Page 21 of A Lady’s Handbook of Espionage

Isabel paced the deck as the ship approached the harbour.

For days now, she’d been avoiding Callahan. Every time he’d knocked on her cabin door, she’d slammed it in his face. She’d mapped the entire ship – every shadowy corner, every hidden alcove – just to disappear whenever she spotted him.

She hated to admit how much his words hurt her. The idea that he was just using her for information. For his mission .

But maybe she should be grateful, too. It was a reminder of who they were to each other.

Isabel leaned against the ship’s railing, salt spray misting her face as Boston’s harbour came into view.

A warm hand settled on her shoulder. “Izzy?”

The tension went out of her at Emma’s voice.

“Are you all right?” her sister asked.

Isabel forced a smile. “I’m counting the minutes until we’re off this floating prison.”

Emma fidgeted, brushing her pale blonde hair behind her ear. She wore a lovely pink travelling dress that suited her new alias and station – Genevieve, the soon-to-be Countess of Kent.

“You know James and I will be here for you, yes? Just say the word and—”

“No. We have to stay apart for your safety. As far as the world is concerned, you’re Genevieve Hamilton, heiress eloping with an earl. No previous attachments.” A cynical twist of her lips. “It won’t be any different from when you didn’t hear from me for a year.”

Emma flinched. Hurt flashed across her face, but she said nothing.

At least her sister knew Isabel hadn’t abandoned her. The year she went quiet, she’d been with Favreau, then Hong Kong, then fleeing wherever her feet could take her.

Keeping Emma safe had always meant pretending she didn’t exist.

They both watched as the ship eased into its berth. The air filled with shouts and the creaking of ropes, the thud of gangplanks being lowered, yelling from the welcoming crowd on the shore. Passengers began to gather their belongings.

“I suppose this is goodbye, then,” Emma said. Moisture gathered in her eyes. “Promise me you’ll be careful and you won’t do anything reckless.”

Isabel snorted. “ Reckless is practically my middle name. Along with Danger and Poor Life Choices .”

Footsteps approached from behind.

“Emma.” Kent’s voice, deep and commanding. “Our carriage is waiting at the docks.”

“Right. Of course.” Emma hugged her, squeezing so tight it hurt. “I love you. Always. No matter what.”

“I know,” Isabel whispered. She looked at Kent as she released her sister. “Take care of her for me.”

“I will,” the earl said. “You have my word.”

“See that you keep it. Or there’s no corner of this earth you can hide from me.”

He gave her a slight smile. “I’d expect nothing less.”

Isabel squeezed Emma’s hand one last time and watched them walk away. She remained at the railing for a few more minutes, gathering herself, then made her way towards the gangplank.

And nearly walked into a muscular chest.

“Careful, Trouble.” Callahan’s voice was a low rumble, edged with a familiar bite of mockery. “It’d be a shame if you went arse over teakettle before we’ve even left the ship.”

She couldn’t look at him. Couldn’t meet that storm-grey gaze without remembering the sounds he’d dragged from her throat with lips and teeth and tongue.

“Maybe if you didn’t insist on looming out of nowhere, I wouldn’t be in danger of falling,” she snapped.

“Maybe if you paid the slightest bit of attention to your surroundings instead of getting lost in your head, my ‘looming’ wouldn’t take you by surprise.”

There was a certain set to his mouth and a crease between his brow she’d learned to recognise – his frustration simmering just below the surface.

Good . At least she wasn’t alone in her discontent and irritation. He ought to be every bit as miserable as she was.

“Are we going to depart? I’m eager to meet my new handler.”

His lips tightened more. “After you. I already had your luggage collected.”

A gleaming black carriage waited for them at the edge of the docks, drawn by a pair of matched bays. Neither spoke as they climbed inside.

Callahan’s massive body made the space seem even more cramped, his knees brushing hers as he settled onto the bench opposite.

Isabel angled away. She focused on the view out the window as the vehicle lurched into motion and winded through Boston’s narrow streets lined with brick buildings.

The air was thick with coal smoke and the mingled scent of the ocean.

Vendors hawked their wares on street corners, their shouts blending with the clop of hooves and rumble of wheels on cobblestones.

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

His voice cracked the silence like a whip. She didn’t flinch. Didn’t so much as shift her gaze from the window.

“Have I?” she asked coolly.

The bench creaked as he leaned forward. “You know you have. Ever since that night in my cabin, you’ve been slithering through every bolthole on that blasted ship like a scalded cat. Did you think I wouldn’t notice?”

“Anyone ever tell you that you have a way with words? Be still my beating heart.”

“Anyone ever tell you that sarcasm is the last refuge of the emotionally stunted?”

“I think you’re confusing sarcasm with self-preservation.”

“I think you’re confusing self-preservation with cowardice.”

That barb struck home, but she let the pain wash through her like a tide.

It wasn’t anything she hadn’t already done before.

In Hong Kong, when she ran away with his suitcase and threw his belongings in the harbour, she’d become an expert in pretending to be indifferent to him.

Not letting her body betray how often he threw her off-balance.

She just quietly rebuilt her walls and ramparts, wrapped them in thorns, and waited for him to crumble them all over again.

“I’m not a coward,” she said.

“Could’ve fooled me. Ever since that night, you’ve been running so hard I’m surprised there isn’t an Isabel-shaped hole in the hull.”

“For someone so determined to analyse my actions, you seem remarkably obtuse as to their cause.”

“Obtuse?” He scoffed. “That’s rich, coming from you. It’s a wonder anyone can parse your intent through that thorny tangle you call communication. You were almost bearable when you were chained to my bed.”

“And you’re almost tolerable when your mouth is shut. What a shame that’s such a rare occurrence. Tell me, did you expect fawning gratitude when you offered to fuck me as a reward for information?”

Callahan winced. “I told you it came out wrong. I know you’re used to closely hoarding any scrap of intelligence and making me claw it out of you.”

Her chest burned. He was right; he did keep clawing it out of her.

Picking and picking and picking all her scabbed-over wounds, things she’d buried deep.

And one day, he’d ask her again about the scars all over her torso, and she was going to tell him because this man was her own personal apocalypse.

Destroying her with tenacity and stubbornness and all those tender kisses. As if he cared .

Isabel curled her fingers into her palm.

“I’m re-establishing boundaries. This is business.

I think your superiors at the Home Office would appreciate my efforts to remind you that you are an agent of the Crown, and I’m an asset, and the moment you deliver me to my handler, I’m no longer your obligation. ”

His mouth closed with an audible click, expression hardening. “Of course,” he said flatly. “I beg your pardon, Miss Dumont.”

Miss Dumont . Said deliberately, as if he weren’t scratching at her walls with his fingernails.

We’re nothing. We can’t be anything.

They jolted to a stop in front of a handsome brick townhouse. Callahan climbed out of the carriage, helped her down, and then pulled from her touch – cold, perfunctory.

Treating her like an asset.

The door of the residence swung open, spilling golden light onto the steps. A woman emerged – tall and lithe, with dark hair and sharp, angular features.

“Agent Vale,” Callahan said, inclining his head in greeting. “May I present Miss Isabel Dumont?”

The woman – Vale – fixed Isabel with a piercing stare. Her eyes were a startling shade of amber, and Isabel had the discomfiting sensation of being dissected.

“Miss Dumont,” Vale said. “Welcome to Boston. I hope your journey was uneventful?”

Frankly, Isabel wished it were less eventful.

“As uneventful as one might expect, given the circumstances.”

“Indeed.” Vale smiled and gestured to the open door. “Well, come in. No sense in lingering on the doorstep.”

The townhouse’s interior was elegant, filled with mahogany furniture, landscape paintings, and dozens of shelves lined with books.

Isabel stored away each piece of information, learning about her new circumstances, her temporary home and handler.

Vale favoured dramatic mountain scenes with colourful, wild strokes.

The leather-bound books were primarily travelogues, indicating a spy accustomed to playing different regional roles.

Vale led them down the hall to a study and motioned to the chairs across from the desk.

Isabel tried not to squirm as she sat beside Callahan.

“I’ll be frank, Miss Dumont,” Vale said, leaning against the desk.

“Your presence puts me in a delicate position. On the one hand, you possess valuable intelligence. On the other, you’re a criminal with a history of betrayal and deception.

So what I expect is your full cooperation.

That means unquestioning obedience and discretion. Can you give me those things?”

For a long moment, Isabel said nothing. She could feel Callahan’s gaze on her. Daring her to rear back and refuse. Isabel didn’t, after all, take well to the words unquestioning obedience .

But she also wasn’t in any situation to object.

“I can,” she said. “But if there are any chains or darbies, my assistance ends.”

She half-expected Vale to bristle at her defiance.

“Fair enough,” the other woman said. “You won’t be chained, but you won’t leave this house without my permission and escort.

You will submit to daily debriefings, during which you will share every scrap of information you possess about the Syndicate. Simple enough?”

“I already agreed with Agent Callahan to these terms. I’m aware of the deal I’ve made.”

“Excellent. Then if you’ll excuse me, I’ll telegram Wentworth to let him know you’ve arrived. Callahan, please see yourself out.”

She left the room.

Isabel curled her fingers into her dress as Callahan stood. This was it. He was leaving, and she was going to have to let him.

“Miss Dumont,” he said, standing and walking to the door. “It’s been a pleasure. Have a nice life.”

“Wait.”

The word slipped free before she could stop it.

His shoulders tensed, but he didn’t turn.

There were so many things she wanted to tell him.

An apology for Hong Kong. An explanation for why she fled the way she did.

All the secrets she’d kept buried beneath her skin like shrapnel.

How weeks after she ran, when her ship finally docked and she found what she was looking for, she’d spent three days huddled in a ball on a stranger’s floor, bleeding and crying and so damn sorry for hurting him.

The words stuck behind her teeth. She couldn’t say them aloud, not today. Maybe not ever.

But she could give him something else.

“You asked for one real thing,” she said quietly. “And I was never honest during any of the times we met. But I wanted you to know that what happened in that bed in Hong Kong was real for me. It was the first time I’d—” She broke off, exhaling sharply. “You were the first man I ever wanted.”

He turned and stared at her for a long moment. His eyes were storm-dark, hungry in a way that made her thighs press together. She knew that look. Had seen it in Hong Kong, in Athens, and over and over again in her dreams. Then he strode over to her and grabbed the front of her dress.

“Agent—”

His lips crushed against hers, stealing whatever she might have said next. Not gentle. Not sweet. His teeth scraped her bottom lip, and she tasted copper.

He murmured against her mouth, “Open.”

She did.

Callahan’s tongue slid against hers. He gripped her hair with his other hand until her scalp stung, but she didn’t care. Pain, pleasure – they blurred with him. Always had.

She clutched his coat, fingers digging in as if she could somehow keep him there. Just a few more seconds. Just until she had control over herself and could let him go without breaking apart.

His kiss was almost violent in its intensity. Bruising. And she yielded, surrendering for this moment before he had to leave. She’d store this away with every other stolen memory between them – Athens, New York, Hong Kong, the pleasure he gave her on the steamer.

Her collection of things that weren’t meant to be hers.

In two days, she’d hate herself for this weakness. In two hours, she’d stare at the ceiling and reimagine every second. But right now, with his heart pounding against hers, she couldn’t bring herself to care.

Callahan’s kiss tasted like goodbye.

His breath was hot against her mouth when he pulled back. Chest rising hard against hers. He leaned in, lips brushing her ear.

“Don’t run from Vale,” he growled. “Don’t make me hunt you down, little thief. Because I’ll find you. Always.”

He pressed his mouth to hers one last time. Softer now. Almost gentle.

“Be good,” he whispered.

The door closed behind him quietly, and Isabel touched trembling fingers to her bruised lips.