How to Save a Spy (Duke of Lies #2)

Prologue

Rhys McNaught, formerly a spy for the Home Office, was miserable!

He had become disenchanted with the profession that had at one time brought excitement, fear and danger but soon reduced him to being nothing more than an eavesdropper.

It began when he was assigned to the Alien Office and tasked with finding French spies in London.

His immediate supervisor was convinced that anyone who came from France, or knew anyone in France, must be a spy and Rhys spent countless hours listening to conversations as well as intercepting letters and messages to translate, before seeing that they were sent on.

He’d had liaisons with French women who were once of their aristocracy, as well as dressmakers and maids.

In the two years that he had prowled London and visited bedchambers, not one French spy was discovered.

He’d rifled through desks and dressers, followed and listened, seduced and danced and finally concluded that those he worked directly under in the Alien Office were paranoid.

His supervisor, who happened to be a pompous arse, younger son of a lord who had been forced to go into trade, had hoped to make a name for himself and thought himself to be superior to those he saw as beneath him.

Just because someone was French did not mean they were in England on behalf of Napoleon.

Rhys was also just as certain that there were likely some French spies in London. They had just never crossed his path because had they, Rhys was confident that he would have discovered the truth. Nobody had ever slipped by him.

When Rhys had asked to be reassigned, it was promised but never given and that was the reason he had resigned a year ago.

Since, he had considered politics or becoming a diplomat. It was the course his uncle had strongly pressured him to pursue, but it was no more exciting than listening to women compare silks in a dress shop owned by a French modiste.

A wife wouldn’t cure the tedium either, which had been another suggestion from his uncle.

Yet, he had to do something.

He took another drink of wine and stared out over the ballroom filled with the titled and untitled, privileged and shallow, all enjoying themselves as if England was not at war and men were not losing their lives in battles far away.

Why was he even here?

“I do not believe I have ever witnessed anyone as miserable as you in a ballroom.”

“Ennui,” Rhys responded to Leander Ashby, Duke of Lionston, as he approached.

Lionston had once served the Crown but when he unexpectedly inherited the title, he was forced to return to England and step away from intrigue and espionage.

The two had crossed paths in France and they had worked together on occasion. That was before Rhys had been assigned to listen to gossip in London.

“There are far more interesting places you could be.”

“I am very much aware and the reason I plan to leave England behind me.”

“I had heard.”

Rhys narrowed his eyes on the duke. How could he possibly know that he intended to sail to Antigua.

He’d not mentioned it to anyone…Yes, he had, just last month when he was talking with an old and close friend, Oliver Sellars.

They had met in Boodle’s, their preferred Gentleman’s Club for the very reason that it was less political.

This was proof that one must always be careful of what was said in public because one might never know who was listening. He should know. That is what he used to do for a living.

“Come with me.”

“Where to?” Rhys asked.

“Away from here.” Lionston groaned as he looked over the dancers as if he had little tolerance for simpering misses and spoiled lords.

Intrigued, Rhys set his glass aside and followed his former colleague from the ballroom where the duke hailed a common hackney.

Perhaps Lionston hadn’t given up his habits of being inconspicuous.

He stepped inside while the duke gave directions, not that Rhys could hear him but assumed they were off to White’s or Boodle’s since they were members of both.

“It has been what, a year, since you resigned your post?” Lionston asked after the hackney had pulled into traffic.

“Yes.”

“And now you’re dissatisfied?”

“Yes, which I am certain you can understand, though perhaps being a duke is as intriguing as your previous activities.”

“I likely would be had I…We will discuss what I have been doing when we are free of this conveyance.”

Intrigued, Rhys settled back and watched out the window but grew concerned when they did not stop at White’s or Boodle’s but continued through Covent Garden until the hackney came to a stop at the corner in an often-dangerous rookery, one he was familiar with.

There was little of London that he did not know well after years of following supposed spies and other enemies of the Crown.

“Did the driver misunderstand the direction?”

“He did not,” His Grace answered as he pushed the hackney door open and stepped out.

Rhys slipped his knife from inside his suitcoat then grasped the hilt and tilted it back, the blade hidden along his wrist and lower arm, tucked against his side and ready to use as he stepped into the shadows of a building.

“This way,” Lionston said and started walking south. He also avoided being near the street and crossed the opening of an alley with caution, their senses alert to danger.

Rhys may have retired from the Home Office a year ago, but he had been an agent long enough that caution and readiness were second nature.

When Lionston stopped at a large dark door and produced a key, Rhys stood at his back and watched the area so that they could defend against a surprise attack from thugs, and only relaxed his guard after the door was opened, they both entered and His Grace once again set the lock.

“This way.”

Muted voices came from deeper in the warehouse, somewhat echoed, but they were too far away for Rhys to make out what was being said or who they belonged to.

When His Grace lifted a lantern then opened a door to enter, Rhys once again followed and stopped in the center of a large room. His host went about lighting candles then took a seat behind a large oak table littered with sketches and maps, a stack of files at the corner.

“Sit.” Lionston gestured to the seat on the other side.

He did so but continued to look around. Books and ledgers were on a shelf, and more maps upon the wall where cities were circled.

“Shall we continue our conversation?”

“Yes, I am most intrigued,” Rhys answered.

“As to your comment on being dissatisfied, my answer is that I likely would be if I had not started my own agency. Obviously, I could not say so in the hackney where I might be overheard.”

It took a moment for Rhys to realize what Lionston had said, and he leaned forward.

“Your own agency? As in agents, espionage, secrets?”

“One with individuals in possession of particular skill sets that allow us to assist in matters most urgent or longer missions.”

“You are hired by individuals?” Was his agency more similar to Bow Street, but made up of spies?

“Or the Crown.”

“Your own Home Office?”

Lionston chuckled.

“Does this agency have a name?”

“The Lion Watch,” he answered. “It is a living network that stretches across the country and beyond, poised to act against threats.”

Rhys glanced back at the maps, continents and countries, together it was a view of the world. How could Lionston’s reach be so far if the circles indicated the location of an operative of The Lion Watch? At least, that is what he assumed, though they could be areas of interest.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“I intend to recruit you.”

Rhys pulled back, the faintest beat of excitement and anticipation pulsed through his veins, something he had not experienced in a long time.

He thought he was done with spying, but perhaps he had been working for the wrong agency.

“Your gift for languages. Your ability to listen, hear without anyone noticing your presence. You’re a chameleon that blends. There are times that I have missed you in a place when I knew you were there. Such skills would be useful in intelligence gathering.”

And, in an instant, the potential thrill of once again being embroiled in espionage disappeared.

“No.” He would not return to eavesdropping for anyone. It was intrusive and people were not as interesting as they believed themselves to be. “Such assignments are the very reason I resigned my position.”

“I am aware, but your silence also makes you deadly, along with your knife. You can silence for good, or temporarily and until you have gained your information. Few are as talented as you at interrogation.”

Rhys would not be swayed by mention of his other talents, ignored by the Alien Office.

“I have retired from espionage.”

“If you do not work for me, you will be recruited by the Home Office,” Lionston warned casually with a shrug. “I am a better employer. Further, I will always trust your instincts and I pay better wages. Your skills are valuable to me, even if the Alien Office has not utilized your talents.”

“The Home Office nor the Alien Office can force me back into duty.” Such a threat was not going to convince Rhys to work for Lionston. “I will no longer eavesdrop no matter the wages.”

“I am giving you an opportunity that they will not.”

“How do you even know they want me back?”

“When the Crown lacks the agents for particular missions, they have reached out to The Lion Watch because there is very little that we cannot do.”

“Is that because their spies now work for you?”

“My network is stronger, better, and more skilled, and I am very particular about who I approach for The Lion Watch. If there is the slightest lack of trust or if I know someone is known to have been sloppy in their work, they are not wanted by me.”

Rhys noted that His Grace did not actually answer his question, which led him to believe that others dissatisfied had sought a better option. “And you wish to recruit me into your elite group of spies.”