The Pretender by Celeste Bradley Page A

become an old man in his thirties, burdened with the never-ending pain from his shattered bones.
    It was a lesson that Simon was careful to always keep in the forefront of his mind. He might have gone that route himself, if the Old Man, the old spymaster himself, hadn't plucked him from the streets and dusted the soot off to train him for intelligence work.
    Being a sweep was practically sneakwork training after all, with all the climbing and working in the dark. Many a young sweep gave it a try when their bodies grew beyond the diameter of a chimney.
    Simon wasn't a thief, although he knew why Jackham thought so. After all, when one masked black-clad man comes across another in the act of opening a wealthy man's safe in the middle of the night, assumptions will be made.
    That night, Jackham had generously offered to share the contents with him, confessing that he was strictly a jewel man. Simon had taken the official papers held within but debated taking the money. In the end, he had decided it was necessary to his cover as a thief. Besides, the government-strangled coffers of the Liar's Club could use a bit of padding.
    A partnership had arisen that night. Simon would choose the house and obtain the layout through bribery or trickery, and Jackham would apply his genius to the actual act of midnight entry and safe-breaking.
    The Liar's Club had prospered, and Jackham had made a quick fortune, which he had just as promptly squandered. When the fall happened, Simon had just taken over from his predecessor, the Old Man. Simon had told Jackham that he was retiring as well, and he needed a manager for the club he was "buying."
    It hadn't been easy keeping the real purpose of the Liar's Club secret from Jackham for all these years, but for all the fondness Simon felt for his friend, he had no illusions about Jackham's ultimate inability to refuse money. Not even in the form of a bribe to sell out his dearest friend.
    So Jackham believed the boys in the back rooms were part of Simon's thieves' network and gleefully helped them plan many a break-in while tending the liquor and doing the books.
    The club had renewed his interest in life and kept him feeling he was a part of the world he had lost.
    Simon could see that the memories were turning Jackham's mood bleak. "You know, Jackham, the woman who danced with the giant snake was a nice bit. Why don't you bring her in for the customers? She can run one show for the marks out front, and then do one for our boys."
    Jackham's eyes brightened at the idea of possible profit.
    "She did have a right elegant act, didn't she? Brought us in a nice bit of change before. And the marks have seen her once, so they'll want to bring in their mates to prove they wasn't lying." His eyes narrowed. "Now, if even half of them bring a new face in, and even half of those want to join up…"
    Simon grinned and left Jackham to his calculations, pleased that he had managed to get the man's mind off the past. There was nothing to be gained by looking backward, not when the road still stretched out ahead.
    Simon's own road to the future was a straight one. He knew precisely what needed to be done and he knew he was the only man to do it. No matter how tempting the distractions.
    Damn, but she was tempting, wasn't she?
    The day was nearly gone and Mr. Rain still wasn't back from his outing. Agatha puttered about the house on Carriage Square for as long as she was able, but she wasn't used to idleness. For years she'd been busy with the estate. These past few days, Simon had filled her time and her thoughts.
    No. Her
mission
had filled her thoughts.
    But who fills your dreams?
    Agatha ignored the little voice as she would a nagging fly. One couldn't help one's dreams. And if hers were filled with the noise and clatter of London streets, not to mention a certain pair of blue eyes—heavens, she'd never seen eyes so blue—well, that was a natural result of being unused to city life.
    Irritated that she seemed