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with her little sister toddling after her.
    And his wife… well, he needed to take her in hand before half the rakes of the ton moved in to feed. For once, his personal life would take precedence over the Barbican. And there would not be another time as good as this. He had completed all of his missions and had no others pending. With Napoleon’s capture, the world and England were once again at peace. The Barbican could spare him for a few months. “I assure you,” Winn said to Blue, “the key will be safe until I deliver it.”
    Blue said nothing, finally shrugging and stepping back. “Have it your way.” He took the beaver hat from under his arm and set it carefully on his head. And still, it perched at a jaunty angle.
    “Good-bye,” Winn said.
    Blue smiled. “Not for long.”
    Winn had long ago ceased wondering what the devil Blue meant by his cryptic comments. He had also learned Blue was always correct. But he wasn’t thinking about Blue when he marched into Melbourne’s office at the ungodly hour of half-past eight in the morning. He waited with arms crossed while Melbourne signed a document as directed by his secretary. When he finished, Melbourne waved his man away and looked up at Winn. Winn judged Melbourne to be in his early fifties. The rumor was the man had been a highly regarded operative in his day. Now the still hale and hearty man was the leader of the Barbican group.
    “You look like hell,” Melbourne said, his eyes narrowing.
    “You always did know the way to my heart.” Winn took a seat opposite Melbourne. “I was told to come first thing. Did you miss me that much?”
    “You’re a cocky bastard.”
    Winn raised a brow. “Could you at least save the insults until I’ve broken my fast? If I have to slap you with my glove, I don’t want to miss.”
    Melbourne poured two cups of tea from the service on his desk and handed one to Winn. Winn nodded acknowledgement and took the warm cup. Melbourne crossed his arms over his chest. “Little as you like it, you’ve always been a man who obeyed orders, Baron. That’s why you’ve come so far so fast.”
    Winn wouldn’t have called his ascent in the ranks of the Barbican group fast . He was eight-and-thirty and already beginning to feel he was too old for this sort of work. His shoulder was still sore from ramming the door in Ramsgate’s town house, and his nose was tender from being bloodied.
    Ten years ago he would have laughed outright if a man had told him he preferred sitting in a warm chair by the fire and reading The Times with his wife and family to the action of a mission. Now he wasn’t so certain he’d scoff.
    He sipped the tea. Something was missing in his work for the Barbican group. It wasn’t that Napoleon had finally been exiled for good. There were always other villains. But he didn’t find the work as fulfilling anymore. Or maybe it was that he’d destroyed the one thing that made the work fulfilling. And Winn couldn’t help but think he should have been the one lying in a barren, unmarked grave in Cadiz.
    “I have a new mission for you,” Melbourne was saying now. “I want you to report to the home of Lord and Lady Smythe at—”
    “Wait a minute, my lord,” Winn interrupted. Melbourne raised his brows. Winn knew one did not interrupt Melbourne, and he never had before. But he could not listen idly to new orders. “I have an extended leave coming. You all but ordered me to take it before the last mission.” Winn reached into his pocket and extracted the key. He set it on the desk and pushed it toward Melbourne with one finger. “Mission accomplished.”
    Melbourne lifted the key. “Very good. But your leave has been revoked.”
    Winn shook his head. Had he heard correctly?
    “As I was saying, at the request of Lord Smythe—”
    “I don’t give a bloody farthing about Lord Smythe,” Winn said. “I have leave coming.”
    Melbourne rose to his feet. “And I have men dying. Tell me, Baron, have you