My Wicked Little Lies. Victoria Alexander

have my gratitude, Sir, for all you have taught me, for your guidance and friendship.

      Travel safe, my dear Sir.

      With

love, Eve

      He stared at the note for a long moment. The hand so familiar, the words so final. But then that was the way of endings and beginnings, at once sad and exciting. Still, one needed to put the past behind before one could turn toward the future.

      He drew a deep breath and picked up his pen.

      My Dearest Eve,

      Your note brought a smile to my face but then your notes often have. I shall miss them. As this last exchange seems to be one of confessions, I have some of my own.

      You have astounded me through these years with your cleverness and your courage. I look upon you with great pride. Your decision to leave is a true loss to your country and yet no one can fault you for your choice. You have given much and it is time, past time perhaps, for you to resume the life you should always have lived. You have well earned it.

      I, too, have wondered at what magic might have been found in a meeting between us. Without the barrier of position or paper. Was there fire that simmered beneath the surface of our words, or was that no more than the nature of the work we have accomplished together? No more than my own inevitable desire for a woman whose presence has filled my life even as necessity dictated she be no more than the faintest hint of perfume wafted from a page lifted to my face. Ah, Eve, the thoughts I have had.

      He paused and stared at the words he had written. What was the point? There was no real need to respond. And to tell her of his feelings now might well do more harm than good. Perhaps there would come a day...

      He sighed and placed his unwritten note on top of hers, folded them, and slipped them into his waistcoat pocket. He pushed his chair back from his desk and stood. There was much to accomplish and little time left.

      Endings and beginnings ... such was the stuff of life.

      Part One

      Lies of Omission

      Ask no questions, and you’ll be told no lies.

      —Charles Dickens, Great Expectations

      Chapter 1

      Two years later, February 1886 ...

      “You’re quite mad to suggest such a thing. And madder yet to think I would consider it. You do realize that, don’t you?” Evelyn Hadley-Attwater, the Countess of Waterston, rose to her feet and glared down at the man behind the desk. The man she had once thought of with the affection one felt for an annoying brother. The man she’d planned never again to see under these circumstances. “I won’t do it. And I cannot believe you have the nerve to ask me in the first place.”

      Sir Maxwell Osgood studied her over the rim of a pipe, the smoke drifting about his head like a veil of accusation. It was most annoying.

      “When did you start smoking a pipe?”

      “I thought you preferred a pipe to cigars,” he said mildly.

      “You look ridiculous.” She reached over his desk, plucked the pipe from his mouth, and dropped it into a saucer obviously being used for ashes. “And I prefer to breathe air that hasn’t been previously inhaled.”

      “Doesn’t your husband smoke cigars?”

      “Never in my presence.” She narrowed her eyes. “You do understand there is nothing you can say to change my mind?”

      He smiled, a slow seductive smile that had no doubt made any number of women swoon at his feet and fall into his bed. Evelyn had never been among them. She heaved a reluctant sigh and sank back into her chair. “If you’re trying to charm me, it will not work.”

      His smile widened to a grin. “To my eternal regret.”

      “I fully intended never to see you again.”

      “Allow me to point out we have seen one another.”

      “Oh, certainly at the occasional social event, where we treat each other with nothing more than polite cordiality. It’s not the least bit significant and can scarcely be avoided. I had no intention of ever being here again.” She gestured at the room around them, a room so unremarkable as to be startling. It could well be the office of any midlevel government bureaucrat. Anyone stumbling in here unawares would find nothing whatsoever to indicate that the business of the Department of Domestic and International Affairs was not primarily concerned with treaties of trade between the more far-flung reaches of the empire and other countries. And indeed, on the first floor of the building, for the most part, it was. She met his gaze directly. “And even less intention of having anything whatsoever to do with you.”

      “My God, Evelyn.” He clapped his hand over his heart in a dramatic manner. “You wound me deeply. Deeply and irrevocably.”

      “I doubt that.” She snorted in disbelief. “And it’s Lady Waterston.”

      “I thought we were friends.” A hurt note sounded in his voice.

      She ignored it. “Of a sort, yes, I suppose we were. But everything is different now. My life is different and I will not risk that.”

      He studied her for a moment, the look in his eyes abruptly serious. “His life may well be at risk.”

      Her heart caught. She ignored that, too. It really wasn’t any of her concern. Still... “You said a file had been stolen.”

      “Two weeks ago.”

      “Exactly how important is this file?”

      “The file consists of documents that reveal the very structure of this organization and the true identities of those involved in its governance and activities.” He shook his head. “That information would jeopardize the safety of every person listed as well as the safety of their families. Who knows to what lengths those we have pursued through the years would go in seeking revenge.”

      She drew her brows together. So like Max to dole out pertinent details a little at a time. “You should have mentioned the importance of this file in the beginning. From what you have said thus far, I had the impression this was no more important than bureaucratic—” A thought struck her and her heart froze. “Am I on that list?”

      “No,” he said simply.

      Relief coursed through her, replaced at once by suspicion. “Why not?”

      “The only reference to you is to Eve and that is minimal. When you left the agency, all records regarding your true identity were expunged.” He rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. Obviously this was a point of some annoyance. “At Sir’s orders.”

      Her heart jumped at the code name of the agent she had worked with for five long years. A man she never met in person, who communicated with her only by written word. Who guided her, issued her orders, and yes, on occasion, saved her. A man who had once invaded her dreams late in the night and had made her ache for something she—they—would never know. But that was a long time ago and those dreams, that man, were firmly in the past, and there she intended to keep them. That she would react to his name was only natural and not at all important. There was only one man who filled her dreams now. The same man who filled her life and her heart. She narrowed her eyes. “Why?”

      “He wished to protect you and seemed to think it was only fair to do so. Although ...” Max huffed. “It had never been done before and, I daresay, will never be done again.”

      “I see.” She paused. Sir’s actions were as thoughtful as they were unexpected. Not that they changed anything. “He has my gratitude, of course. Regardless, this is no longer any concern of mine.”

      He raised a brow. “No?”

      She