Chapter 3
Three
Leander stood in the shadowed corner of the warehouse, the low light casting long, jagged shadows across the walls stacked high with crates and barrels.
Each sound—the creak of a floorboard, the muted thud of boots, the soft shuffle of paper—was etched into his mind with precision.
The room smelled faintly of oil and woodsmoke, a reminder of the clandestine nature of the work that was about to begin.
He ran a hand over the plans laid across the large oak table, a careful lattice of maps, notes, and lists of names, each one chosen with meticulous care.
This was not mere bookkeeping or idle speculation; this was the foundation of his new agency.
Every agent he intended to recruit, every route he had already established, every message that had been encrypted…
All of it would serve a purpose. A purpose that could protect England—or see it undone.
“I am here,” Dash said as he strolled into the room. “Now explain to me why you requested I attend you here.” His gaze skimmed over the room with distaste. “We holed up in nicer places on the continent while we escaped certain death. This place is…” He grimaced. “Well, it isn’t pleasant is it.”
Leander chuckled softly. “It will do for now. We can make repairs later. I don’t want someplace lavish for what I have in mind.”
“And pray tell,” Dash began. “What scheme have you started hatching now?” His friend knew him too well…
“Do not play coy with me, Dash,” Leander chastised him. “You would not be here if you were not already encased in boredom. You miss it as much as I do.”
“We have barely been home long enough to miss anything,” Dash replied drolly.
“And yet we do,” Leander added as he tilted his head to the side. “Neither one of us were meant to be mere lords of the realm. We have toiled in things most of those fine gents in the ton could never imagine, let alone live through.”
Dash had not been meant to be the Earl of Ravenwood any more than Leander had been meant to be the duke.
They both had had elder brothers set to inherit.
The difference, or course, was that Dash’s elder brother had died several years earlier.
He had just chosen to ignore the call home because his father had been alive in England to see the estate run properly.
But after his father had died he had been left with little choice in the matter.
Neither of them had… They were at the mercy of the world they were born into.
That did not mean they could not make other choices.
Dash sighed. “What do you propose we do then?”
Leander grinned. He had him. Not that he had doubted his friend would want to be a part of what he planned, but it would not be the same if he decided against it.
“I am going to create an agency. One with individuals with a particular skill set that can help in matters of great urgency. Whether it be one to help save the crown or of an individual nature.”
“Like a detective agency…” Dash’s voice trailed off.
“In part,” Leander agreed. “But I would like to think we will be more extensive than that. I would like to think of us as more of a protection agency. One that collects secrets and uses them for good.”
“But we are the ones that will determine what is and is not ‘good’,” Dash added.
“Precisely,” Leander said as his grin widened. “This warehouse,” he began. He gestured around the room. “Is in one of the seedier rookeries of London. Here we can operate in secret with no one aware of our activities.”
“We have worked with less in the past.” Dash grinned. “But I spoke the truth earlier. This place is dismal and dreary. It doesn’t harbor the best let’s-be-spies environment.”
“Oh,” Leander began, “I disagree. The best spies are not afraid of a little dreariness or dirt. We actually thrive on it.”
The short time he had been back in England without Dash had been terrible. He had missed his friend and his favorite partner in crime so to speak. He could do this without him, but he did not want to. As long as Dash agreed he fully believed everything else would go as planned. Because it had to.
“I know you are right,” Dash said. “But I do hate being uncomfortable. I know I can handle it, that doesn’t mean I enjoy it.”
“Which is why this entire building will be renovated on the inside. We want people to believe it is a waste of space, but it will have all the creature comforts on the inside. Along with the best security. I don’t want to encourage squatters to think they can use the building for shelter.”
“What you’re saying is someone has to be on the premises at all times,” Dash said. “and we both know it cannot be you.”
“Nor you,” Leander said. “The ton would notice if we suddenly started residing permanently in the slums and rumors neither of us would like would start.”
“True,” he said. “So where do we begin?”
“With the renovations,” Leander said. “And in the meantime, we will start recruiting. I have a few people in mind already and I was hoping you would have suggestions as well.” He handed the list of prospects to Dash.
He glanced over the list and nodded. “I might have a few additions we can add to this,” Dash said.
Leander could not wait to start building their team.
Each recruit would need the skills, secrets, and motives to make his new agency a success.
This warehouse would be their base of operations.
Where he would address everyone as a whole or individually.
A slight nod from him here, a word of instruction there, and they would all move with the precision of well-trained operatives—a solid unit with the same goal in mind.
Leadership was not a mere title; it was the invisible hand guiding each movement, each choice, each dangerous gambit.
Leander had no illusions about the stakes.
He intended to be that leader, and he would make a difference.
“Now that I have agreed to your master plan,” Dash said in a light tone. “Does this new venture of yours have a name?”
Leander grinned. “I thought about this at length. We can’t advertise who we are, but I do like a good name.”
“This I know.” Dash’s grin was mischievous. “Which is why I asked.”
“The Lion Watch,” Leander said without preamble.
“Even predators wear crowns in the court of the bold,” Dash nodded. “A regal choice indeed. Nothing will escape our notice.” Then his grin widened. “Don’t think I didn’t notice that has a slight play on your title. Arrogant of you, but bold as I said. We will need to be for this to work.”
He agreed. Leander started to reply but then paused, listening. The faintest whisper of movement at the far door—too soft to be noticed by someone not as trained as he had been. It made him tighten his grip on the edge of the table. His mind raced through contingencies.
Could it be the informant he had placed in the area last week?
The one whose reports had been invaluable, yet whose presence in London had become increasingly precarious?
He was only one of a number of individuals he had secured to help him with the start of his new agency.
The Lion Watch was no longer a plan; it would be a living network, that stretched across the country and beyond, poised to act against threats both seen and unseen.
And Leander would ensure that every thread remained untangled, every move anticipated.
“What was that,” he murmured, mostly to himself, “Someone is outside...”
Even here, in the heart of England, danger crept silently.
Leander’s jaw set. Every measure taken now, every recruit placed, and every contact confirmed, would be tested.
And he would be ready. The night had only just begun, and already the shadows whispered of peril.
But Leander would meet that peril with the sharp mind, unyielding resolve, and ruthless precision that had earned him his reputation.
And somewhere in the dark, he knew the game had only just started.
“Then we should definitely investigate,” Dash replied equally as quiet as Leander had been. This was not their first skirmish, and it would unlikely be there last. They had worked together often enough that no more words were needed. They just nodded at each other and went to work.
Lady Sabrina Fairfax moved with the careful precision of one determined not to be noticed, her frame low and lean beneath the rough, ill-fitting clothing she had hastily donned.
A coarse, dark jacket hung slightly too long from her shoulders, the sleeves rolled to fit her arms, and trousers of muted brown tucked clumsily into worn boots completed the masculine guise.
A wide-brimmed hat sat low upon her head, shadowing the dirt-streaked blonde hair tucked beneath it, strands matted and soiled to hide their natural shimmer.
Her fair complexion, usually a point of pride, had been smudged with soot and dirt to blur the delicate features that might betray her identity.
Even her hands were smudged with grime, fingers that appeared roughened from the handling of ropes, doors, and fences.
Though as in all things, appearances could be deceiving.
No one would ever mistake her for the lady she was in polite society looking as she did.