My Wicked Little Lies. Victoria Alexander

I have agreed to do this—although agreed is not the right word.” Evelyn huffed. “Coerced is more accurate.”

      “You’d prefer to get on with it.”

      “Exactly.” Evelyn nodded. “From the moment I left Max’s office, I have felt that my entire life was in some sort of limbo. As if I were a leaf blown onto a pond. Too wet to blow away and not saturated enough to sink to the bottom. Suspended on the surface of the water, waiting to blow away or to sink.”

      “How very dramatic of you.”

      “But accurate nonetheless.”

      “Nonsense.” Celeste scoffed. “Now you’re merely feeling sorry for yourself.”

      “Perhaps.”

      “Admittedly, waiting is not something you do well but I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you feel sorry for yourself.” She shook her head in a mournful manner. “How have you come to such a dreadful state?”

      Evelyn narrowed her eyes.

      “There are a number of things you have yet to consider,” Celeste said. “First of all, Sir Maxwell would not have asked for your assistance—”

      “Asked?” Evelyn snorted in disdain.

      “Unless he felt he had no other choice. But he is an odd and independent creature. It’s entirely possible that he may recover this file without any help from you at all.”

      “Then why—”

      “It was my experience with him that he always had several plans in reserve in case his original plan did not work. Plans B, C, and so on.”

      “True enough.”

      “And remember he only worked with you or I when Sir deemed it necessary. It was my observation that Sir Maxwell never especially liked working with, or having to depend upon, a woman. He is the kind of man who thinks women have a particular place in the world and it isn’t by his side so much as in his bed.”

      Evelyn scoffed.

      “Given his nature, there’s every reason to think you are nothing more than his reserve plan.”

      Evelyn brightened. “There is, isn’t there?”

      “It’s entirely plausible.”

      “Then why contact me at all?”

      “He said there was no one else he could trust except you. I suspect he would want you to be prepared if he needs to call on you.” Celeste shrugged dismissively. “Especially as he had to threaten you to gain your cooperation.”

      Evelyn’s jaw tightened. “Do you really think he would tell Adrian about my years with the department?”

      “To get what he wants?” She nodded. “Without question. Your real concern should be what Lord W’s response will be when he finds out, as inevitably he will one day. Have you thought about that? You’ve lied to him for two years.”

      “I have not.” Indignation rang in Evelyn’s voice. “I simply didn’t tell him all there was to tell about my past.”

      “A lie of omission—”

      “Isn’t really a lie at all,” Evelyn said firmly. “It’s not as if he ever said to me ‘Evie, my dear, were you once a sort of spy?’ ”

      “I believe the preferred term, darling, was agent.”

      Evelyn waved in a blithe manner. “Spy, agent, the word scarcely matters.”

      “Perhaps not. Nonetheless have you considered what the earl will say when he finds out?” Celeste shook her head. “He will find out one day, you know. Secrets of this magnitude rarely stay hidden forever.”

      “Oh, I intend to tell him everything one day,” Evelyn said quickly. “I have given it a great deal of thought. When I am on my deathbed strikes me as the best time.”

      “Rather cowardly, isn’t it?”

      “And yet, it seems so right.”

      “And if he dies before you?”

      “Then he shall go to his grave content in the knowledge that he had a faithful and loyal wife who loved him without reserve,” Evelyn said in a lofty manner.

      Celeste studied her closely. “Don’t you find it curious that he has never asked about your past?”

      “Not at all. He values privacy as do I,” Evelyn said. “He knows about my parents, my family, my guardian. He knows I was educated properly and he knows I spent several years traveling and ... and doing all those social sorts of things young heiresses do.”

      “Funded by the department.”

      “As all I had was the name and the background. It’s difficult to flit through society as an heiress when one has no money to speak of.”

      “It was rather fun on occasion,” Celeste said under her breath.

      “Aside from the danger, the constant threat of exposure, and yes, the heart-in-your-throat fear at times.”

      “All part of the adventure ...” Celeste murmured.

      Evelyn was hard-pressed to argue with her. It had been exhilarating and exciting and, yes, she’d had a great deal of fun.

      Evelyn had been twenty-two when she had joined the department, fresh from a two-year grand tour with the family of a boarding school friend. Her travels through Europe had changed her from a retiring girl, uncertain as to her place in the world, to a self-assured woman confident of her own worth. She’d learned as much about herself as she had about the places she’d visited. She’d always known she had a natural gift for languages but she’d had no idea she had a gift for flirtation as well. Gentlemen called her charming and delightful and enchanting. She’d been at boarding schools since the age of six, surrounded by female students and teachers. She’d never thought of herself as pretty or clever or anything at all before. Now, she was being lauded as the toast of any party, the belle of any ball. It was as intoxicating as champagne and gone just as quickly.

      She had arrived back in London to be greeted by good news and bad in a letter waiting for her from Sir George. It seemed her parents had owned a modest house in Mayfair, a house she had lived in so long ago she couldn’t remember. Her guardian had let it through the years of her schooling, to pay for its upkeep, the letter said. Now, however, he was turning it over to her—as it was, in truth, hers—with the admonishment that he would no longer be responsible for the building’s maintenance or staff or taxes. Nor would he be responsible for Evelyn as she was of age and the money her parents had left their only child was gone. Sir George’s letter suggested she would be wise to sell the house at once or marry as she had no means of support. A brief meeting with her guardian’s solicitor confirmed the bad news. Even now, Evelyn’s stomach still clenched at the feelings of desolation that had threatened to consume her. She had declined her friend’s gracious invitation to return to the continent with her family until Evelyn could decide her future, knowing even as she did so, it was out of foolish pride. They thought she was simply alone, not penniless. Still, she had a place to live and the servants had been paid through the end of the month, which gave her very nearly three weeks to decide on her fate.

      Thank goodness her social standing had not fallen with her fortunes. While she’d never had a London season, she was still the daughter of a viscount and had a large number of school friends she had kept up correspondence with. Two nights later, she had attended a ball at the insistence of one such friend where she’d danced with a dashing older gentleman. And while he was quite charming, she had decided then and there that she would not marry simply to survive. Although she had no idea what she would do. When the gentleman, Lord Lansbury, escorted her onto the terrace and said he had a proposal for her, she’d had more than a moment of unease. If she was not going to become a wife to save herself, she was certainly not going to become some man’s mistress.

      She’d