My Lady, My Spy (Secrets and Seduction Book 4) by Sheridan Jeane Page B
Authors: Sheridan Jeane
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success, only for it to be snatched away. Close really didn’t matter. He’d lost the book. A book that might have averted a war.
Had Monsieur LeCompte spotted Frederick outside his home last night? He must have.
After the Frenchman left his house, they’d followed his hackney to its destination. When his carriage door opened and he’d emerged from its depths, they’d discovered the ruse. Another man had switched places with LeCompte— someone close to his size and wearing his clothes.
The impertinent rascal then yanked down his woolen scarf to reveal his face, tipped back his hat, and flashed Frederick a broad grin. He’d known they were following all along.
LeCompte, that trickster, had lured them into following the wrong hackney. Once he’d drawn them away, LeCompte must have rendezvoused with the thief. Frederick should have left Turner behind to watch things. Add that to his tally of missteps.
Herbert cleared his throat. Frederick glanced up. How long had Herbert been standing there holding Frederick’s evening coat?
Frederick glanced at the mantel clock and then rose to his feet. Time to leave. He gingerly slid his right hand through the sleeve, being careful not to abrade the bandages. “I plan to meet with Lord Cary, so I’ll probably be quite late.”
“Yes, sir.”
He had no idea how the spymaster would react to the news that he’d lost the church register. It was an enormous setback. Frederick had never before failed so abysmally at completing an assignment. It had been years since he’d needed to rely on Lord Cary’s knowledge and resources to help him untangle a tricky problem.
Fortunately, Lord Cary enjoyed nothing more than devising plans to defeat an enemy. When he’d first recruited Frederick as a spy, they would work hours into the night as they examined the strengths and weaknesses of the various solutions they devised.
Lord Cary was a clever man. He understood the motivation that drove a man’s choices better than anyone else Frederick had ever met. He could use that uncanny ability to accurately predict how someone would behave given a specific set of external pressures. He always knew exactly which puppet string he needed to pull to evoke the reaction he desired. He was appallingly good at it, and some of the people he manipulated found themselves doing things they’d never dreamed of.
Frederick wasn’t as comfortable using such blatant manipulation, nor was he particularly skilled at it. He much preferred devising an overall strategy and then finding key people who best suited his overarching goals. Frederick liked to think his methods were much more subtle and natural than Lord Cary’s. Kinder as well.
Lord Cary’s manipulations occasionally had the consequence of leaving a man’s life in shambles. Sadly, even though Lord Cary could evoke the reaction he wanted, he couldn’t foresee the effect of his actions on the poor wretch he’d manipulated.
Lord Cary might predict the precise moment when he could trade some small incentive for a secret or betrayal and use that knowledge to his advantage to gather information, but he couldn’t accurately measure the cost of that betrayal on a man’s conscience. He sometimes pushed too hard. Too far. Men broke under his pressure. Not frequently, but often enough.
For years, Lord Cary had been oblivious to the havoc he’d caused. After using a man to achieve a specific goal, he forgot about him. At first, Frederick believed Lord Cary to be callous as he casually tore apart a man’s life as easily as rending wet tissue paper.
He’d been wrong.
Lord Cary hadn’t been callous. He’d been myopic. To him, men were tools, picked up and used as needed, but then cast aside with little thought.
Frederick had come to this realization one day while listening to Lord Cary bemoan the loss of a storeroom guard in the Great Western Railway. Two years earlier he’d bribed the man, convincing him to leave his post for a few minutes.
Had Monsieur LeCompte spotted Frederick outside his home last night? He must have.
After the Frenchman left his house, they’d followed his hackney to its destination. When his carriage door opened and he’d emerged from its depths, they’d discovered the ruse. Another man had switched places with LeCompte— someone close to his size and wearing his clothes.
The impertinent rascal then yanked down his woolen scarf to reveal his face, tipped back his hat, and flashed Frederick a broad grin. He’d known they were following all along.
LeCompte, that trickster, had lured them into following the wrong hackney. Once he’d drawn them away, LeCompte must have rendezvoused with the thief. Frederick should have left Turner behind to watch things. Add that to his tally of missteps.
Herbert cleared his throat. Frederick glanced up. How long had Herbert been standing there holding Frederick’s evening coat?
Frederick glanced at the mantel clock and then rose to his feet. Time to leave. He gingerly slid his right hand through the sleeve, being careful not to abrade the bandages. “I plan to meet with Lord Cary, so I’ll probably be quite late.”
“Yes, sir.”
He had no idea how the spymaster would react to the news that he’d lost the church register. It was an enormous setback. Frederick had never before failed so abysmally at completing an assignment. It had been years since he’d needed to rely on Lord Cary’s knowledge and resources to help him untangle a tricky problem.
Fortunately, Lord Cary enjoyed nothing more than devising plans to defeat an enemy. When he’d first recruited Frederick as a spy, they would work hours into the night as they examined the strengths and weaknesses of the various solutions they devised.
Lord Cary was a clever man. He understood the motivation that drove a man’s choices better than anyone else Frederick had ever met. He could use that uncanny ability to accurately predict how someone would behave given a specific set of external pressures. He always knew exactly which puppet string he needed to pull to evoke the reaction he desired. He was appallingly good at it, and some of the people he manipulated found themselves doing things they’d never dreamed of.
Frederick wasn’t as comfortable using such blatant manipulation, nor was he particularly skilled at it. He much preferred devising an overall strategy and then finding key people who best suited his overarching goals. Frederick liked to think his methods were much more subtle and natural than Lord Cary’s. Kinder as well.
Lord Cary’s manipulations occasionally had the consequence of leaving a man’s life in shambles. Sadly, even though Lord Cary could evoke the reaction he wanted, he couldn’t foresee the effect of his actions on the poor wretch he’d manipulated.
Lord Cary might predict the precise moment when he could trade some small incentive for a secret or betrayal and use that knowledge to his advantage to gather information, but he couldn’t accurately measure the cost of that betrayal on a man’s conscience. He sometimes pushed too hard. Too far. Men broke under his pressure. Not frequently, but often enough.
For years, Lord Cary had been oblivious to the havoc he’d caused. After using a man to achieve a specific goal, he forgot about him. At first, Frederick believed Lord Cary to be callous as he casually tore apart a man’s life as easily as rending wet tissue paper.
He’d been wrong.
Lord Cary hadn’t been callous. He’d been myopic. To him, men were tools, picked up and used as needed, but then cast aside with little thought.
Frederick had come to this realization one day while listening to Lord Cary bemoan the loss of a storeroom guard in the Great Western Railway. Two years earlier he’d bribed the man, convincing him to leave his post for a few minutes.
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