To Wed a Scandalous Spy Read Free Page A

equidistant from each other. The chairs were very nearly identical in design, but for slight differences in the fanciful carvings adorning the wooden chair backs. Amid the much overdone greenery depicted there, one could, if one looked carefully, discern a different set of eyes carved into each design.
    One pair of eyes seemed rather reptilian. Another set reminded one of the watchful gaze of a raptor. There were the unmistakable slanting eyes of a fox on yet another seat, and the last depicted the heavy brow and deep-set eyes of a lion.
    The Royal Four had convened.
    Or at any rate, the Royal Two. Present today were only half of the four members of the most select and exclusive of gentlemen's clubs, a handpicked group who secretly advised the Prime Minister and the Crown—four brilliant, principled men with such a depth of honor and commitment to England that no amount of power and promises could sway their conviction.
    They even abandoned names and rank within their secret circle. No "Lord This" or "Earl of That." Here there was only the Fox, the Falcon, the Lion, and the Cobra.
    At the moment, the Lion and the Falcon were at hand. Due to circumstances beyond their control, the Fox and the Cobra were not.
    The Fox had a fairly acceptable excuse. The elderly statesman was on his deathbed, after all, being nursed by his lovely, much-younger wife.
    The Cobra had no such defense, being merely halfway across the country attending to a matter of national security. Yet the Falcon and the Lion carefully avoided any breath of censure against the Cobra. When they did speak of him, their voices dropped slightly lower to a more sympathetic register.
    At the moment, the Lion had his feet up on the ancient central table and the front legs of his chair off the floor. He was a big man, blond and powerful. One only had to look at him to visualize a far-flung Viking traveler chatting up a Norman lady long centuries ago. The Lion quite by chance resembled his title, for the Four were chosen not on looks but on keen intelligence, nearly royal ancestry, and deathless loyalty.
    However, there was no denying he did look like a great cat as he lounged in his chair. The Lion yawned mightily. His cheroot sent a spiral of smoke into the arching heights of the chamber.
    "Must you smoke that in here?" The Falcon grimaced. The Falcon looked nothing like his namesake, unless one counted the intense intelligence behind his sharp eyes. He was tall and lean against the Lion's breadth, but no less powerful in his presence. "Can you not wait until we recess?"
    The Lion blew an irreverent gust of smoke his way. "Won't taste as good later. Forbidden fruit is all the sweeter."
    The Falcon was unimpressed by this argument. "The Fox would have a cat fit if he were here. He holds these chambers nearly sacred."
    The Lion shrugged. "I don't see why. It's simply four rather ugly walls and a grotty old table that I wouldn't allow my dog to eat off." Nonetheless, he pulled his feet in and sat forward to stub out his cigar in a waiting saucer. "We could meet in a public house, for all it matters. It is the office that is sacred, not the chamber. Not even the man who holds the office, apparently."
    They both went silent for a moment, mourning the loss that their comrade had suffered. Not that they wouldn't have done the same—given up all that they treasured for England and the Crown. In that silence, however, echoed the fervent wish they might never be asked to.
    "So has this meeting come to order or not?" The Lion pulled his chair into a more dignified position.
    "We two are it tonight, I fear," said the Falcon. "After contacting the Fox and the Cobra, I informed them that the Liars found documents in the safe of a certain Lord Maywell. These, when decoded, led us to believe that Sir Foster was returning from his self-imposed exile—"
    The Lion grunted. "That's one way of putting it. I prefer 'hiding out under his rock like the cowardly traitorous slug he is.' "
    The