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and skirt the issue—”
    Orlov’s glass thumped down beside the fallen dagger.
    “My, my, such a sensitive skin tonight,
tvaritsch
. But very well, I shall refrain from any further mischief.” His expression sobered. “There is, after all, nothing remotely amusing about this next mission.”
    “Which is?”
    “Our head of Intelligence in Brussels was murdered last week. We have good reason to think it was done by D’Etienne, the same fellow who dispatched the Prussian envoy in Warsaw.”
    “I have heard of him,” murmured Orlov. “He is said to be the most dangerous agent the French have. And very good at what he does.” A wry grimace thinned his lips. “Apparently the rumors are not much exaggerated.”
    “Good, yes.” Yussapov swirled his ruby port. “But not, I trust, as good as you.”
    Muscles tensing, he straightened in his chair. “What is it you want me to do?”
    “Kill him, of course.”
    “Of course,” repeated Orlov softly.
    “As you know, we have resumed negotiations with England about forging an alliance between us and our Western compatriots. Through murder and mayhem, the French hope to disrupt any agreement between our countries.”
    “Where is D’Etienne now?”
    “In Ireland. He’s staying for several weeks to foment trouble with the Irish nationals. From there, we believe he is scheduled to move on to Britain, in order to assassinate Angus McAllister.”
    “The Scottish ballistics expert?” Orlov frowned. “That would indeed be a blow to the British efforts to improve their artillery units.”
    “So you understand the gravity of the situation.”
    He stared at the blood-red refractions of light from the crystal. “You have no need to offer moral explanations. I am far from faint-hearted.”
    “You are human, Alexandr. As am I. I do not ask you to take a life lightly,” said Yussapov quietly. “But however repugnant, the action may save a great many good men.”
    Orlov merely shrugged.
    “You look tired,
tvaritsch
.”
    “I’m not getting any younger,” he snapped.
    A wink of gold flashed in the candlelight as Yussapov toyed with his signet ring. “Perhaps the time has come to think of settling down. Of getting a wife.”
    “God forbid.” He grimaced. “Can you really imagine me legshackled to a proper little London belle or Muscovite miss?”
    The prince contemplated the question for all of five seconds before giving a bark of laughter. “I confess, I cannot picture you leading such an ordinary life.”
    “Work may be a hard mistress, but it’s far preferable to the boredom of matrimony.” A sardonic curl lingered at the corners of his mouth. “I trust you have the logistics for this assignment arranged.”
    “A schooner is ready to sail on the next tide.”
    “Ah, and here I thought I would have a chance to explore the Nordic delights of Stockholm. A pity—a blond Valkyrie would be just the thing to appeal to a man of my tastes.” He rose. “Perhaps next time.”
    The prince pushed a packet of papers across the desk. “All the background details are there, as well as maps and a list of contacts.”
    Orlov slipped it into his coat pocket. “When do you return to St. Petersburg?”
    “I still have several more meetings with the Minister of War and his deputies regarding the Polish question. After that…” He shrugged. “God knows where I shall be. Like you, I am dispatched to wherever it is necessary to fight fire with fire.”
    “Do have a care not to get singed, Yuri.”
    “And you, Alexandr. Contrary to what you think, I
am
a sentimental old fool. I would be greatly upset to hear of your demise. So do try to return in one piece rather than go out in a blaze of glory.”

Chapter Two
    “I am not quite sure what I should do, Charlotte.” The Marquess of Lynsley settled down on the sofa, his coal black coat and pantaloons a somber smudge on the pastel floral chintz. “I do not make a habit of second-guessing my decisions, but in this