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D.E.A.T.H.
Minerva Dalton
Considering she had spent many, many hours in the ballroom of what had once been known as Beddingsford House, but was now the Miss Masters School for Fine Young Ladies, she thought she could safely make such a statement.
Miss Bradford, headmistress of the Miss Masters school, otherwise known as Pippa, and professionally known to Minerva as Milliner, the chief female spy in all of England, grinned in amusement, looking years younger in her present finery.
The new teacher, Lucy Allred, would be covering Minerva’s courses until her return, and Pippa had assured Minerva that she would see Lucy was paid additionally for that.
She might not bear the first bloom one might expect of young misses in Society, but there was no denying that Pippa Bradford was still a lovely woman.
As Lady Beddingsford, not as Minerva Dalton.
That was the mystery they were playing on for Minerva’s character in this assignment. Lady Beddingsford, wife to the heir of all things Beddingsford, returned to England for a time.
There was only one other operative she knew of who could do the same thing, and the pair of them had, on rare occasions, discussed their skills. But the Gent was not here this evening, or if he was, he was nowhere to be seen. No matter, she could not remember his public name as it was.
But Tilda, the stage costumer who offered her services to many of the nation’s operatives, had insisted on fitting Minerva out for her first foray as Lady Beddingsford.
"Do you see anyone you recognize?"
"Someone from the past, perhaps?"
"No, not one."
Nodding, Minerva gestured for Pippa to lead. “I would, Miss Bradford, thank you.”
Mrs. Pearson had four daughters, the youngest of whom was still at their school, and while Catherine Pearson held all the potential in the world for a promising future, her mother did not.
“Nice to meet you, ma'am.
“Without your husband?” Minerva looked away, pursing her lips. “I do not know, madame. We will see. And I pray you excuse me, I do not like to speak of my husband.”
Her disguise was excellent, there was no question, but her students surprised her with their attentiveness at times. Which was usually when she recommended them for the testing required to enter the secret operative training program also held at the school.
There was nothing in her past that could have prepared her for this sort of assignment in all its particulars, despite all of the missions she had taken previously.
“You said there was no Lord Beddingsford!” she hissed. Pippa put her hands on her arms to comfort her faux tears. “There isn’t!” she insisted through a false smile. “Cap swore it was the perfect cover.”
one of them bearing the telltale gold-spun waistcoat and eyeing her with a mixture of confusion, horror, and even interest. She could only hope her expression was less readable. “Beddingsford, I presume?” she muttered to no one in particular. Unfortunately, her words were heard. “Oh, my lady,” someone near her gushed, “has it been so long that you cannot remember your husband’s face?” This was becoming more and more a production,
Griffin Russell
But so help him, he was going to enjoy this moment as much as he could. While he was thinking twelve thousand other things, including possibilities for his next move.
He stared down at her, her gaze locked somewhere around his cravat, and he could almost see stars dancing before her eyes, which ought to have delighted him were it not for the horde of agitated bees driven into a frenzy through his body.
No one should have been able to pluck up the Beddingsford title and use it for their own ends. He and Draper, his superior in covert operations and head of the Foreign Office, had looked into the matter extensively, and received reports from their assets on the Continent and beyond regarding the family. Or lack thereof, as the case was. But only they knew that, which was why they had picked up the title for Griff’s present assignment.
No one but his superiors knew he was the younger brother of the Duke of Kirklin.
"Killing him would be easier, of course, but how to explain it?"
“Just tell them it can't be helped,” he suggested with a quick grin. "I'm sure they'll understand."
“My first night, and this was supposed to happen? The first night?”
“Do you prefer the second night? Or the third?”
"Someone has to explain something," she hissed, her tone turning almost cruel, "and you'd better explain it quickly." “Sorry darling,” Griff replied with as much sympathy as he could muster. "I have no answers for her." He forced his expression to be appropriately dour.
“I will kill him. So God help me, I will kill him." He'd thought her surprises for him done with for one night, but nothing could have prepared him for Latin. “Now this is heavy language for you, darling. To be admired.” She glanced at him with a wry smile that made him wary.
"Everything about me is amazing, dear." He almost laughed at the shift to Scots Gaelic, finding this entire exchange worth the inconvenience now. "So I see. Show me more.”
Save me from this fool, somebody.” Anyone, I beg you.”
stunned by this woman he either needed to marry or terminate; preferably the former.
"If you don't shut up, man, I'll shut you up myself."
"I have no idea what to say." Her brows snapped down as she scowled.
"May the itch eat you," she muttered. There was nothing to do but bark a laugh at the Irish curse. "I'm sorry."
“Shut up, you infuriating jester!”
“I’ve sent a Hermes, so we should know something soon.” Griff glanced at her in some suspicion, keeping his expression blank. A Hermes was code within the British covert operatives for a rapid message up the ranks, and it was not a word to be used lightly, nor frequently.
Georgie Canning, the current foreign secretary and the man Griff addressed as Draper, entered the room. He took one look around as he shut the door behind him, narrowing his dark eyes even as the light from the candles and fire glinted off his bald head. “Hmm,” he said softly, folding his arms and twisting his lips. He turned to face the fair-haired woman. “Well, Milliner, how do we resolve this?”
“We needed the Beddingsford title,” Milliner told Draper, her tone completely devoid of accusation. “Cap assured us it was open.” “It is,” Draper assured her, “which is why we decided to use it for Mist here.” He flicked his fingers towards Griff, and Milliner followed the gesture.
“Didn’t you check with Cap on the title?” Milliner demanded of Draper, again without malice in her tone. Draper shook his head. “Weaver. Clearly the two of them need to communicate better.”
“Mist?” his spiteful wife repeated with a laugh. “Quite a feminine name for an operative, isn’t it?” Used to such a jab, Griff only glanced at her. “And you are?” “Mirrors,” Milliner chimed in before another snide reply could meet the air.
"Good evening?"
“Number one?” she
“Mirrors,” Pippa, now fully acting as Milliner, her superior, and not Pippa, her friend, warned in a surprisingly stern tone.
Now why are you smiling like that?” He uncrossed his ankles, grinning as though she had confessed undying love or praised him as being molded by the hand of God. “Well, first of all, it’s a relief that the woman who is apparently my wife is not the enemy. That would have been awkward.” He winked at her, leaning forward a touch. Minerva would have spat in his face had he been close enough. “And secondly…” He shook his head, chuckling as he sighed. “I just can’t stop thinking about that extraordinary kiss. I’m very much looking forward to the next one.”
The man bore a natural insolence that was damnably attractive, there was no mistaking that, and when stripped of the accoutrements that one generally saw among gentlemen… Well, he could have had any woman with a pair of eyes and a pulse.
All right, now she was staring, and there was nothing about a character study in that. Just observation. Her eyes flicked to his face, and his eyes were on her, smiling in an entirely new way that immediately lit her throat on fire. He raised a brow, nodding at her. “My lady.” Minerva looked away quickly, her face flaming. There was something about him that made her want to look at him, but it was not something as simple as attraction, though he certainly had an appealing visage. It was more… puzzling. Not quite familiar, but he did not seem particularly a stranger either.
