Chapter 1

London 1813

The crash jolted Anastasia Whittig out of her
concentration. She blinked, pushing her spectacles up the
bridge of her nose as she looked at the ceiling with pursed
lips. What in the world were the servants doing up there,
teaching each other to dance? She hated interruptions,
especially when she was so dratted close to finding the key
to this latest invention.

Glaring at the stairs that lead from her secret workroom to
the main floor above, she returned her attention to her
efforts.

The second crash made her jump. It was followed by more
pounding feet and, to Ana’s surprise, the door above her
stairway flew open. Normally, the servants knew better than
to invade her private area, so for them to open her door,
without even knocking, was an indication that something
serious was afoot.

A maid came down two steps. Her cap was crooked and her
eyes wide and wild. Ana cocked her head.

“What in the world is it, Mary? I’m in the middle of-”

The girl panted, fear painted across her face in pale
colors. “Lady Allington, my lady, she-she-”

The bottle of kerosene in Ana’s hand slipped free, hitting
the floor with a crash that she hardly heard above the
sudden rush of blood roaring in her ears. Lady Allington
was her best friend, Emily Redgrave, mistress of the house
they shared. She was also a spy.

Just like Anastasia.

Emily had been out that night on a case. There would only
be one reason for Mary’s terror, for her intrusion.
Something had gone terribly wrong.

“Where is she?” Ana cried as she ran for the stairs. She
stumbled as she grasped the banister to pull herself up.
Panic rose in her chest, choking her, making it hard to
breathe as she followed the girl through the kitchen.

“She came in through the back, Lady Whittig,” the girl
panted. “And we carried her to the parlor.”

“Carried her?” Ana repeated in shock. “Oh my God.”

Mary burst through the parlor closest to the back of the
house. Ana shoved past her to see a circle of sobbing,
trembling servants surrounding the settee. Elbowing her way
through the crowd, she stopped in horror at what she beheld.

Emily lay on the couch, eyes shut. Her skin was pale, her
brow sweaty, and even the stir of the noisy staff didn’t
wake her as she rested in unnatural slumber. Another maid
knelt over her, pressing a dishrag against her side. Ana
could already see blood seeping through the cloth.

She dropped down beside her friend. “Let me see, Hester.”

The girl darted a glance in her direction and then pulled
the cloth away. Ana recoiled. Emily’s torn gown revealed a
large wound. The fabric was soaked in blood and edged with
the remnants of gunpowder.

She had been shot.

Grabbing the towel from Hester’s shaking hands, Ana
returned it to its place and pressed to ebb the flow of
Emily’s blood.

Nausea washed over her, fear froze her, but Ana shook it
off. Now was not the time to get the vapors. The servants
looked to her for what steps to take next. The next few
decisions she made could save her friend’s life… or ensure
it bled out on the settee in the parlor.

She measured her tone carefully. The household was already
hysterical enough, there was no need to make the situation
any worse. She turned to one of the men in the
group. “Robert, ride as fast as you can to Dr. Adam
Wexler’s. You know the way. Tell him we need him. If he is
with company, do not tell him anything else. Once you are
alone with him, inform him Lady Emily was shot.”

Her driver nodded. “Yes, my lady, I’ll be back as quickly
as I can.”

She turned to Benson, their butler. He was pale, his eyes
fixed on Emily. He might be a stodgy fellow who disapproved
of female spies, but he was loyal to a fault. All their
servants had to be in order to keep their secret safe.

“Benson, listen to me,” she said softly, drawing his
attention. “Fetch Henderson and tell him to get Charles
Isley. Make sure he tells Charlie nothing except that it is
an emergency. Have him come to the back and be sure no one
sees his entrance so late at night or it will arouse
suspicion.”

Benson bowed as he moved for the door. “Yes, my lady.”

“The rest of you, prepare Lady Allington’s room for her
convalescence.” She choked, hoping her injured friend would
survive to have one. But it gave the servants something to
do besides stare as Emily bled. Keeping them busy was a
kindness. One she couldn’t grant herself. “Make her room as
comfortable as you can. And please,” she added for the
benefit of those who weren’t already aware of her secret
life, “do not speak of this. Your indiscretion could
endanger her ladyship even more.”

The servants nodded and began to leave, whispering in fear
as they departed. Ana could only pray for their silence as
she returned her attention to Emily.

“Emily,” she whispered, pushing a tangled lock of sweaty
blonde hair away from her friend’s eyes as she fought back
tears. Her mind spun, taking her to places she didn’t want
to remember. Taking her to her own husband’s bedside over
five years ago. He had also died from a bullet, a hunting
accident on their country estate. He’d been hurt so badly,
nothing could save him.

She shook her head. No. She would not lose someone she
loved again. She would not lose Emily. She pressed the
cloth against Emily’s wound harder and her friend let out a
little cry. Ana leaned close.

“I’m here. You’re safe now.” She bit back a sob. Emily
wouldn’t want to hear her crying. “You are home.”

Emily groaned as her eyes opened, a shocking bright blue
even when clouded with pain. “Alone?” she coughed.

“Yes, the servants have all gone. You’ll be fine, dearest.
Adam is coming.” Emily drew a ragged breath, fighting for
words, but Ana shook her head. “Save your strength. Don’t
try to talk now.”

Ana winced as she realized her statement was more for her
own benefit than Emily’s. She simply didn’t want to hear
her best friend’s words of good-bye. Couldn’t accept that
this was truly happening.

Emily gave a pained growl of frustration. “Trap, Ana. It
was… a… trap.”