The annoyance pounded into Hugh’s skull like an English battering ram at a Welsh castle’s gates but unable to lift his sluggish lids, he moved an arm to…
Ah.
He was tied up.
Doubting this was some widow’s idea of foreplay, he warily opened one eye.
Hell.
Or to be more accurate, a windowless warehouse. Timber stacked either side. Smelled of the Thames. Sawdust on the flagstone floor. A single lantern swung from a beam. Likely to be his last resting place if he didn’t stir his stumps.
His wrists were bound at the back of a chair with coarse rope, and pain arced through his nape as he wriggled his arms, fingers shifting to ascertain the type of knot.
One he could not easily release himself from.
He peered down – his boots were gone, ankles tied to the chair legs.
Bugger.
Had the Ravens identified him and brought him to this Thames-side warehouse to be disposed of? Somewhere his screams would not be heard.
He debated shuffling to a wall as best as he could to smash the chair against brick when footsteps behind him declared an arrival. Hugh turned his neck but not enough to view the incomer.
Shadows shifted on the stacked wood and a rat scuttled.
“Cadwalader,” stated a cultured voice. “What am I to do with you?”
Was this the man responsible for the Home Office leaks?
“You could untie these ropes and hand me a sword.”
A chuckle.
Measured footsteps resumed and the man entered into the reach of the lantern light.
Ah.
On second thoughts, maybe not a sword.
Because the chap stood before him was known to be an unsurpassable swordsman and only those not averse to a dose of humiliation chose to duel with him at Angelo’s Fencing Academy.
Viscount Asher Rainham.
Bestowed with the title for outstanding services to the Crown.
Within theForeignOffice.
Standing with arms crossed, he had piercing hazel eyes, dark-brown hair peppered with grey and a wry smile upon his thinned lips. Whispers told that he’d once been the best tracker the Foreign Office had. Now he worked higher up but Hugh was unsure in what capacity.
“You nigh took one of my men’s eyes out, Cadwalader, so I think you shall stay tied. For the time being.”
“Why the hell am I–”
“Forgive the dramatic abduction but there was a sixty per cent chance you were being followed and this meeting is all highly irregular.” He unfolded his arms. “We needed to talk far from any pricked-up ears or prying eyes as I am unofficially probing into Home Office affairs. In fact, I am not here at all. You have not seen me. Is that clear?”
Hugh stared at him. “How–”
“This year has been rather eventful, despite there being no current war with France, yet eight per cent of my time is being allotted to you and the Home Office. I wish to lower that figure.”
