My Wicked Little Lies. Victoria Alexander

me, my dear, old habits and all.” He sobered. “Now then, Evelyn—”

      “Lady Waterston,” she said firmly.

      He sighed. “Yes, of course, Lady Waterston.”

      “Thank you,” she said under her breath although she needn’t have thanked him. She was now Lady Waterston, Countess of Waterston, and had been since her marriage two years ago to Adrian Hadley-Attwater, the Earl of Waterston, and very possibly the dearest man in the world.

      “Forgive me, Lady Waterston.” He eyed his pipe longingly. “It’s not always easy to remember how very much the world has changed since you were last in this room.”

      “Not merely the world, Sir Maxwell.” She pinned him with a firm look. “I have changed as well. I am no longer the helpless young woman who was forced into the employ of this agency.”

      “I don’t recall you being forced.” He chuckled. “Nor do I remember you ever being helpless.”

      “I was young and foolish.”

      “You were young but you were never foolish.”

      She tried and failed to hide a small smile of satisfaction. She had once prided herself on never allowing her feelings—her weaknesses really—to show to him or anyone else. Even now, secure in her position in the world and in the heart of her husband, she remained reticent to display undue emotion. “Perhaps foolish is the wrong word.”

      “Perhaps.” His gaze met hers, and his eyes narrowed slightly. “You do realize that putting this in the form of a request was little more than a courtesy.”

      She had suspected as much. Still, she had hoped. “You can’t seriously expect me to return to my previous position.”

      “I not only expect it, Lady Waterston, but you really have no choice.”

      “Nonsense. Of course I have a choice.” She stood once more and crossed the room to gaze out the window that overlooked a small, private park. In spite of the fact that she had been here on no more than a handful of occasions, for nearly five years this imposing, yet nondescript, mansion on this small square in Mayfair had been the center of her world. And this man, and his superiors, most notably Sir, had ruled that world. But she had met Adrian at very nearly the same time she had grown weary of deceit and treachery, even in the name of the queen, and had left it all behind. Or thought she had. She drew a deep breath. “I have no intention of returning to this.”

      “Perhaps, given the critical nature of the situation, if we brought the matter to the attention of Lord Waterston. . .”

      The threat hung in the air. So much for friendship.

      “Blackmail, Max? Tell my husband about my past if I don’t do as you wish?”

      “Blackmail is an ugly word.” He shook his head.

      “And yet accurate?”

      He ignored her. “There’s more to it than I have said thus far.”

      “There would have to be, wouldn’t there?” On the far side of the park, a small boy, bundled against the cold, played with a dog under the watchful eyes of a nanny. Her heart twisted and she sighed. There probably was no choice. “Go on.”

      “There have been threats in recent months—”

      She turned toward him. “What kind of threats?”

      “Those of exposure primarily. Vague, little more than rumors, but threats nonetheless.” He drew a deep breath. “As you are well aware, this agency operates under a veil of secrecy.”

      She gasped in mock surprise. “You mean the Department of Domestic and International Affairs is not primarily concerned with trade?”

      “Now is not the time for sarcasm.”

      She cast him her sweetest smile and retook her seat. “I thought it was the perfect time.”

      “As I was saying, this is an agency that cannot function openly. If this file was made public, if it was in the wrong hands, everything we do, everything we have ever done, would be cast in the direst of lights. We have not always followed what many would see as proper procedures. Indeed, we have often operated outside the strict confines of the law in the pursuit of the security interests of this country. The repercussions of exposure could bring down the government itself, especially given the volatile nature of the current political climate. At the very least, our effectiveness would be at an end.”

      He paused. “As for the personal cost, the gentlemen who have headed this organization have done so at risk to themselves and their reputations. The only thing they have received in return, aside from the knowledge that they have provided an invaluable service to their country, is the assurance that their connection to this agency will never be public.” He shook his head. “These men are from well-known families, they hold hereditary titles and are respected members of Parliament. Some have had the confidence of the queen herself. Exposure would wreak havoc at all levels of government.”

      “I understand that.” Impatience sounded in her voice. “But none of it explains why you have demanded my presence. Why am I here?”

      “Because you are the only one I can trust,” he said staunchly.

      “Nonsense. You have other agents, far more competent than I, that can certainly handle a minor task like the recovering of a file.” She scoffed. “If I am the only one you can trust, then you have far greater problems than a mere missing file.”

      “And indeed I do.” He paused as if debating his next words. “I suspect the theft of the file was arranged by someone within this organization. The file was requested by the foreign office, or so I was led to believe.” He blew an annoyed breath. “Given multiple layers of bureaucracy, it’s difficult to uncover specifically who requested it without revealing that it has been stolen.”

      She chose her words with care. “It seems to me, if one is concerned with secrecy, putting this kind of information into a single file is rather, well, stupid.”

      “In hindsight perhaps,” he said sharply. “Do not forget this is still a governmental department, and when one’s superiors make a request, one complies without question.”

      She raised a brow. “My, my, we are sensitive about—” A thought struck her and she gasped. “It was stolen from you, wasn’t it?”

      He huffed. “That’s neither here nor there at the moment.”

      “It was, wasn’t it?” She tried and failed to hide a grin.

      “It’s not amusing,” he snapped. “I would trust no one else with something of this importance and whoever arranged the theft knew that.” He glared at her. “I was set upon by thugs and rendered unconscious by the use of chloroform.” He shuddered. “Nasty stuff.”

      “And when you woke up?”

      “When I woke up, the file was gone and I was ...”

      “You were?”

      He hesitated.

      “Don’t stop now. If I am to be involved in this, I need to know all of it.”

      “Very well,” he snapped. “I woke up naked in a most disreputable brothel.”

      She choked back a laugh. “As opposed to a reputable brothel?”

      He ignored her. “It was most awkward.”

      “Because you have never been in a brothel before?” she said sweetly.

      “One does not purchase what one has always had for free.”

      She stared at him, then laughed. “You have certainly not changed.”

      “Unfortunately, I have,” he said under his breath. “Lady Waterston.” He leaned forward and met her gaze. “Because you are no longer an agent and because your real name is