Page 59 of A Spy’s Guide to Seduction

“Mr. Goldsworthy,” said Wilde, “doesn’t like to make himself known to…the world, miss. Keeps to himself, he does.” For a moment the posh accent slipped, and the young man sounded as if he came from the poorest of London streets.

“I’m sure he doesn’t, Mr. Wilde, but if he does not see me this morning, he can expect to be widely known to the public by the end of the week, for I intend to expose him to the Times for what he is—a spymaster in our midst.” Emily held up the paper on which she’d written her letter.

“Miss, you wouldn’t,” protested Miranda.

“I will.”

Wilde’s expression grew obstinate, while Miranda looked panicked.

Emily tried a different tactic. “Really, you two, didn’t Lynley rescue you recently, and now you refuse to let me rescue him?”

“But, miss,” said Wilde, “Sir Ajax has his pistols and his black horse.”

“Oh,” said Miranda, “he’s playing the highwayman, miss. He is quite...daunting in his black cape and hat with his pistol pointing at a body.”

“And he’s a crack shot,” added Wilde.

“Fearsome, is he?” she asked.

Two heads nodded vigorously.

“It’s a disguise, you know,” she said. She would not tell them, but she understood the disguise. Some part of Lynley was still the boy who had failed to save his parents from their folly. No matter how tall and strong he’d become since the moment when the Russian soldier had struck him down, he needed the highwayman’s disguise to look dangerous. “Take me to Goldsworthy.” She held up her letter.

A long moment passed. Emily stood as still and unwavering as a marble column. At last Miranda tugged at Wilde’s sleeve and turned imploring eyes up to him, and the youth yielded. Emily stuffed the letter into the little reticule on her wrist.

“Wilde,” she said, “Miranda can show me the way. If you know how Mr. Goldsworthy likes to travel, can you send for a vehicle and horses?”

Emily thought she had gone almost too far, but Wilde nodded. He held open the crimson curtains, and Miranda led the way into a narrow passage. They left the shop, crossed a patch of garden, newly green with blades of grass, and entered the kitchen of a building that must, Emily realized, have its front on Albemarle Street.

Wilde left them at some stairs and Miranda led Emily up to a door on the second story. With a quick intake of breath, Miranda summoned her resolve and rapped on the door.

“Mr. Goldsworthy, someone to see you,” she said.

A deep voice rumbled, “Enter.”

Emily took hold of the knob, and Miranda fled.

The room she entered had a military feel to it with canvas draping two walls, maps and cabinets along another, and in the center a desk, which, she felt sure, was larger than any of the cages at the Exeter Change.

Mr. Goldsworthy was built on the scale of Chunee, but russet and brown in hue with a great shaggy head and beard. He was like some craggy oak tree in the wood. She understood at once why Wilde and Miranda had resisted bringing her to him.

She strode into the room, took a stand before the great desk, and met the man’s startled gaze at her boldness.

“Miss, you can’t be here,” he said.

Emily stepped forward. The huge desk was taller than her waist. “But here I am. And what’s more, you need my help.”

“Your help?” The bushy brows shot up. “Who are you?”

“Emily Radstock. I’m here to rescue Lynley.” She plucked a pen from the desk.

“Lynley?”

“Sir Ajax Lynley, my betrothed, who has gone after Clive Walhouse and Ravenhurst’s missing papers.” She refused to believe that he’d run away with Lady Ravenhurst. “What’s more, unless you are willing to act at once, there is a very good chance that Lynley’s mission will fail. And I won’t have him sacrificed to your indifference as Malikov was.”

The big man gave her an assessing look. “You seem to know a good deal about matters that are not proper to your sphere, miss.”

“My sphere? You mean the sphere of any subject of His Majesty with a care for the safety and security of Britain?” Emily waved the pen she’d picked up.