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London

November 1804

A gust of wintry wind blew Cameron Tremayne into his family home, along with a few whirling flakes of snow. He had just removed his coat when his foster mother, Gwyn, the Countess Tremayne, appeared from the drawing room. “Perfect timing, Cam! A nice luncheon will be served in a quarter of an hour.”

“That will give me just enough time to report to Rhys. Is he in his study?”

“Yes, and he’ll be glad to see you.” Gwyn bent and scooped up a large brown tabby cat that had just appeared to see who had arrived. She handed the tabby to Cameron. “You look cold. Have a nice warm cat.”

He chuckled. “Thank you for sharing your warmth, Lord Stripes.” He draped the purring cat over his shoulder and petted it as he made his way through the house to his foster father’s study.

The study was well lit and warmed by a cheery fire. Rhys, Lord Tremayne, was reading a document with furrowed brows. He and Gwyn were both gifted, and together they had fostered a number of gifted children who had been discarded by their families, adding them to their three natural children.

All were combined into the Tribe of Tremayne, loved and supported equally. Cam considered Rhys and Gwyn the finest people he’d ever known, and he gave thanks regularly that they had taken him in when he was one such small, desperate child.

Rhys rose with a smile and clasped Cam’s offered hand, then scritched Lord Stripes’s neck before sitting again. “You’re back sooner than I expected! Does that mean your mission went well?”

As Cam settled into a chair opposite his father’s desk, the cat flowed down onto the floor and curled up in front of the fire. Wise creature.

“Here’s the official report,” Cam said as he pulled a folded document from inside his coat and handed it over the desk. “There was no French involvement, only homegrown British thieves. They’ve been dealt with.”

The report was required because Rhys was not only father to the Tribe of Tremayne, but head of the gifted department of the Home Office. His agents worked to protect Britain from threats both domestic and foreign. With war recently resumed against France, a number of Cam’s missions involved potential threats by French agents.

“Good work, Cameron.” After Rhys had scanned the report, he set it aside and handed a letter over the desk. “This just arrived an hour ago. What do you think?”

Cameron was very good at reading the energy on objects, and this one gave him a sharp tingle, which was unusual for paper. The note inside was written in a clear, educated hand. He frowned as he read the message.

Dear Lord Tremayne

My name is Casey Harris and I’m a clerk in the Inspector General’s office at the Chatham Royal Navy Dockyard. I have recently heard things suggesting threats against Sir Samuel Bentham, the Inspector General, but I was unsure what to do about them. I had been told once that if I became aware of any potential threat, it would be wise to contact Lord Tremayne at the Home Office. I hope that if the threat is real, you can do something to prevent a disastrous outcome.

Respectfully yours,

Casey Harris

Cameron frowned as he read and reread the message. “I’m not sure if the danger is real, but Mr. Harris certainly believes that it is.”

“What else do you sense about him?”

Cam cleared his mind and sank more deeply into the energy of the letter writer.

“Mr. Harris is young and deeply reserved, and there is something very elusive in his nature that makes him hard to analyze. He lost the man he was closest to two or three years ago and has been very alone ever since.”

“His father?” Rhys asked.

Cam shook his head. “Not his actual father, I think, but someone who held that place in his life.” A man like Rhys, in fact. Cam didn’t want to even think of the terrible future day when he would lose Rhys or Gwyn.

“What else do you sense?”

“I think Mr. Harris fears that the threat could come from the people around Sir Samuel, which is why he’s been reluctant to speak of this to his coworkers,” Cam said slowly. “He believes that talking to his colleagues might increase the danger to himself as well as Sir Samuel.”

“He’s wise to be cautious. Sir Samuel Bentham is the most brilliant naval engineer and architect in Britain,” Rhys said, frowning. “His inventions have done much to keep Britain’s navy powerful, but he’s said to be a difficult man. There are many who resent him. His loss would be a great blow to Britain.”

“I’m guessing that you’re about to suggest that I visit Chatham.”

“I have a feeling that you’re the best person to send.”

“And when a Tremayne says that he ‘has a feeling,’ that ends the discussion,” Cam said with amusement.