should have mattered, beyond the practicalities of his basic readiness for the mission ahead.
But as she trailed her fingertip over the physician’s diagram, she shook her head with a pang at all the places on Nick’s body where the doctor had recorded the presence of scars. Burns, slashes, healed-over breaks, shrapnel, and, of course, a couple of bullet holes, one more recent than the rest.
She couldn’t help feeling that every one of them was her father’s fault, and since he was dead, that she was somehow responsible for all the damage done to this agent. Years ago, Virgil, in his early role of Seeker, had gone around to various aristocratic families and handpicked the lads he wanted for his unit before they were even Phillip’s age. It must have been heartbreaking, knowing the kind of danger he was recruiting these mere children into, but all of them had been eager to go.
Nick, especially, according to her father.
She let out a sigh and put the notes down on her dressing table, saddened. As her thought drifted, she remembered how she had raged so many times at her sire for stubbornly forbidding her to try to become the Order’s first female agent.
But Dr. Baldwell’s little drawing of all the scars on Nick was proof positive that her father had been right.
If the enemy could inflict this kind of pain on one of the Order’s hardiest warriors, what might they have done to a female spy associated with the organization if she were ever captured?
With such a hostage, they could have wrung deadly concessions out of the graybeards and every honor-bound male agent in the field.
Ah, well. She had long since realized that her father had only stopped her out of love. As much as she had hated it at the time, living vicariously through the tales he told about “his boys” and their perilous adventures, she had come to understand a parent’s need to protect his or her child once she had become a mother, herself.
In the mirror on her dressing table, the look in her eyes turned steely. The Order was never getting their hands on Phillip. They’d never leave these kinds of scars on her darling son.
Just then, a soft knock sounded on the door.
“Come.” She glanced into the reflection behind her as her lady’s maid stepped in.
“You sent for me, my lady?”
“Yes, I have to dress for dinner.” She rose with a languid motion. “The emerald satin tonight, I think.”
“Very good, ma’am.” The maid hurried to fetch the gown from the large, adjoining dressing room.
Soon, Gin was dressed in the luxurious green gown and seated once again before the mirror while the maid braided small sections of her hair to add interest to the topknot that would be held in place with pearl-studded combs.
In the reflection, Gin noticed the smile tugging at the maid’s mouth and realized it had been there since the woman had come in. “You seem rather merry this evening, Bowland. What’s afoot?”
“Oh, it’s nothing, ma’am,” she assured her with a quick smile as she worked.
“Come. This wouldn’t have something to do with our guest, would it?”
“Well, the girls belowstairs couldn’t help but notice His Lordship’s awfully handsome, ma’am.”
“That he is. He’s also very dangerous. Not a man to be trifled with. Let them know I won’t countenance any nonsense.”
“Yes, my lady. I will tell them.” Bowland dropped her gaze with a chastened look.
Gin knew the stern precision with which she ran her household was not much fun for her staff, but she did not intend to let the maids go throwing themselves at Lord Forrester.
She did not need her silly-headed servant girls tempting a very worldly man who had been starved of sex for the past six months.
Somehow, she could not shake her own, acute awareness of that fact. Nevertheless, the rogue agent was as much her hireling now as the maids were, and like them, he would jolly well live up to her standards while he was under her roof.
She just hoped she
But as she trailed her fingertip over the physician’s diagram, she shook her head with a pang at all the places on Nick’s body where the doctor had recorded the presence of scars. Burns, slashes, healed-over breaks, shrapnel, and, of course, a couple of bullet holes, one more recent than the rest.
She couldn’t help feeling that every one of them was her father’s fault, and since he was dead, that she was somehow responsible for all the damage done to this agent. Years ago, Virgil, in his early role of Seeker, had gone around to various aristocratic families and handpicked the lads he wanted for his unit before they were even Phillip’s age. It must have been heartbreaking, knowing the kind of danger he was recruiting these mere children into, but all of them had been eager to go.
Nick, especially, according to her father.
She let out a sigh and put the notes down on her dressing table, saddened. As her thought drifted, she remembered how she had raged so many times at her sire for stubbornly forbidding her to try to become the Order’s first female agent.
But Dr. Baldwell’s little drawing of all the scars on Nick was proof positive that her father had been right.
If the enemy could inflict this kind of pain on one of the Order’s hardiest warriors, what might they have done to a female spy associated with the organization if she were ever captured?
With such a hostage, they could have wrung deadly concessions out of the graybeards and every honor-bound male agent in the field.
Ah, well. She had long since realized that her father had only stopped her out of love. As much as she had hated it at the time, living vicariously through the tales he told about “his boys” and their perilous adventures, she had come to understand a parent’s need to protect his or her child once she had become a mother, herself.
In the mirror on her dressing table, the look in her eyes turned steely. The Order was never getting their hands on Phillip. They’d never leave these kinds of scars on her darling son.
Just then, a soft knock sounded on the door.
“Come.” She glanced into the reflection behind her as her lady’s maid stepped in.
“You sent for me, my lady?”
“Yes, I have to dress for dinner.” She rose with a languid motion. “The emerald satin tonight, I think.”
“Very good, ma’am.” The maid hurried to fetch the gown from the large, adjoining dressing room.
Soon, Gin was dressed in the luxurious green gown and seated once again before the mirror while the maid braided small sections of her hair to add interest to the topknot that would be held in place with pearl-studded combs.
In the reflection, Gin noticed the smile tugging at the maid’s mouth and realized it had been there since the woman had come in. “You seem rather merry this evening, Bowland. What’s afoot?”
“Oh, it’s nothing, ma’am,” she assured her with a quick smile as she worked.
“Come. This wouldn’t have something to do with our guest, would it?”
“Well, the girls belowstairs couldn’t help but notice His Lordship’s awfully handsome, ma’am.”
“That he is. He’s also very dangerous. Not a man to be trifled with. Let them know I won’t countenance any nonsense.”
“Yes, my lady. I will tell them.” Bowland dropped her gaze with a chastened look.
Gin knew the stern precision with which she ran her household was not much fun for her staff, but she did not intend to let the maids go throwing themselves at Lord Forrester.
She did not need her silly-headed servant girls tempting a very worldly man who had been starved of sex for the past six months.
Somehow, she could not shake her own, acute awareness of that fact. Nevertheless, the rogue agent was as much her hireling now as the maids were, and like them, he would jolly well live up to her standards while he was under her roof.
She just hoped she
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