Page 29

O ne week later…

William pushed inside Tom Cribb's saloon, the latest edition of the Clarion burning beneath his arm. Farley had done it again—attacked the war effort, scrutinizing the flow of money leaking from the Peninsula. Curse the writer for putting him in this position. If William allowed Farley to keep writing, he could sway Parliament against increasing the military budget. But if he did nothing, Thornley would demand the writer's arrest.

William's idea, though risky, was the only solution—if he could buy Rodrick’s help.

The stench of sweat, stale ale, and damp sawdust clung to the air, turning William’s stomach. Gentlemen in fine waistcoats jostled with tradesmen in rough coats, their elbows digging into each other’s ribs as they fought for a better view of the ring.

William scanned the faces, searching for Rodrick.

"Dark Menace! Dark Menace!"

William followed the onlookers' attention to the ring's center. There, stripped to the waist, stood Rodrick, his bare chest gleaming under the gaslight.

When did Rodrick become a pugilist? The crowd booed as a grotesque figure entered the ring. At least three stones heavier, the brute cracked his neck, jumping from side to side. Dark Menace? Rodrick would be a bloody pulp after this. William hoped the spy could still spirit a man to the continent without his teeth.

The bell sounded.

Rodrick lunged forward. He jabbed, ducked, and weaved, landing punch after punch. The brute staggered, trying to block the assault. Rodrick pressed on, his fists a blur. He struck with precision—a jab to the ribs, a hook to the jaw. The opponent wobbled, his defenses crumbling.

William watched, torn between awe and revulsion, as Rodrick went feral without breaking a sweat. Why would a peer of the realm choose to expose his inner beast?

Rodrick delivered a crushing blow that sent his opponent to the ground. The crowd went wild, their chants reaching a fever pitch.

Stunned, William waited as Rodrick left the ring, now all cool reserve and nonchalance, making his way among the spectators, receiving kisses from loose women and handshakes from hard men.

When Rodrick came near him, William lifted a brow. "The Dark Menace?"

Rodrick's eyes flashed. "Albemarle. I would offer tea, but the drink of choice here is gin."

William braced himself. No point in circling around the inevitable. "I need your help."

Rodrick smiled. "Do you, now? I did, too. Twenty years ago."

"Help? What you wanted was an accomplice in stabbing our friend to death."

"One day, Will, you will understand what happened in that lake. In my line of trade, we learn that truth lies in the eyes of the beholder."

William steeled his patience. "I thought it was beauty."

"That, too. Speak, then. I'm curious about what brought the Silent Sovereign to this shady side of town." He pointed to a secluded area to the left of the ring.

A few rickety tables lay scattered around an empty bar. A single server cleaned the floor.

William took a seat. "Thornley will accuse Farley of sodomy. I spoke to the writer, but he is obstinate. I need you to help me take him out of the country—passage on a ship, visas, passport, everything."

Rodrick straddled the chair, his gaze raking over William with lazy amusement. "Why are you so interested in helping the writer?”

William brushed his chest, feeling the constant ache whenever he was far from Helene. How could he allow a man to be punished for pursuing his passion—a crime that he felt guilty himself?

"Despite my political position, I try to keep my conscience clean.”

Rodrick smirked. “They say he is charming…"

Trust Rodrick Montfort to twist everything into something sordid. “Will you help or not?"

"No," Rodrick said. "Was that all?"

"Is it because of his predilections? A man should not be judged by—"

"I don't fucking care who Farley fucks. I just don't see why I should go through the trouble. Visas and passports are hard to get these days, with something called the war going on… And crossing France's borders? Impossible."

"Not for you." He hated the man, but there was no better spy in Europe. Rodrick could extract a prisoner from the enemy camp with the same ease he could eliminate a threat from beneath Napoleon's nose.

"As much as I enjoy flattery, the answer is still no."

"I will pay you."

"I don't need money. Have plenty of that." Rodrick's eyes glinted.

"Name your price."

"You know what I want." Rodrick pointed to William's coat.

William caught the chain in his hand. "It's not mine to give."

He could not betray Gaunt's memory. The boy had died holding the necklace. Giving it to his murderer was unacceptable.

"It was not his either. When will you realize that the world isn’t the white and black utopia you fight so hard to uphold?"

William’s grip tightened around the links. "I won't forsake my morals. Not even to avoid another wrong."

William searched Rodrick's ruthless gaze. Where was the boy, the brightest in class, the strongest rower in Eton—his best friend?

"Your sister was so compassionate. What would she think—"

A blade whispered in the air, the steel flashing in an arc and plunging into the table.

Rodrick gripped the dagger's hilt, his knuckles white. "Never mention Marianne again."

The dagger stood between them, catching the meager light, their heavy breaths rising above the crowd's chants.

For the first time since the murder, William saw raw emotion coursing through Rodrick's eyes.

One second passed, and then two.

A strange calm settled over Rodrick, as if he hadn’t just driven a knife into the table.

“You’re so determined to help Farley…” Rodrick glanced at his nails, inspecting them as if bored by the whole affair. “I might even agree... if you stop seeing Miss Beaumont and hand her over to my care.”

William stood abruptly, and before Rodrick could blink, he was above him, grabbing his lapels. “Care? Helene won’t be a pawn for your games.”

"Easy there, Romeo." Rodrick's eyes glinted, but his body remained unnervingly still. "Before you start a fight you can't win, answer this—what do you know about Miss Beaumont?"

William's muscles coiled, and his pulse pounded in his temples. "I know that your mouth is not fit to pronounce her name."

Rodrick sighed, his face adopting a mask of concern. "It's not only me at this point."

William sucked in a breath, his chest tightening as the subtle threat to Helene hit him like a cannonball. "Since when does the Foreign Office care for a dancer? Just because she has some French blood—"

"Unbelievable. The Silent Sovereign has been seeing her for over two months, and he does not know who she is?"

William's hands fisted by his sides, the knuckles white as he fought to keep control. He knew everything that mattered about her, damn it.

"Miss Beaumont and the other three escaped the terror in 1794 with Miss Katherina Fontaine. A maid of honor for none other than Marie Antoinette. The guillotined queen our country battled so hard to restore. Isn't it ironic? Do you think a lady-in-waiting would care for a group of poor Parisians? Those girls have more aristocratic blood than you."

Who was Helene? Rodrick was right. Curse him. William knew everything about her present and nothing about her past.

"Her and all the emigres that escaped the terror." William gritted his teeth. "And you speak too freely for a man whose continued existence relies upon discretion, not bravado."

"As a friend, I have no interest in making your affair public. I'm curious, that's all. The irony… Who would have thought our Silent Sovereign would fall for a dangerous French woman?"

"Dangerous?" William said carefully. "Because she was raised by a former lady-in-waiting? The mighty spy is deranged."

"Because she still has connections there," Rodrick said. "In the Emperor's inner circle, no less."

Nausea swirled in William's stomach, so intense that his vision blurred. It was a lie. It had to be a lie. By loving Helene, was he committing treason?

"You will not repeat this. Not even to your own shadow," William said, fisting his hands.

If Rodrick implicated Helene... Would he be able to protect her? The thought sent a wave of panic crashing through him.

Rodrick scoffed, his black eyes flickering with condescension. "What, you fear I will arrest Miss Beaumont?"

William's body vibrated, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper. "I'm not a mindless brute to be afraid of your fists." His heart pounded as he stood. This conversation was over.

"Stay away from her."