Page 37 of After the Spy Seduces

“True, but this time the undersecretaries are working to quash them. Normally, they just ignore them. So there must be something special about this particular set of rumors.” He puffed at his cigar and studied Kit through the cloud of smoke. “The talk concerns someone high up in the French court who’s supposedly one of ours. Someone who’s been sending Whitehall information for a good, long while.”

“Who?”

“No idea. Could be King Louis himself, for all I know.” Blythe played with the cigar in his fingers, turning it over and watching the tendril of smoke rise from its tip. “Whoever it is, he’s important to Whitehall, and as a primary asset, they want to protect him. Enough to address rumors and whispers when they’ve never done so before.” He shrugged. “No idea what any of it has to do with Waterloo, though.”

But Kit did, and the realization splashed through him like ice water.

Everyone who worked for the Crown or had been part of the army in 1815 had heard stories about French generals who weren’t at all happy that Bonaparte had returned and had once more sent them scrambling back into battle during the Hundred Days. They’d mistakenly pledged their loyalty to a madman and dictator and were looking for a way out that would cause the least damage to what was left of France and to themselves. Some of the stories went so far as to claim that a few of the French generals had secretly met with Allied field marshals before the Waterloo campaign began, to share what they knew about Boney’s battle plans and any weaknesses in their own lines.

If one of those generals who had met with Thaddeus Morgan became a high-ranking official at the French court after the wars had ended, the Foreign Office would do anything they could to protect him. Especially if the man were still providing information to the British, now while sitting at the king’s side.

And if French agents had heard the same whispers and rumors, then they would do anythingtheycould to expose him. Including getting their hands on General Morgan’s diary. Any way they could.

When Blythe popped his cigar back between his teeth, he clenched down hard. There was nothing friendly about the way he forced out around the cheroot, “Now tell me who this widow is so I can return to my game and lose another sizeable portion of my allowance.”

“Lady Bellingham,” Kit answered, with not one ounce of guilt. “She’s hoping to position herself into a second marriage with an Austrian archduke and so is passing along to the Habsburgs any bits of information she overhears from her friends in the Court of St James’s and the military. Mostly harmless information, yet she’s doing it. Whitehall knows that even a blind pig finds an acorn now and then and will want to put a stop to it. Or use her to send false information to Vienna. Either way, they’ll be impressed that you uncovered her.”

As he considered Kit’s information, Blythe casually flicked the ash from his cigar. “Have to admit, Carlisle, this is a damnably odd conversation to be having with you of all men.” He drawled thoughtfully, “A wastrel rakehell.”

Kit grinned in reply. “So you are. You know that second sons have to live by their wits to survive.”

“Yes. By gambling and taking wealthy lovers to supplement their incomes.” Blythe pointed the cigar accusingly at Kit. “Not by digging into Whitehall’s affairs.”

“Byeverymeans,” he corrected, raising his glass in a mock toast.

Blythe wasn’t amused and quietly demanded, “How do you know about the Countess of Bellingham?”

His grin faded. “She talks too much.”

The underlying warning in that struck Blythe as visibly as if Kit had punched him. He tightened his jaw and narrowed his eyes to slits. Ignoring that, he muttered, “But if you know about her, then surely so does the Foreign Office.”

“There are lots of things that happen on English soil that the Foreign Office doesn’t know about.” He’d never uttered truer words. “Even if they do, they’ll still be impressed that you brought it to their attention, and they’ll reward you for it.”

Not enough to promote Blythe to more important secret activities, but enough for him to be given a government post. The position would be a nice accolade to add to his family’s reputation and would come with a considerable salary, too. Kit believed in rewarding trust and loyalty, just as he believed in punishing those who betrayed him.

“But as long as you’re working for Whitehall, in any capacity,” he warned sincerely, “be careful.”

Blythe smiled. As with the rest of England, he’d heard about Kit’s brother, Ross, Earl of Spalding, and the charge of treason that had been falsely leveled against him. He most likely believed that this was the reason Kit had sought him out tonight, and Kit let him believe it. Lies were often easier than the truth.

“No worries there.” Blythe laughed. “Even with Lady Bellingham’s name, they won’t give me anything exciting to do.”

“No,” Kit answered quietly. “I meant that they’ll take your soul.”

Blythe stared at him, a puzzled frown creasing his brow. But the gravity of the words hit home.Good. Because Kit meant every word. After all, hadn’t the Home Office already claimed his?

Slapping Blythe on the back as he stepped past, Kit strode away. He swallowed down the last of his port and handed off the empty glass to a uniformed attendant standing at the door to the gaming room as he passed into the entry hall.

A former general turned high-ranking official, now positioned at the French court and handing information across the Channel to the old enemy—the secret of that man’s identity lay within the pages of the diary. He knew now why the French wanted it so badly, and badly enough to turn one of the Morgans’ household staff against them, to convince Diana that her brother was being held for ransom.

Yet he had no idea how Garrett Morgan fit into all of this, or why Nathaniel Grey had tried to convince him to cease his hunt for Fitch’s killer.

But he was damned well going to find out.

“Carlisle!” one of the men from the growing crush inside the hell called out to him as he collected his coat, hat, and gloves from the attendant manning the door. “Leaving so soon?”

“But it’s barely midnight!” Another gentleman joined in, chiding him.

“Lost all your money already?”