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work into some sort of clandestine suttee. If I could forbid her to work for the Agency, or even persuade her to give up this profession and look for a new husband in earnest, to build a happier life for herself, I would. As I can’t, I will do my best to further her interests in the path she has chosen.”
    He smiled a resigned sort of smile, and Dexter saw the clean, aristocratic lines of his profile pulled into prominence for a moment. “I can’t keep her safe. She’s a grown woman, and I can hardly tell her not to do what I’ve admittedly done dozens of times. Not the marriage part, of course, I’ve only done that once, but the mission itself. This work is addictive, I warn you. Few escape it once they’ve begun.”
    “I’ll take my chances on that, I suppose.”
    “The primary mission is Charlotte’s, fetching this blueprint or whatsis that our man in Le Havre thinks may still be secreted somewhere in Paris. He’d like to rule it out, at least. I think it’s a fool’s errand and there’s no chance the damn thing is still there after so many years. But we also need your expertise, Hardison. Badly. I think I can guarantee that once you learn what your part of the project is about—assuming you agree to the terms the Agency sets, of course—you will be so eager to work on it that the rest will fade into insignificance. It’s the type of thing a man like you would never be able to resist. One day, it could make you very, very famous indeed.”
    “That part doesn’t interest me,” Dexter rushed to assure him.
    “It is true nevertheless. The project is its own inducement, and if Murcheson is wrong and the French do have those documents, success only becomes more critical. There are other ways you could help too, unique tasks you could undertake that I think you would enjoy immensely once you set your hands to them. You won’t get such an opportunity sitting at home. Charlotte is . . . a condition of the arrangement. You would be the perfect cover for one another. And as far as I’m concerned, that means her best chance of survival is with you.”

Three

    UPPER NEW YORK DOMINION
    EASY ENOUGH TO listen to a man discuss a proposed undertaking. It was an abstraction, a fancy, being asked to provide assistance to the Crown in its clandestine efforts to conduct espionage on the French despite the recent peace treaty between the two nations. The offer of Darmont’s daughter’s hand in marriage—however temporary—only lent an additional air of surrealism to the Viscount’s words.
    It was another thing entirely to stand in a beautifully appointed solarium in the Upper New York Dominion, awaiting the arrival of a woman to whom he might become a sham spouse for a few months or even longer. Not to mention the woman who had fascinated him on paper for years.
    The house itself had surprised him already. He was expecting something as solid, staid, respectable as his own stately residence. A manor house in the traditional style, or perhaps even a small Italianate palace. Not this frosted layer cake of a folly, with so many details on its façade he wasn’t sure which to smirk at first. The interior was at least more subdued, if still somewhat more frivolous than expected. The solarium itself, with glass walls and ceiling panels bordered in intricate wrought-iron scrollwork frames, was the view from the inside of the wedding cake.
    “
Mister
Hardison.”
    Lady Moncrieffe didn’t match her house.
    Not her voice, which was surprisingly low and sweet. Nor her severe, high-necked black jacket and jabot, or the tailored fawn breeches and high boots that suggested she’d recently come in from a ride.
    And not her face, which was anything but a folly. She was quietly beautiful despite the unflattering black; the stark color served only to heighten the impact of her fair skin and hair. Skin like a white peach, Dexter noted with an instant, inappropriate desire to touch her cheek and see if it was as soft as it