Page 67 of Who’s That Earl

Captain Collins stuck his head into the room, looking unusually agitated. “We’ve just got word about the delivery, sir.”

Scott motioned him in with a wave of one hand. Collins crossed the threshold, dragging his steps in a show of obvious reluctance, and shut the door behind himself. With deliberate motions, Scott paused to light his pipe, drawing in little puffs until the flame caught. Smoke curled from around the pipe stem as he parted his lips to say, “Something’s gone awry, I take it.”

“Yes, sir.” Collins’s confession was choked, though he could have had nothing to do with the mistake. “Lieutenant Hopkins had to hand off the package unexpectedly.”

More smoke. “I see. Who has it now?”

“A—a woman, sir.” He ran a finger beneath the collar of his coat. “Another customer just leaving the bookshop. As best we’ve been able to determine, her name is Lady Kingston.”

Scott turned in his chair, studying the startlingly blue spring sky through the window behind him. Soon, the familiar madness of the Season would descend upon London, the whirl of parties, musicales, balls. Secrets—not all of them state secrets—would fly from lips to ears in passionate whispers.

He’d met the Earl of Kingston years ago, at a charity ball organized by his lovely, lively young wife—now widow. Why, she must be out of mourning by now. Without much difficulty, he could picture her delicate brow wrinkled in a frown as she puzzled over the contents of the book she’d just unwrapped.

Useless to her. Priceless to many others—not all of them on the right side. And if any of those on the wrong side suspected it was in her possession, she would be in grave danger.

“Retrieval could be a delicate operation. We mustn’t alarm her. Send Major Stanhope right away,” he ordered without turning around.

“The Magpie, sir?”

At Collins’s incredulity, Scott curved a wry smile around his pipe stem. The man despised that moniker, though he’d earned it in part by his cleverness. But like his namesake, he could be sociable when he chose. The perfect agent to charm that book out of the countess’s hands.

Could Stanhope be charmed by her in return?

Every mission carried with it a risk. Now it was time for Scott to decide whether he could afford to risk losing his best agent. After a moment’s thought, he nodded decisively and spun the chair to face Collins again. “Indeed. The Magpie and Lady Kingston.” Silently, he toed shut the drawer filled with his personal files related to his retired agents, all now happily married. “Oh, and Captain,” he called after his aide, who had already moved to put the order into action, “do keep me apprised of any...interesting developments in the case.”

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