them you’ve been secretly married for ten years.”
“It wasn’t a secret,” Mark said, some of his joviality slipping away. “I was merely… judicious about whom I informed.”
“Spoken like a true spymaster,” Rafe replied with a grin. “When will you come to dinner then?”
Mark shook his head. He stared down at the scarred pattern on the old tavern table, then lifted his mug and took a drink. “I’m afraid there will be no dinner.”
“What?” Cade asked. “Why?”
Mark wiped a hand across the back of his mouth and set the mug on the table with a hollow thump. “Because Mrs. Grimaldi, soon to be the Marchioness of Coleford, is even now on her way back to France.”
Oakleaf choked on the ale he was drinking and slammed his fist against the table. “The devil you say.Thought the two of you had finally set things to rights.”
Mark groaned and ran a hand over his face. “I rather thought the same thing, but apparently I was wrong.”
“Look,” Rafe said, bracing his forearm on the table and leaning across it toward Mark. “Cade and I have had issues with our wives in the past, believe me. Why don’t you tell us the problem and we can help you solve it?”
Mark stared at the viscount spy as if was torn between astonishment and the urge to laugh. “You cannot be serious.”
“Go ahead. We’re happily married men, you know,” Cade prompted.
The barmaid returned with two more mugs for the twins. Rafe spun one across the table to Cade before saying, “I know what you’re thinking, Stone Man. You cannot tell your former subordinates about your private life. But we don’t work for you anymore. You’re the Secretary of the Home Office now, not the spymaster.”
