Every Time You Spy (Duke of Lies #3)

Chapter 1

One

The candlelight flickered against the walls of the modest inn in Vienna, casting long, restless shadows across the room.

Leander Ashby sat hunched over a dispatch, the ink-stained papers trembling slightly beneath his fingers—not from cold, but from a tension that had nothing to do with the chill of the evening.

The muted clatter of carriages beyond the window and the distant rumble of war seemed irrelevant now.

Europe was aflame with conflict, Napoleon’s ambitions casting their long shadow across the continent, and yet, none of that mattered…

not now, and certainly not any time soon.

A letter, delivered hastily by a courier with the urgency of despair in his eyes, lay unopened beside him.

The wax seal bore the unmistakable crest of the Duke of Lionston—his father.

Leander’s hand hovered over it for a heartbeat too long, as if delay might spare him the knowledge within.

But duty, the very principle that had kept him alive through espionage, subterfuge, and the treacheries of war, demanded that he break the seal.

He had already read the missive from the war office that had accompanied this letter from his father.

The words inside the missive from the war office had been brief, cruel, and irreparable.

His father had died, struck down in a carriage accident and his elder brother, the heir he had always assumed would follow in their father’s stead, had perished as well in a hunting mishap a few days prior.

The Ashby line, the dukedom of Lionston, now fell to him.

A role he had never wanted and still didn’t.

What happened to his father and his brother—he could not make his mind accept it.

He knew they were gone, but somehow it did not seem real.

He knew he had to accept it. That he had decisions to make.

First though he had to open the seal on this letter from his father.

It was the last words he would ever have from a man he had thought indestructible.

He would never hear his father’s booming voice again nor would he share witty barbs with his elder brother.

They were both gone far too soon and within days of each other.

What were the chances they would both die in the same week?

Leander’s chest tightened as he read and reread the letter.

He had trained for danger in the field, for life and death on foreign soil, yet he had never prepared for the devastation of loss at home.

His heart, so long tempered to the ruthlessness of espionage, ached with an unfamiliar weight.

The title he had never wanted, responsibilities he had never imagined, now demanded his immediate attention.

But how could he leave this work he had been doing for years now?

It was more a part of him than the dukedom would ever be. How could he be a duke?

For a moment, he let himself linger in the chaos of grief, imagining the halls of Lionston House empty without his father’s commanding presence, silent without his brother’s assured steps.

And then the question came, as unyielding as the dawn…

what was he to do? Continue his work in Europe, serving his country as he had always done, or return to England and assume the dukedom thrust upon him by fate and tragedy?

Leander ran a hand over his face, eyes closing against the tears that threatened to betray him.

Duty had been ingrained in him at an early age.

His family, lineage and honor demanded he return.

But that is not what he desired. Leander wanted freedom, a purpose, and the life he had carved for himself as a spy.

All of those things urged him to stay exactly where he was and finish his mission.

Before he made any decisions, go he had to read his father’s last letter to him.

He had to know what his father had to say to him.

He broke the seal and unfolded the missive.

My Dearest Leander,

I write to you with a heart weighed down by sorrow so profound that the mere act of putting pen to paper brings tears to my eyes. My son… I am compelled to share with you the gravest of news, though I fear no words can lessen the sting or the grief that will follow.

Your beloved twin, Laith, has been taken from us in a most tragic hunting accident.

He is gone... Gone in an instant, as if the Fates themselves were cruelly determined to remind us of life’s fragility.

My heart aches in ways I cannot describe, and the halls of Lionston feel emptier without his laughter, his presence, and his indomitable spirit.

I must also beg your forgiveness. In our last meeting, my anger and stubbornness drove a wedge between us.

I was wrong to rebuke you so fiercely. My opposition to your service in the war was not born of disdain or lack of pride, but of love and fear…

fear for your safety, fear of losing you as I have now lost Laith.

I see now that my manner was harsh and unfair, and I am truly sorry.

Leander, I implore you to return home. Your absence leaves a void that none other can fill.

I cannot bear to endure this sorrow without the comfort of your presence.

Our family is fractured by grief, yet your return would be a balm, however slight, to this aching heart.

Please, my son, come home. Allow us to mourn together, to remember Laith, and to honor him in the only way left to us—through the unity of family, through love that endures even in the shadow of loss.

Know this, Leander…you are cherished beyond words, and I love you with a depth that is unyielding. Let my foolish pride of the past be forgotten. Come back to me, my son, and allow your father to hold you in solace, if only for the comfort it brings us both.

Ever your devoted father,

Leonel Ashby, Duke of Lionston

His father had wanted him to come home. Of course he had.

The heir had died, and the spare must return to fill the role he had been born to.

It did not matter that they had been twins.

Laith had been born first, and it had been his responsibility to take on the mantle of the dukedom.

Laith had been gregarious where Leander had been serious and determined.

No two individuals could be more dissimilar.

They were even different in appearance. Leander had dark hair and green eyes like their mother, and Laith had taken after their father.

He’d had dark blonde hair and sea green eyes.

Was it any wonder why he had been the favored son?

It had been his destiny to be at their father’s side.

Now Leander was alone, and he bore a duty that should never have been his.

The moral compass that had guided him through countless clandestine operations now pressed him toward a path he neither sought nor welcomed.

With a long, controlled breath, he made his choice.

He would return to England. He would assume the title of Duke of Lionston.

But he vowed that the cunning and daring that had kept him alive in the war would remain his own, and whatever awaited him at Lionston, he would face it as he had faced all else.

With his mind sharp, his heart guarded, and his code intact…

A door opened and closed bringing him out of his reverie.

He turned and glanced at the man that had entered the room.

His partner on this last mission of his, Dashiell Blackwell, the Earl of Ravenwood.

He should not be on the continent any more than Leander now should.

He was no longer just an heir either. He had received news of his father’s death a month earlier but had made the decision to stay and finish the mission.

Soon he would have to return to England as well.

The new earl ran his hand over his dark brown locks.

“You appear troubled,” Ravenwood said. “Has something happened? Should I be concerned?”

Leander sighed and shook his head. This was the nature of their line of work.

They had to always remain on edge. “You need not be concerned,” Leander told him.

“But something has happened.” He the missive from the war office to Ravenwood.

His father’s letter was his own to read.

Everything the earl needed to know was already in the one missive anyway.

His father’s letter was outdated as it did not add his own death into the ranks.

“I am so sorry,” Ravenwood told him. “What will you do?”

And wasn’t that the question… He had been pondering it ever since he had opened the first missive. But he had made a decision, hadn’t he? He closed his eyes and blew out a breath. “There is only one thing I can do.”

“You are going home.”

“I am going home,” he confirmed.

Ravenwood nodded. “I will finish this here. We are almost done regardless.” He grinned. “You need not look so distressed Lee. I am in similar straits. I will see you in England before you have had time to settle in.”

He nodded. “Likely sooner,” he said with a soft chuckle.

“Without me second guessing your every decision I am certain you will be in England on my heels.” He sobered at the thought of leaving his friend alone to see the mission to the end.

“Please stay safe. I have lost almost my entire family now and I would hate to lose my closest friend too.”

“When am I not careful?” Ravenwood said in a playful tone.

Leander narrowed his gaze. “That is not the question you should be asking.” He shook his head. “The question is when are you ever careful. You take far too many risks. So, I must reiterate…take care, Dash. I cannot lose you too.”

Ravenwood sighed. “I promise I will not be foolhardy. I will return to England. Now stop worrying about me. You have a trip back to England to prepare for.”

Leander nodded at the earl rose from the table, rolling the two letters and placing them into his coat pocket.

The flickering candlelight glinted off the dagger he had kept at his side for years, a reminder of the life he had chosen and the dangers he had survived.

Now, another battle awaited—a battle not of espionage or the clash of armies, but of legacy, duty, and the unforeseen demands of a title he had never wanted.

He would return. And when he did, he would be ready.

As he had not been groomed to take over the role of duke, he wasn’t entirely certain what he would find when he returned to England.

He had much to learn, and much to grieve for.

The loss of his brother and father along with the loss of his career.

He had a new life to learn and he prayed he was up to the task.

Leander took one last look around the room, letting his gaze linger on the sparse furnishings and the map-strewn table that had been the center of so many plans and escapes.

Every mark and crease reminded him of the lives he had touched, the missions that had tested his skill and patience, and the friendships that had endured against impossible odds.

He allowed himself a brief, almost imperceptible smile.

The war had forged him, shaped him, and now it had given him the clarity he needed.

England, his home, awaited, and with it, the life he had long avoided confronting.

Ravenwood’s words echoed in his mind. His advice had been wrapped in camaraderie, warnings tempered with affection.

He had lost nearly everything that mattered yet could do as his father asked.

He would go home and step into the role that destiny—and duty—had thrust upon him.

The thought steadied his pulse and filled him with a measured determination.

He drew the long coat tighter around his shoulders, the leather worn and supple from years of travel, and slung the letters over his shoulder with deliberate care.

Each step toward the door was firm, deliberate, a declaration to himself that he was leaving behind the shadows of the continent and the dangers that had once stalked him.

Instead, he was stepping toward a future that demanded courage of a very different sort.

Ravenwood inclined his head in parting, a silent acknowledgment of the bond they shared.

“Good luck, my friend I do think you may need it,” he said lightly, though there was an unspoken tension beneath the jest. “Lionston will be lucky to have you at its helm. Even with the darkness that brought you there.”

Leander’s lips twitched into a fleeting smirk, though the weight of the promise he carried was not lost on him. “Let us hope it is the right kind of luck,” he replied, voice steady and resolute. “I intend to do what is necessary—no matter what it demands of me.”

The candles flickered as he stepped into the night air, the chill biting through the warmth of the lodge.

The wind carried with it the scent of rain-soaked earth and the distant promise of dawn, as if heralding the beginning of something new.

Leander paused for only a heartbeat, letting the night settle around him and then moved swiftly to his next destination.

Soon he would be back at Lionston. Home.

The word carried a weight that both steadied and unsettled him.

England would be a place of reckoning, of expectations and obligations, but also a place where he could forge something new.

Where he could honor the legacy of those he had lost, and perhaps, just perhaps, find a new purpose.

There would be no room for hesitation, no tolerance for error.

The Duke of Lionston would not be caught unprepared.

And Leander was never unprepared…