The Lyon Spy (The Lyon’s Den Connected World)

Chapter One

Rain drizzled down the windows of the Horse Guards building and blurred the outline of a passing carriage as William Ravenshoe contemplated the stretch of Whitehall visible from the second-floor office.

A blustery wind had strengthened during the morning ahead of the rain, and he hoped it was not an omen.

Not that Will believed in omens, but the wet weather made it harder to stay optimistic.

Having decided to buy a commission and join the war against Bonaparte, Will had no idea why he’d been summoned to the office of one of the most senior officials of the War Office. It seemed highly irregular and smacked of familial interference.

A door opened, and Will turned as Lord Carstairs crossed the floor, his highly polished boots making little sound on the expanse of blue and red carpet. Will bowed his head before the army chief extended a hand to him.

“Mr. Ravenshoe, good to meet you.” Lord Carstairs sat at his desk and, with an impatient flick of his fingers, indicated that Will should take a seat.

“I had expected this interview to be with a much lesser personage than yourself, my lord. After all, isn’t it a mere formality to my joining the regiment?” Will sat stiffly across from Lord Carstairs, his mind teasing out probable reasons for the singular honor.

If he’d been a lord of any rank, even a baronet, it might have made more sense to be standing before Lord Carstairs. But plain Mr. Ravenshoe—as wealthy as he was—shouldn’t have attracted such attention.

Lord Carstairs sucked in his cheeks, keenly eyeing Will. An uncomfortable and unfamiliar sense of being assessed and found wanting weighed him down. Why had his purchase of a commission to fight Bonaparte attracted the notice of this man?

Muscles tense but head high, Will held the lord’s gaze and resisted the urge to fidget, an urge only his father and the headmaster at Eton had ever elicited.

After a silence that lasted well beyond the bounds accepted by polite conversation, Carstairs gave a single nod as though Will had passed some unknown and unacknowledged test before replying, “We use resources as we see fit, Mr. Ravenshoe, and you are uniquely placed by your connections and by the nature of your business to best serve your country in ways other than on the battlefield. We have men in abundance who have signed up to fight on the front lines. What we need is better intelligence to make the best use of those numbers.”

Will sat up straighter. As a plain mister, he hadn’t expected to be noticed by the powers that be, not like his many titled friends and relatives who were serving the Crown.

And that was fine by him. Except that one of them must have had a word in the ear of someone high up in the War Office.

There was no other way a man like him, holding no title or social standing beyond his wealth and family connections, would have come to their notice.

His thoughts winged to his cousin, Jasper, Earl of Wrotham. There had been something secretive in Jasper’s intent gaze across the billiard table when they’d played at White’s several nights ago.

Secretive and knowing, now that he thought about it.

It had appeared as soon as he’d shared his plan to enlist with Jasper, although his cousin said nothing more than “Good to hear.”

Wresting his wandering attention back, he tested his theory. “I expect no favors because of my connections, sir.”

“There are no favors in this assignment, Mr. Ravenshoe. Only practicalities and using every asset to advantage. But connections—yours, to be precise—are why you are here.”

Two quick knocks at the door elicited a gruff “enter” from the lord. A servant entered carrying a silver salver on which two glasses flanked a bottle of brandy.

Lord Carstairs waited until the brandy was poured and served, and the serving man had closed the door behind him.

Reserving judgement about whether to thank Jasper or throttle him for interfering, Will glanced at the documents in front of Lord Carstairs.

A map of France peeked out beneath several closely written pages.

Despite himself, Will was curious. “Exactly what is the nature of the task you wish me to carry out?”

Lord Carstairs raised his glass and drank half in one mouthful, grunting a brief sound Will interpreted as the brandy being acceptable, and leaned forward.

He set down his glass and folded his hands over the documents.

“Last year, Boney pushed General Kutuzov’s Russian forces into a retreat and swept into Moscow unopposed.

This year, the tide has turned. Austrian, Prussian, Russian, and Swedish forces dealt Bonaparte a crushing blow at Leipzig. ”

“Earlier this month, yes; I had heard.”

“No doubt your cousin mentioned it?”

Aha! Oblique reference aside, Will was now certain Jasper had spoken about him to Carstairs, and whatever happened next, Jasper must believe Will was the right man for the task.

“The earl is not indiscreet, sir. However, at the time, we were discussing Bonaparte’s tactics in the lead-up to the battle at Borodino.”

Lord Carstairs’s reference to Jasper supported the notion that there had been more behind the cousins’ discussion than simple analysis of strategy. In hindsight, Will thought Jasper had been feeling out his nascent interest and commitment in joining up to fight the little emperor.

Devious, that’s what Jasper was. Will knew his cousin was involved in the war against the Frenchman, but just how closely was his cousin working with Lord Carstairs? And why had he felt the need to draw attention to Will?

“Good fellow, Jasper.” Lord Carstairs swallowed the rest of his brandy and set the glass back on the desk with a decisive thump.

“What we want is to gather better intelligence so we can increase the pressure on Boney and end this war as soon as possible. I understand you speak French fluently, like a Frenchman in fact, and you have business contacts across the Channel. We have reason to believe one of your business partners may be . . . useful, if you were to apply appropriate pressure.”

Lord Carstairs moved the handwritten pages, turning them face down and fully revealing the map of France on the desk between them.

He stood and stabbed a finger over the port of Calais, then traced a path into the interior of the country.

“One of the men you do business with—d’Aubray—” He waited until Will stood and leaned over the map, dropping his gaze to the area around Carstairs’s finger.

“Take a good look at where his business interests are and tell me what you notice.”

Will knew exactly where, geographically speaking, Etienne d’Aubray’s interests lay.

The man’s family had escaped the worst excesses of the French Revolution; many would say they had profited from their fellow aristocrats’ deaths.

While soldiers from the French and other armies had devastated vineyards across the countryside as they marched through, d’Aubray had acquired several formerly profitable estates.

No one was certain where his sympathies lay, including Will, but the wines d’Aubray sold him were highly sought after, especially now as the war with Bonaparte dragged on into its tenth year.

“You want me to pump d’Aubray for information.

About what? Troop movements in and around his family’s lands?

” That seemed a job any decent scout could discover through discreet surveilling of the area.

Contact with d’Aubray would be unnecessary, probably dangerous, given the uncertainty of his support for Napoleon.

“D’Aubray supplies the emperor’s court.” Carstairs’s snide tone imbued the term with loathing and disgust. “We have heard he personally accompanies consignments to the palace. There is proof he has been in the presence of the emperor himself. And we believe he may be privy to information about Bonaparte’s next push.

“Any advance warning of Boney’s plans will help our commanders in the field. We need the sort of information unlikely to be acquired by a scout. A delicate touch is required to elicit information from those unwilling to reveal it. I’m told you are well-versed in the art of negotiation.”

The thrust of what Lord Carstairs required of him became clear. “You want me to watch and listen, draw out details, and send word back.”

“Exactly so, Mr. Ravenshoe. Are you willing to undertake this assignment on behalf of your king and government?”

Was he willing? Why else would he be standing across the desk from Lord Carstairs if he wasn’t?

Will stood straight and met Carstairs’s intense gaze. “Of course, sir. When do you need me to leave?”

“Probably the day after tomorrow but prepare tonight. Plans are changing hourly. We’ll be in touch. And Mr. Ravenshoe—not a word to anyone.” Lord Carstairs opened a drawer, withdrew a letter, and handed it to Will.

He glanced at the simple design imprinted in the wax seal: nondescript, giving away nothing of the sender’s identity.

It isn’t Jasper’s seal.

“Instructions for your initial assignment and details about where to meet your contact are inside. Read and memorize them and then destroy the letter. And guard the token with your life.”

“Understood.”

“That will be all. The Prince Regent and your country thank you for your willingness to serve.” Lord Carstairs nodded and picked up his quill, his attention already back on the document before him.

Will strode from the room. Once outside, he leaned against a cool marble column, fingering the heavy paper.

What role does Jasper play in this game of war?

He turned the letter over and examined the seal once more. None the wiser, he tucked the letter inside his jacket.

I do believe I’ve just become a spy for His Majesty’s government.