Lord Rainham had more grey hairs but didn’t look so tired as usual, despite the desperate situation on the Continent. In fact, he looked in fine fettle as he set the ink well to an exact angle and steepled his fingers.
Documents were perfectly aligned on his desk.
Maps covered the walls, set at equal distances.
Quills remained raised, ready for flight.
A single white lily stood to attention in a tall crystal vase left of the desk. What the–
“We have a traitor in our midst.”
Those blunt words put paid to Rakecombe’s unease over deviant blooms. “Who?”
“I don’t know but two of my men have gone missing along with some valuable documents.”
“How important are these documents?”
“They include a list of informants.”
“Dear God,” snapped Rakecombe, hitching forward. “If that falls into the wrong hands…”
“Exactly. I’m investigating how the documents were taken, but we need to locate these men, Stuart Penbury and Gabriel Stafford. Use your network to find out whatever you can. Are they alive? If so, were they coerced? Or have they turned on us?” Rainham smoothed the desk with a palm. “Both have been with me for years, recruited from the army, but this is too much of a coincidence.”
“Any of their family missing?”
Rakecombe thumbed the silver filigree adorning his cane. Last year, he’d shot the whoreson who’d abducted Miss Quinlan, a putrid villain who enjoyed kidnapping the relatives of key persons in the government and military in order to extort information, but they’d never recovered his body from the river estuary depths…
“Not as far as I’m aware. Penbury’s roots are in the north and Stafford was raised in an orphanage. Purely on gut instinct,” Rainham continued, “I believe Penbury to be the weaker. Stafford has always been blunt but dedicated. Descriptions and so forth are with my secretary.”
“Very well. Anything else?”
“Yes, take Winterbourne with you. I have the perfect mission coming up for him, but some preparation would do no harm.”
“Must I?” he growled, stamping his top boot in impatience. He worked better alone. People just got in the way.
“Don’t feign joy on account of my delicate feelings, Rakehell,” a jovial voice lobbed from the doorway. “Where have you been lurking, my dear fellow? It’s been an age.”
“Not long enough, I’m sure,” he replied, standing to greet the Marquess of Winterbourne with a vague modicum of warmth. Andwhydid the marquess always feel the need to disparage his noble title? His Viking ancestors wouldn’t have put up with it. “I’ve been busy, as unlike some, I also tend to my estates.”
The modish smiling Winterbourne was a well-known rogue, but Rakecombe had to admit a miniscule liking for the affable fellow despite his lascivious habits. Wouldn’t let him know that, of course – he had a pitiless nature to uphold, after all.
Briefly, he wondered how the marquess would handle a night out in the seamier side of London… Well, they would find out soon enough. The thought of the enemy with their grubby paws on a document listing covert names brought bile to his throat and urgency to his step.
“I’ll have you know I work tirelessly at my estate,” Winterbourne replied, eyes twinkling.
“Seducing milkmaids is not work.”
“Faugh! Never in my life have I touched an estate milkmaid. In truth, half of them are probably relations as dear departed Father was rather prolific in his youth…and later years…and middling–”
“I must leave you gentlemen now,” Rainham interrupted. “I’m for home, as there is an eighty-four per cent chance of rain by the hour of six.”
A little taken aback, they both glanced over as their leader gathered his greatcoat and hat.
As long as Rakecombe had known him, he’d never seen Rainham leave his office – ever. He’d thought their leader slept here, and possibly that a clerk came in every morning to wind him up like a mechanical automaton.
“Give my regards to Lily,” said Winterbourne, smiling broadly, “and thank her for the advice on Tamesworth shipping. I made a cod of blunt.”
Rakecombe stared in unmitigated horror as Rainham nodded and, after centring his chair beneath the desk, headed for the door with indecent haste.
