"A Duke's Daughter is determined to attend the first spy school in England."
Reviewed by Leanne Davis
Posted June 22, 2009
Romance Historical
Lady Olivia Fairchild has always been spoiled by her
parents and she is sure she can convince her father to let
her attend the spy school being started by Sir Sebastien
Brooks. Sir Sebastien returns to England after Waterloo determined
to train the spies that England will need to protect itself
in the future. Instead, he is doing insignificant work;
mostly signing papers. When the school is finally set to
open, he is furious when he finds himself dealing with a
female student. As a regency fan, this should have been an interesting
read. Having heard negative comments about it, I tried to
approach it with an objective frame of mind. This is one
of the most improbable and historically inaccurate books
I've ever read. The author thanks Google for aiding her
research along with her historical sources. It's my
considered opinion that she should have used more
historical sources. As I started reading it, I found so many improbabilites
that I started counting them. When I hit 50, I had to
stop. Here are some of the biggest I found. First, the
fact that England would start a spy school and let the
public know about it. Second, that a woman would be
allowed to attend it, especially, the daughter of a Duke. We have Sir Sebastian being called "Spymaster" throughout
the book by everyone and in public. We have a Japanese
martial arts master teaching Tai Chi to the pupils. While
many of the courses the pupils were taught would have been
accurate at the time, not one of them includes picking
locks. In one scene, Olivia uses an andiron to break open
a drawer in Sir Sebastian's desk and then kicking the
remnants of it under the desk. Like he isn't going to
notice the drawer front is missing? The language is florid and there are too many distractions
from the moment at hand. We're supposed to believe that
Olivia is the strong capable woman but she breaks into
tears at the drop of a hat. She alternates between loving
Sebastian and hating him. One has to wonder why the editors didn't do a better job of
finding the errors. It saddens me to say this but I can't
recommend this book.
SUMMARY
Resistance is futile… Lady Olivia Fairchild has always lived a life of luxury and
ease, but she longs for the kind of intrigue that can't be
found on a ballroom dance floor. Then Olivia learns she's
been accepted has the first female student in England's
prestigious spy school. But spy–training is far more
grueling than Olivia ever imagined—and her dashing spymaster
seems bent on banishing her from the school in record time... When every look brings them closer… Sebastian Brooks believes women have no place within the
dangerous world of espionage—and he's determined to oust
Olivia by whatever means necessary. But even as Sebastian
mercilessly taunts her, he finds the sight of Olivia's
shapely body gallivanting on horseback is driving him wild.
Olivia, too, can feel her longing for Sebastian heating up.
Surrendering to her desire could be the most reckless move
of her life—but resisting it may be impossible…
ExcerptChapter OneLondon, 1816—Saturday, the Twenty-second of June His Grace, the Sixth Duke of Heatham, and his family were
trapped in the crush of carriages that lined the road in
Berkley Square. Shouts of drivers and ostlers, snorts of
horses, the clatter of hooves and the oohs and aahs
springing from the mouths of curious onlookers, greeted
their ears with a bizarre street symphony. The duke,
however, paid it no mind, for he was engaged in a battle of
wits with his eldest daughter, Lady Olivia. “I’m, merely asking you to give young Smythe-Jones serious
thought. Why won’t you at least consider his marriage offer,
Livy? He has all the qualities I deem appropriate to make
you a fine husband.” “Then you marry him, Father!” “You aren’t getting any younger, you know.” “Thank you for that reminder, Father,” she said with
asperity. “I hadn’t been aware that my four and twenty-years
make me such an ancient crone.” The duke prepared to retaliate with an equally tart retort,
but the duchess put a restraining hand on his arm which
caused him to swallow his reply. The ongoing war of words
between father and daughter had begun almost as soon as the
crested brougham had started out for the Hobbleton Ball, one
of the last entertainments of the London season. The battle with her father ran a crease across Lady Olivia’s
brow, marring an otherwise lovely face. Emerald green eyes,
hair the colour of wheat, a pointed chin and seductive lips
were an irresistible magnet for many a young man. Tonight
she had a special reason for looking her very best. She had
chosen a shimmering green gown of silk moiré and Belgian
lace cut low to enhance her well-shaped figure. Green
ribbons the color of her eyes entwined her long curls,
artfully arranged by her clever French Abigail Nancy.
Matching green slippers sparkled with tiny crystals as they
peeked out from under her gown. When the duke and his family were presented to Lord and Lady
Hobbleton, Lady Helena, the more diplomatic of the two
Fairchild sisters, turned to her parents and said, “Would
you mind if Livy and I take ourselves off to the withdrawing
room to freshen up?” With an approving nod from her mother,
Helena took Olivia’s hand and spirited her away. The two sisters were close confidantes, yet they were not at
all alike in appearance. Where Olivia was a fair-skinned
beauty, Helena, six years her junior was a dark exotic whose
olive skin, slightly slanted brown eyes and high cheekbones
held a hint of the Orient. Her hair was brown, lightly
bronzed with streaks from the sun. She wore an ivory silk
that suited her. She was taller than her sister, yet had an
equally well-formed figure. When they entered the withdrawing room, it was already
crowded with young ladies gossiping, fixing stray strands of
hair, or simply envying one another’s attire. Helena dragged
her sister into a quiet corner. “Sit,” she ordered. “It’s
clear you need some time to compose yourself. You’ve allowed
Father to crawl under your skin once again, you foolish
girl. When will you learn? He likes nothing more than to
draw you into battle, thinking to wear you down until you
bend to his will.” “A hopeless cause, for I won’t bend, I promise you that. You
know as well as I do that he tries to control all of us,
though it’s worse for me because I’m the oldest.” A wicked
grin crept across her face. “If he only knew my real
purpose, he’d have a fit.” Her sister laughed. “I agree. If you succeed, Father won’t
be able to stand the shock, not to mention the humiliation.” “Humiliation? No, I don’t think it would come to that. Not
if I were successful. You know perfectly well he can’t stand
for any of his children to fail. Good thing for me he
doesn’t know what it is I actually do in the home office.
It’s menial clerical work to be sure, but it’s merely a
first step to what I really want. Tonight’s the night for
me, Helena. I’m determined to confront the home secretary
and persuade him to give me the opportunity to move up the
ladder, so to speak. See if I don’t.” Helena smiled at her determination. “You’ll do it, too, if I
know you. No one is more tenacious than you dearest. If the
home secretary survives your planned onslaught, I’ve no
doubt you will prevail. But what will you do when you
succeed and Father discovers your plan? He will surely
forbid it, especially if it involves leaving home without
benefit of marriage.” “He can try to forbid me, but I’m of age and I fully intend
to follow my own course.” “What if he threatens to disown you?” “He knows better. I have my own competence, thanks to dear
departed Aunt Gwen, bless her soul.” Helena sighed. “What?” “I wish I had your courage, Livy. I’m not capable of
standing up to father, for I’ve no spine. I’m not even
determined enough to convince Chris to elope with me to
Greta Green. He agrees with Father. Why do they both think
I’m too young for marriage?” Olivia hugged her sister in sympathy. “I know how much you
love Chris Darlington, but bide your time, dearest.” She
paused in thought. “Why not consider a new tack? Agree with
Father that you’re too young. Then confess that you’re
willing to wait to marry Chris, if only he will consent to a
betrothal. That, at least would be a first step for you.” Helena brightened. “Do you think such a tactic will answer?” “It won’t hurt to try, will it?” The two left the withdrawing room in much better spirits
only to face a daunting ballroom crush. “How shall I ever find Chris in this throng?” She laughed. “I wouldn’t worry, if I were you, love. Try to
stand in place and allow him to find you.” For her sister’s
sake, she tried to sound full of cheer, but her own quest to
locate the home secretary appeared to be just as difficult
as finding Helena’s beau. A tap on her shoulder caused her
to turn to her head. “Oh it’s you Percy. I must thank you for the flowers, but
you needn’t send a new bouquet every day.” Though the young
man was tall and handsome, in her mind Olivia dismissed him
as too bland looking. Besides, he was a dead bore. She had
no intention of encouraging his suit for her hand, yet she
didn’t object to flirting. The sport was second nature to her. “They are meant to be a daily reminder of my suit for your
hand, Lady Olivia. It is but a poor tribute, for no flower
is as exquisite as you, my dear. May I have the honor of
this dance?” Sir Percival Smythe-Jones offered his arm. “I’m sorry Percy. I’d rather not leave my sister in the lurch.” “Go ahead with him, Livy. I’ll be fine.” Sir Sebastian Brooks suffered more than a twinge of regret.
A stray lock of dark hair fell over his thick eyebrows. His
gray-blue eyes stood sentinel above sculpted cheekbones and
a square chin. At thirty years of age, the chief spymaster
was a large man whose good looks never failed to please
eligible ladies. He had no wish to marry, however, and
learned to be adept at avoiding any such attachment, both
from the young ladies and their marriage-minded mothers. No
easy task during the London season. “I envy you, Darlington. You’re a lucky dog to be posted to
the Continent on such an exciting mission,” he said to his
good friend and colleague. The two lounged near the open
terrace doors to catch a breath of air, for the night was
hot and humid. Chris squinted at him. He reached into his waistcoat pocket
and fiddled with his spectacles, an unconscious habit, yet
vanity prevented him from wearing them in public. The
twenty-five-year-old aide to the home secretary was tall and
slim with flaxen-hair, eyes of pale blue and an aristocratic
nose. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were filled with
envy, Sebastian. You needn’t be, you know. You’ve already
accomplished extraordinary work at Wilson Academy. It’s all
the talk at the home office, I’ll have you know. Everyone
who has seen them thinks your renovations to the building
and grounds are excellent for the purpose. I think the plans
are so good, you might well have taken up architecture
instead of spying when you sold out.” Chris paused, his eyes
searching his friend’s face. “What’s eating you, Sebastian?” “You’re very perceptive, my friend. All right. I’ll tell you
what’s eating me. I thought Wilson Academy was just the
challenge I needed after the devastation I witnessed at
Waterloo. I was sick of the stink of death and the awful
sight of the mindless destruction of war. I believed that
this assignment was a challenge, so I jumped at the chance
when it was offered to me.” “It is a challenge. It’s about time our country develops an
organized spy system. What’s keeping you from enjoying your
new position? What changed your mind? Why are you so
troubled? It’s clear from the look on your face.” As if Chris had wrung the words from him, Sebastian blurted
out, “Chief spymaster is nothing more than a glorified
clerk’s position! Day in and day out all I do is shuffle
papers and sign them. It’s a dead bore, Chris. Maybe I
should take up architecture after all. Designing Wilson
Academy was the only part of this project that gave me any
joy.” Sebastian paused, breathing hard. When he was calmer,
he said, “Perhaps when I begin to train the next generation
of spies, the post will take on a more stimulating aspect,
but for now, I miss the challenge and the fellowship of army
life.” Chris sighed. “It is I who envy you, Sebastian. I wish I had
been in the war. My brother even offered to buy me a
commission, but the army rejected as unfit because of my
poor eyesight.” “That you are standing here still alive tells me the army
was right to reject you. You would not have survived
Napoleon. Sorry if it troubles you, but they made the
correct decision.” Chris acknowledged this truth with a nod. “Why waste your
time pining for the past? Has it occurred to you that, if
you hadn’t sold out, you might have been just as bored in
peacetime?” Before Sebastian could answer, they were interrupted by a
voice familiar to Chris. “Here you are, my dear. I’m glad I found you. Poor Helena
has been looking all over for her beau. I left her pining
away near the main stairwell.” Olivia pecked him on the cheek. “Hallo, Livy.” He turned to his companion. “Allow me to
introduce Lady Olivia Fairchild to you, Sebastian. I’ve
lived next door to the Fairchild’s all my life. I don’t mind
admitting to you that I’m dangling after her lovely sister
Helena. Livy, this is my good friend Sir Sebastian Brooks.” “Pleasure,” said Olivia with the slightest of curtseys, yet
her eyes held indifference. “Will you both excuse me?” asked Chris. “I must go and find
my lovely lady.” Without bothering to wait for a response,
he hurried away with the eagerness of a man in love. Sebastian was irritated as he watched Olivia’s eyes wander
all over the ballroom. He was stirred by her extraordinary
beauty. At the same time, he was annoyed by her indifference
to him. It was not a response he was accustomed to from a
lady of marriageable age. He wondered why she was not paying
her attentions to him. “It appears we’ve been abandoned, ma’am,” he said. “Will you
join me in the next waltz?” She looked up at him in surprise, as if noticing him for the
first time. “My pleasure sir.” She took the arm he offered
and allowed him to lead her onto the floor. When the music
began he placed his hand on her waist, she placed hers on
his shoulder, and he guided her around the perimeter of the
dance floor. She entered into the spirit of the waltz
enjoying its rhythm of movement, for she loved to dance. Yet
her eyes wandered as she continued to search. Bloody hell, I’ve chosen a dimwit for a partner even
though she dances well. Why does her head keep twisting
every which way? Why the devil is the chit so distracted? “Are you feeling well ma’am?” he asked in exasperation. Olivia looked startled. “What a silly question. Of course
I’m feeling well. Why do you ask?” “If that is the case, ma’am, I can only conclude you must
think me a dead bore, since your full attention seems well
out of my reach. It’s clear to me you are not enjoying our
dance. Would you prefer to take a stroll on the terrace?” “Oh, but I am enj—“ she paused, much in favor of his
suggestion, for it would afford her another place to search
for the home secretary. “Yes. A stroll on the terrace would
be lovely.” She allowed him to lead her out of the terrace
doors where her eyes resumed their wanderings. Sebastian’s irritation was rapidly turning into anger. He
wasn’t accustomed to receiving such a blatant rebuff. He
determined to direct the lady’s attention his way, at which
point he would turn the tables and snub her. It was only
what she deserved. He brightened, intrigued by the
challenge. He never lost a battle in his life. With this in
mind, he began to plan his campaign. Does this lady seek
her pleasure elsewhere? When I get through with her, she’ll
rue the day she ignored me. “Lovely evening for a stroll, is it not?” Olivia took little notice of the edge in his voice. Her head
continued to turn, her eyes searching this way and that.
“What? Oh yes. Lovely. Lovely indeed.” He led her down a less-crowded path until he spied a small
secluded bench. “Sit here and rest, ma’am, until you feel
better.” “Feel better? Why do you persist in thinking I am ill?” His lips quirked. “Well, ma’am” he drawled, “Your pretty
head must be quite sore by now, it seems to me. You’ve been
turning it every which way at such an alarmingly swift pace,
I began to fear it was in danger of falling off your shoulders.” Olivia stared at him, uncomprehending for a moment. Then she
laughed. “You’re teasing me sir.” Sebastian smiled at her, a most agreeable smile. His eyes
turned seductive. “Perhaps I am.” Without warning, he drew
her to him and kissed her. She was stiff with resistance at
first, but he persisted, one hand holding her chin so he
could invade her luscious mouth, the other holding her firm
until she ceased struggling. It didn’t take too long. To his
astonishment, she pressed closer and returned his kiss with
a passion of her own. Satisfied, he removed his lips and
nibbled on her ear. “You smell like roses, ma’am. I like it.” She forced herself to pull away, adopting anger as a weapon.
“How dare you kiss me, sir! Why, we’ve only just met.” “How else was I to engage your attention, ma’am? Can you not
locate your lover? Is that who you have been searching for?
Won’t I do in his stead? You gave me cause, you know, to
believe that you enjoyed our kiss as much as I did.” His
eyes held wicked amusement. “At the very least, my lady I
had the satisfaction of at last gaining your full attention.
You’re far too lovely for me to resist, you know, in spite
of those wandering eyes of yours.” There was a sharp edge in his voice which maddened her
enough to issue a tart rebuke. “I most certainly did not
enjoy being mauled by you, sir!” “Yes, you did.” “No, I didn’t, Mr...What did you say your name was?” “Sebastian,” he said in a husky sex-filled voice. “Call me
Sebastian, dearest Livy.” “I’ve not given you leave to address me thus, have I?” “No, Livy.” He planted a kiss on her neck. “You, sir are impertinent.” But she didn’t stop him when his
fingers traced the edge of her gown, causing goose bumps to
raise her flesh. In one swift motion, he pulled her to her feet and kissed
her hard, his tongue bruising the inside of her mouth. Shivers and thrills slithered through her body when he held
her close enough to feel his erection. In a mindless haze,
she ground into him, pressing closer, wanting more. One of
his thumbs rubbed her breast through her gown and she
moaned. He edged her bodice down and freed one nipple,
teasing the nub between two fingers. “Good God! What do you think you are doing, sir?” She gasped
when he bent to take the rigid nub into his mouth. He backed her into a nearby tree, out of sight of curious
onlookers. His lips returned to her nipple while one hand
gathered her gown all the way up to her waist so his hand
could gain access to the searing heat between her thighs. “Don’t! Stop!” she breathed in an anguished moan. He removed his mouth and looked into her glazed eyes, but
his hand had already found what he was looking for. His
fingers began to work their magic, an easy task, for she did
not struggle. Amused, he said, “Which do you mean, my lady?
Do you mean me to stop? Or do you mean don’t stop?” But he already knew the answer, for she was wet with desire.
His mouth crushed hers to muffle her screams when she
climaxed. He waited for her spasms to end before he smoothed
down her skirt of her gown and tucked her nipple back into
her bodice. All the while, his lips rained little kisses on
her ear, on her neck, on her eyes. “Thank you for a lovely diversion, my lady. I can’t wait for
our next encounter. What did you say your name was?” Her voice shook with rage. “Who gave you leave to assault me
thus? You’re an unspeakable cad! It may interest you to know
that I don’t know your name either, Mr.—whatever your name
is!” Without waiting for his answer, she wheeled away and
stalked off. She missed the sight of his lips curling with satisfaction.
Bloody hell. She’s a temptress. The chit enjoyed our
little tryst as much as I did. Hope she doesn’t have a
designing mother waiting in the wings. In a whisper, he said, “My name is Sir Sebastian Brooks,
milady. You won’t forget me.” He watched her disappear in
the direction of the ballroom, content in the knowledge that
he had won the match. He hadn’t lost his touch after all.
She’d paid attention to him in the end, hadn’t she? Olivia re-entered the ballroom through the terrace doors
only to find herself facing her father, who waited with a
man she had never met before. “There you are, Livy. I’ve been searching all over for you.
I want you to meet Lord Wentworth, a good friend of mine,”
said her father. He turned to a middle-aged, portly
gentleman, who had already lost most of his hair. “This is
my daughter, Lady Olivia Fairchild.” Olivia bit back a groan. “Happy to meet any friend of my
father’s, sir.” Her eyes darted right and left,
contemplating escape. “Your father sings your praises, ma’am. I can see with my
own eyes he speaks the truth, for you are beautiful. May I
engage you for this next waltz?” Her father glared at her, his eyes pointing to the gentleman
in an unmistakable gesture. “Um, I’d be delighted.” She took
his arm and allowed him to lead her to the floor, but kept
scanning the crowd. At the end of their waltz, Olivia curtseyed to her partner
and hurried away. She vowed to burn her father’s ears for
entertaining the idea that she would welcome an offer from
such a ridiculous excuse for a man. Wentworth was as old as
Father was, for heaven’s sake! Olivia had almost given up hope of finding the object of her
search when she saw him chatting with two matrons not ten
steps away. She cleared her throat and waited for him to
turn in her direction. “Viscount Sidmouth? What a pleasant
surprise. I never thought to meet you here in this mad press
of people.” “Good evening, my dear. Having a good time?” The elderly
gentleman’s words were courteous, but the look in his eyes
told Olivia he had no idea who she was. She tilted her head and offered a flirtatious smile.
“Meeting you, sir, has made my evening wonderfully complete.” Flattered, the viscount eyed her with approval. “Really? How
so?” “We met last summer at Lord and Lady Marshall’s garden
party, but I’m not at all sure you recall it.” “Of course I remember you. How could I forget such a
beautiful young woman who flatters me?” The viscount was a
slight gentleman with only a few strands left of his hair,
yet his keen brown eyes hadn’t lost their sharp intelligence. Olivia checked her gin. The poor man hadn’t a clue. “That
day last summer, my lord, when you revealed to me your
secret, was the best day of my life. It changed me forever.
Believe me when I say that your brilliant plan has never
once left my thoughts.” The viscount tried to hide his puzzlement, but she gave him
no time for reflection. She lowered her voice. “Trust me, my
lord. My lips are sealed from that day to this. I revealed
to no one your innovative plans. Of course I was deeply
honored to have you share your secret with me then. I only
hope...” She bent her head and examined her slippers, annoyed because
they were beyond repair now that Lord Wentworth unable to
see beyond his protruding stomach, had ruined them with his
clumsy feet. Her eyes returned to the home secretary’s face. Should she
shed a tear to advance her purpose, or would that be too
theatrical, she wondered? She decided she shouldn’t. It
might be overdoing it. To her advantage, the home secretary was not too old to
enjoy a harmless flirtation. ‘What is your hope, my dear?” Olivia looked around her. “Might we continue our
conversation out on the terrace? The issue you spoke of to
me is so sensitive, I’m sure you wouldn’t wish it to become
common knowledge, my lord.” She took his arm and led him
out, well aware that his eyes had glazed over her. He
still doesn’t know what I’m talking about. She found an unoccupied marble bench out of earshot from
inquisitive guests, took his hand and said, “First, let me
thank you for arranging for me to be employed in your office
sir. Of course, I’m very happy to be of service to you in
any way I can. Indeed, my position is quite gratifying, but...” “I gave you a position? What is it that you do in the home
office, my dear?” “I have been charged with handling secret documents, sir,
but I yearn to give so much more of myself to my country. So
much more.” “You’ve placed me in a state of utter bewilderment, my dear.
What on earth are you talking about?” Her words rushed out like an avalanche. “I’m talking about
your plan to train women as spies, of course. In truth, I
have followed the progress of those plans, from the
rebuilding of the property to the training program. I know
it is already in place.” The viscount eyed her with suspicion. “How do you know such
a plan exists?” “I came across the papers in the course of my work.” His gray eyes smiled as an indulgent grandfather might to a
child. “I’m not sure I understand you, what is it you’re
really after, my dear?” Olivia laughed, showering him with the musical sound of
bells. “Ah. You have me there, my lord. I won’t lie to you,
of all people. Like everyone else who petitions you, I want
something from you.” It was his turn to laugh. “No, no. I didn’t mean to imply
that you are too forward.” “Of course you didn’t.” She took a deep breath, looked both
ways to make sure no one overheard her, and said, “Last
summer at the Marshall garden party, you shared with me your
desire to establish a program for women to be trained for
clandestine work. A woman spy is a brilliant idea, if I may
say so, sir. Will you honor your promise and assign me as
one of the candidates, my lord?” The viscount scratched his head. “Well, I...” As if she hadn’t heard him, she continued, “To be in the
forefront of such a bold program has become my life’s dream.
You did promise you would consider me as a candidate for
training, you know. May I hold your feet to the fire? Will
you keep your word to me?” “You wish to be a spy? An odd request, my dear. You can’t
imagine how dangerous such an occupation can be. What put
the idea into your pretty little head? You are much more
suited to marriage and a family.” Olivia now produced her single tear. To add weight to it,
she sniffed. “My duty to my country comes before marriage
and raising a family, my lord.” “Now, now. No need to weep,” the home secretary said,
squirming in his seat. “Sorry, sir. It’s just that I feel so passionate about this.
The first training class is about to begin...” He paused in thought. “You will have to allow me time to
give your request some serious consideration.” “Then you’ll entertain it? Oh, thank you, sir. To me, that
is clearly tantamount to a ‘yes’. I knew you would honor
your word to me. A man, who has been Prime Minister and now
heads the even more important position of England’s home
secretary, has earned his place in history, to be sure.” Viscount Sidmouth had the look of a helpless bear whose foot
was caught in a trap, but Olivia gave him no chance to
wiggle out of it. “Be assured I shall reveal our
conversation to no one, my lord. My lips are sealed.” She
kissed him lightly on the cheek. “Forgive me for taking such
a liberty, my lord, but you do remind me of my beloved
father, the Duke of Heatham. Do you know him?” “Tony Fairchild? We went to Oxford together.” “You see? I knew there was a positive connection between
us!” She stood up without letting go of his hand. “I shall
make you proud of your decision when you allow me to be the
first woman to enter your training program. It’s getting
late, my lord. I must leave you, for my dear father is
waiting to take me home.” When she reached the terrace door, Olivia turned to wave to
the viscount. She wasn’t surprised to find him looking
confused, his brow lined with worry. When Sebastian found the home secretary seated on the
terrace bench where Olivia had left him, the old man was in
a thoughtful pose. “Are you alright, my lord? I’ve come to escort you home.” “Oh it’s you, Brooks. Yes, I’m fine.” “It’s growing late, sir. Are you ready to leave? Shall I
call for your carriage?” “In a moment.” He raised his eyes to the spymasters and
patted the seat next to him. “Tell me about your new
training program, Brooks. Has it begun yet?” Sebastian wondered why the viscount showed such a sudden
interest when he never had before. “We hope to begin next
week, sir, but...” “Is there a problem?” “Nothing we can’t resolve, sir. We’re one man short of our
quota.” The two sat side by side, the viscount lost in thought,
Sebastian unable to decide whether the old gentleman was
growing forgetful or whether he had something pressing on
his mind. “Let me ask you something, spymaster.” “My lord?” “No. Not now. See me Monday, Brooks.” "Of course, sir.” “You may escort me to my carriage.” When he handed the home secretary in, Sebastian folded the
steps, closed the door, nodded to the driver, and stepped
out of the way, all the while wondering what was on the old
man’s mind.
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