Meet Adam Brandon ⊠acutely intelligent and master-swordsman but gradually realising that he isnât yet ready for the future he had previously planned.
Victim of a cruel deception, Camilla Edgerton-Foxe has a jaundiced view of the male sex and a tongue as sharp as her wits ⊠but she also possesses an extraordinary talent.
A peculiar encounter offers Adam the kind of employment for which he is uniquely suited and which will exercise his mind as well as his muscles. The fly in the ointment is that Miss Edgerton-Foxe comes with it ⊠as does Rainham, viscount and master of disguise, with a frequently misplaced sense of humour.
From Paris, via London, to the mists and mysteries of Romney Marsh, these three are sent on the trail of something darker and infinitely more dangerous than the kegs of brandy that come ashore at the dark of the moon.
Meet Adam Brandon ⊠acutely intelligent and master-swordsman but gradually realising that he isnât yet ready for the future he had previously planned.
Victim of a cruel deception, Camilla Edgerton-Foxe has a jaundiced view of the male sex and a tongue as sharp as her wits ⊠but she also possesses an extraordinary talent.
A peculiar encounter offers Adam the kind of employment for which he is uniquely suited and which will exercise his mind as well as his muscles. The fly in the ointment is that Miss Edgerton-Foxe comes with it ⊠as does Rainham, viscount and master of disguise, with a frequently misplaced sense of humour.
From Paris, via London, to the mists and mysteries of Romney Marsh, these three are sent on the trail of something darker and infinitely more dangerous than the kegs of brandy that come ashore at the dark of the moon.
Within twenty minutes of bidding his friends good night and leaving the tavern, Adam Brandon became aware that he was being followed. This was annoying on several counts. He had no idea who would go to the trouble of setting a tail on him or why they would since, just at the moment, he didnât imagine he could be of any particular interest to anyone. Admittedly, that wasnât always true ⊠but right now it was. Then there was the possibility that this wasnât the first time someone had dogged his steps; that it had happened before and he hadnât noticed. That pricked his pride. Heâd thought himself better than that.
He continued on his way without altering his pace. He considered luring the tail into a dark alley where he could be grabbed, pinned to a wall and questioned. It wouldnât be very difficult. On the other hand, it might be premature. There was a chance, however small, that he was merely being followed by the only footpad in Paris stupid enough to tackle an armed man for the sake of a few coins. And that being so, the sensible course was to simply stroll onwards, taking a few sudden detours, to see if the fellow stuck with him. He did ⊠and was still there when Adam reached his lodgings on the Rue des Minimes. With a brief nod for the concierge, he ran swiftly upstairs to the nearest window and was just in time to see his follower raise a hand as if signalling to someone before melting into the shadows on the far side of the street. Not a footpad, thought Adam with a sort of amused grimness. And not alone. What, then? And why? What possible reason could anyone have for wanting to know my every move? But whoever it is, theyâre making a mistake because now Iâll have to do something about it. And thatâs just tiresome.
* * *
On the following day, in between giving a private lesson in swordsmanship to a youthful vicomte and overseeing a lively group fencing session, Adam sought out Emile-Henri Peverell to say, âIs there any reason why I would be of interest to someone? Repercussions from the dâOrsay affair, for example?â
âNot that Iâve heard. What makes you think there might be?â
âI was followed home last night ⊠and not by a footpad.â
âA professional?â âPossibly. Probably. Look out of the window.â
Emile did so. âThe fellow with the newspaper sitting outside CafĂ© Violette?â
âHeâs been there all morning.â
âMaybe heâs a slow reader.â
âAnd an even slower drinker?â returned Adam, acerbically. âI doubt it.â
âSo do I. Shall I send Jacques to watch him?â
âNo. If somebody wants to pay him to sit there all day, let them.â
âIn other words, you will deal with him yourself when youâre ready.â
âYes.â
Neither of them bothered to say what they both knew. If Adam wanted to leave unseen, there were ways to do it. Although it no longer looked like one, the Salle dâArmes had been a theatre until royal decree had ordered its company to combine with that of the ComĂ©die Française. A century of modifications had resulted in numerous peculiarities and more than one discreet exit.
The day wore on. At around three in the afternoon, the man with the newspaper was replaced by another dressed like a lawyerâs clerk and carrying an armful of documents which he settled down to peruse in detail. Adam rolled his eyes. You couldnât fault their tenacity but watching from the same spot for hours didnât exactly help them to remain unnoticed. Whoever was paying them needed to find sharper tools.
He enjoyed an hourâs swordplay with Armand Laroche, one of only a handful of the Salleâs clients who shared his passion for the heavier style of military blade and was also skilled enough to present a challenge. Then he spent the last hour of the afternoon performing the series of exercises he had been taught years ago by a uniquely talented swordsman from Rouen; exercises designed to maintain a peak level of speed, flexibility, strength and grace. And finally, drenched in sweat, he sat down to give his blade the loving care it deserved.
He owned numerous swords. He collected them. Some he had bought and others had been made to his specific requirements. Most, of course, were in his rooms at Brandon Lacey ⊠but he had brought three with him, of which the one currently in his hands was his favourite. Its engraved gilt brass scabbard deceived one into thinking that the weapon inside it would be equally pretty. In fact, the sword was plain to the point of austerity. A Mameluke-style hilt with an ebony grip, a flat cross-guard held by brass studs and a thirtytwo inch blade with a killing edge. But in weight and balance it was a thing of perfect beauty.
Adam left the Salle dâArmes just as dusk was falling and set off at a brisk pace for his lodgings three streets away. He was aware that the âclerkâ had been forced to snatch up his so-called documents in a hurry and was struggling not to drop them whilst scurrying along behind him. Once in his rooms, Adam watched through a chink in the curtains as the fellow disappeared into the building opposite. He continued watching until he saw light at an upper floor window ⊠and then, lighting his own lamp, began readying himself for the evening whilst reflecting that knowing where to find at least one of the spies at any given time might be useful.
He was spending the evening at the ComĂ©die Française. Adam wasnât especially fond of the theatre but there was no escaping it when visiting the Peverells. Theatre, like swordplay, was in their blood and had been for generations; and tonight the entire family â complete with in-laws and cousins to the fourth remove â was turning out to see EmileHenriâs younger sister play her first leading role. So Adam dutifully washed, shaved and donned his best coat of gun-metal grey brocade, all the time wondering if the spy across the street would follow him to the Tuileries. He did â with the result that only half of Adamâs attention was on Tartuffe. The rest of his mind was busy sifting through the various alternatives of what to do after it. Heâd had enough of being secretly watched and intended to put a stop to it.
When the play finally ended, he said all the properly appreciative things to Emile-Henri and asked him to pass on his compliments to Veronique who had been quite splendid. (In truth, Adam didnât know whether she had or not ⊠but she seemed to have remembered her lines and was sufficiently easy on the eye for half the audience not to care if she hadnât.) He politely excused himself from joining everyone for supper and made a leisurely way out of the auditorium, lingering for a few moments in the light of the flambeaux as if merely enjoying the cleaner air outside. Then, secure in the knowledge that the tail was following, he strolled past the Louvre in the general direction of the Tour St. Jacques ⊠and the network of narrow, twisting alleyways surrounding it.
He was just approaching the Pont Neuf when a large fellow blocked his path. Adam watched him tossing a cudgel from hand to hand ⊠and in the same moment, heard footsteps. A brief glance revealed that his faithful tail had arrived three steps behind him.What now? he thought. And then, Doesnât the fool realise Iâve watched him nearly as much as heâs watched me?
The cudgel bearer edged closer and in truly atrocious French demanded his purse. Adam sighed. He didnât want a fight. He was wearing his only decent coat, for Godâs sake. On the other hand, he wasnât about to empty his pockets even if this had been about simple robbery â which, of course, it wasnât.
Flatly and in English, he said, âNo. And youâd be well-advised to get out of my way.â
âYou reckon?â
âI know.â His hand was on his sword-hilt though he had no intention of drawing it against a pair of idiots who didnât know theyâd need more than a cudgel. âMove.â
They moved â but not in the wisest direction. Aware that the tail was the closer of the two, Adam whirled around and slammed an elbow into his throat. The man gave a strangled gurgle and dropped to his knees, clutching his gullet and gasping for air. Adam, meanwhile, spun back to find the cudgel-bearer preparing to whack him across the shoulders. Pulling his sword part-way out of its sheath, he used the hilt to clip the fellow hard under the jaw. He, too, dropped like a stone.
âNext time,â he said to the tail who, though still looking sick, was struggling to regain his feet, âperhaps youâll heed a piece of good advice when youâre given it.â
Then letting his blade slide back into the scabbard and straightening his cuffs, he sauntered calmly on his way. He didnât go far. At the first opportunity, he slid into the concealing shadows of a gateway and waited.
He could hear a rasping voice urging his unconscious comrade to wake up; and in due course, a series of groans as the man seemed to be doing so. Then, the first voice again. âYou gotta get up, Cooper. We was to report to His Nibs right after.â
More groans and a muffled curse, followed by, âAlright, alright. Just gimme a minute.â And finally sounds of Cooper heaving himself to his feet.
Good, thought Adam. Iâd like a word with His Nibs myself. He remained motionless until, hearing unsteady footsteps moving away, he judged it possible to quit the gateway unseen. Apparently holding each other up, the pair were taking the Rue Pont Neuf towards Les Halles. Adam waited a little longer and then, silent as a ghost, set off after them.
Progress, slow at first, grew a little brisker after they turned in the direction of the Place VendĂŽme. Too busy grumbling to each other, neither of them bothered to look over their shoulders. Adam shook his head over such carelessness and continued following at a discreet distance. At the corner of the Rue Royale, the pair disappeared into an elegant building which he guessed housed a number of equally elegant apartments.
He gave his would-be attackers time to get inside before entering the building himself. As heâd expected, a concierge asked â somewhat long-sufferingly â whom he wished to visit. Adam held up two louis dâor and said, âThe same one as the men who just arrived.â
The concierge eyed the coins for a long moment as if debating turning him away or asking for more money. Finally, however, he held out his hand and said, âSecond floor.â
Nodding his thanks, Adam let the coins fall, set his foot to the stairs and ran lightly upwards. Since there must be at least three men in the second floor apartment â possibly more â he supposed he ought to be plunging into the unknown with a little more caution. Instead, he found himself looking forward to seeing their faces. Reaching the door he wanted, he paused for a moment to listen to the rumble of voices within. Three? Or perhaps four? He couldnât tell. He considered knocking ⊠then wondered how likely it was that the door had been locked behind the recent arrivals. Not very, he decided.
Wrapping his fingers about the handle, he pushed slightly. The door gave. With a fatalistic shrug, Adam shoved it wide. Four men; two of them well-dressed, the older one seated, the younger coming hurriedly from his chair; and his former attackers wheeling to meet him, fists raised.
âWhat the hell --?â began the man who had risen to meet him. And in the same moment, âCooper, Black â stand down!â ordered the other.
There was a momentâs silence as everyone looked at everyone else.
Adam closed the door behind him and leaned against it, his eyebrows raised. âWell, gentlemen?â
The man who was clearly in charge gave a small appreciative nod and stood up. âGood evening, Mr Brandon ⊠and my congratulations. Youâve surprised me.â
Adam inclined his head in polite acknowledgement. âThank you. But you have the advantage of me, sir.â
âMy name is Goddard and my colleague here is Martin Fletcher. Cooper and Black you have already met. They were just describing their ⊠slight fracas ⊠with you.â
âThat canât have taken long. But I donât appreciate being watched, followed and attacked in the street â however unsuccessfully. An explanation wouldnât go amiss.â
âAnd you shall have one,â promised Goddard. âBut first I think we may dispense with Messrs Cooper and Black. Show them out, Martin ⊠and please find out exactly how Mr Brandon was allowed to follow them right to my door.â
âSir.â Fletcher nodded and gestured for the two men to precede him. Adam moved unhurriedly aside to let them pass. He was aware that, while Black merely looked surly, Cooperâs expression suggested heâd like to go another round. Adam raised a provocative brow as they passed.
âWill you sit and take a glass of wine?â asked Goddard. And when Adam did not immediately reply, âThe explanation you want may take some time. But perhaps it will help if I start by confessing that tonightâs attack was in the nature of a small test.â
âA test of what? Whether Iâd allow myself to be robbed or beaten to a pulp?â
âOf how far you would go to defend yourself,â corrected Goddard gently. He turned away to pour wine, having apparently no qualms in offering his unprotected back. âThe sword you wear is not a toy and I am aware that you are exceptionally skilled at using it. I wanted to know if, when provoked, drawing it would be your first instinct.â
Adam stared at him. âYou risked two menâs lives to test my instincts?â
âYes. What I already knew of you suggested it wasnât so great a gamble.â He turned back, holding out a glass. âI donât work with men who wound or kill unnecessarily, you see.â
âIâve never killed anyone,â snapped Adam. âIf youâd asked, I could have told you that. As for any possibility of my working for you --â
âSit down, Mr Brandon. And please hear what I have to say before you refuse. I guarantee youâll find it interesting. You may even find it tempting.â The door opened on Mr Fletcher, âAh. Excellent timing, Martin. What did Cooper and Black have to say for themselves?â
âExcuses, mostly. But they eventually admitted that our friend here took them down in one move apiece.â He looked at Adam. âDid you?â
âYes.â
âDespite which it never occurred to them that you might follow,â growled Fletcher disgustedly. Then, to his superior, âIâm sorry, sir. I knew Black was a blockhead but I thought Cooper knew his business. If anyone else had been available --â
âBut they were not,â said Goddard. âLook on the bright side, Martin. Mr Brandon has ably demonstrated that I was not mistaken in him.â
âMr Brandon,â said Adam crisply, âis waiting to hear why heâs been dogged by a pair of incompetents since yesterday. And heâd rather it didnât take all night.â
âTake the wine, sit down, employ a little patience â and it wonât.â Goddard spoke pleasantly but with unmistakable authority.
Adam took in the powdered hair, the unostentatious but obviously expensive tailoring and the steely glint in the otherwise unremarkable grey eyes. Whoever this fellow was, he was accustomed to being obeyed without question. Adam found he could respect that though, at present, he didnât particularly like it. So he accepted the glass and took the nearest chair, saying, âVery well. Iâm listening.â
âThank you.â Goddard resumed his own seat. âI am the head of a lesser-known government department â the purpose of which I will explain to you presently. You were brought to my attention by my old friend, the Chevalier dâOrsay. When he became a victim of blackmail, he informed me that you resolved the situation with great efficiency and discretion ⊠two qualities I prize above all others and which suggested that you might be a suitable addition to my small but multi-talented team.â
âIf the two I met tonight are anything to go by,â remarked Adam, setting his untouched glass aside, âthat is scarcely flattering.â
âOh for Godâs sake!â muttered Fletcher. âCooper and his ilk are merely paid to do as theyâre told without asking why. They arenât agents.â
âQuite so,â agreed Goddard. âBut to resume ⊠might be suitable was not good enough to justify my meeting you.â
âMeaning what, precisely?â
âMeaning that I first needed to know a great deal about you.â
Adam felt his temper starting to rise. âSuch as what?â
âSuch as your background and personal habits. Enquiries have been made and, as you are aware, I have recently been having you watched. The results of all this are encouraging. Your older brother, the baron, remains largely in Yorkshire tending the family estates with some assistance from your younger one. Your mother is a widow and your sister is married to the gentleman commonly known as the Virtuoso Earl and who was very recently the darling of Paris. As for yourself ⊠you appear to have no skeletons in the closet or any of the usual vices. You donât drink to excess; you donât gamble; and if you have a mistress, I congratulate you on conducting your liaison so discreetly that I have been unable to discover it. There is, in fact, only one thing that counts against you.â
A pulse was beating in Adamâs jaw â the only sign of the outrage that was bubbling inside him. He said, âOnly one? Thatâs a relief. But youâll have to enlighten me.â
Ignoring the icily sarcastic tone, Goddard said, âThe connection between your family and the Duke of Rockliffe is a point of concern.â
This was unexpected. âWhy?â
âHis Grace has a habit of learning things one would rather he didnât,â replied Goddard wryly. And seeing a shift in Adamâs expression, âAh. You didnât know that.â
âNo. Iâm barely acquainted with him. Can you get to the point?â
Mr Goddard took his time considering the matter. Finally he said, âThat rather depends on whether or not you are prepared to listen with an open mind. If you are not, I will waste no more of either your time or mine â nor will I give you information you do not need to have.â He leaned back, his smile faint and glacial. âWell, Mr Brandon? What is it to be?â
Some of Adamâs anger converted itself into curiosity. Grudgingly, he supposed that men with loose mouths didnât become section chiefs in government departments; he was also beginning to suspect that this particular department was âlesser-knownâ for a reason ⊠which suggested that all this cloak-and-dagger stuff might actually be necessary.
He said slowly, âAll right. Iâll hear you out and give what you say due consideration.â
âAnd keep it to yourself afterwards â regardless of the outcome?â
âYes. That, too.â
âGood. I should begin by admitting that my department has no official title and is generally referred to as M Section â M standing for miscellaneous, which leads to the assumption that my people deal with unimportant loose ends. This isnât entirely untrue but neither is it by any means the whole story. Some of what we do â such as the business which has brought me to Paris on this occasion â can loosely be described as diplomacy. But our primary function is dealing with situations which have the potential to cause embarrassment in high places â namely, the Crown, the government, the military or any other prominent organisation.â Goddard paused briefly and then said, âQuestions?â
âYes. It sounds as if it ought to be called The Gentlemanâs Secret Protection Society,â said Adam frankly. âIf it is that, I have no interest in it.â
âIf it was that, neither would I,â agreed Goddard. âWe donât mop up the indiscriminate messes of the aristocracy. We deal with serious issues and our instructions come from top ranking officials. Absolute discretion is vital â as I hope you can appreciate.â
Adam nodded but reflected that he couldnât see himself making a career of something that sounded like a cross between spying and the Bow Street runners. He said so.
âThere are similarities, of course. But matters requiring espionage are the province of the Intelligence Service. As an agent of M Section you would most likely find yourself resolving situations not unlike the one affecting the Chevalier dâOrsay. And you would not have to make a career of it â which brings us to the part you may find tempting.â
âTry me.â âMuch of our work is, by its very nature, spasmodic. There are sometimes weeks or even months when our particular skills are not required which means that, with the exception of myself and Mr Fletcher â he being my second-in-command â all other operatives are kept on retainer. When called upon, they are expected to serve and are paid generously for their time and efforts. For the rest, they are free to live as they choose. Two of my current agents hold titles and the responsibilities that go with them. One sits in the House of Commons and another is a professor at Oxford University. You, if you were to join us, would be free to combine any personal ambitions you may have with fulfilling the occasional commission. For example, if you are considering matrimony in the near future --â
âIâm not.â
âAh. Well ⊠I am merely pointing out that your life could proceed largely as normal.â
âI had rather supposed,â remarked Fletcher thoughtfully, âthat your ambition was to establish a Salle dâArmes offering serious swordplay as well as fencing. Is it?â
It had been. Certainly he and his friend, Felix Jordan, had talked of little else at university. Theyâd planned their partnership and every detail of the imaginary future Salle down to the last floorboard. So yes, that had been his ambition and he supposed it still was; just ⊠not yet. Heâd enjoyed helping out in Emileâs salon but had recently become aware that he wasnât ready to settle into the role of tutor; for a time, at least, he wanted something more. So perhaps this â which sounded as if it might be stimulating and even offer an occasional frisson of risk â might be it.
Goddard had been regarding him steadily and with patience. Finally, he said, âYou are considering it, I see. Good. Since it is unlikely that I will return to London before the turn of the month you may continue doing so.â He held out his card and, when Adam took it, added, âThat is the address of my office. If I do not hear from you by the middle of June, I will assume you have decided against joining us.â
Adam drew in a long breath and prepared to throw his future into the melting pot of chance. âIâll say yes now if we can agree terms.â
Fletcherâs eyes widened slightly. Goddard looked faintly amused. âTerms, Mr Brandon?â he queried gently. âWhose? Yours or mine?â
âBoth. Provide clearer information about what might be required of me and what Iâd be paid for doing it ⊠and Iâll agree to a trial period of six months. I think that is reasonable.â
âDo you indeed?â Goddard came to his feet, indicating that the meeting was coming to a close. âUnfortunately, however, that is not how this works. Come to me in London, Mr Brandon ⊠and we will have further discussions then.â
* * *
When the door closed behind their unexpected guest, Martin Fletcher rose to pour more wine and said, âStern-looking fellow, isnât he?â
âVery.â Goddard accepted the glass and nodded his thanks. âBut what one notices most about him is that he doesnât waste words.â
âHe certainly has no problem coming directly to the point. Am I right in thinking that youâve something specific in mind for him?â
âYes. When I can persuade her to stop hiding in the country and return to London, I believe he might work well with Millie.â
âMillie?â Fletcher stared at him. âYou canât mean it! Since the Staplehurst debacle, the only men she can stomach have been you, her brother and Rory Farthing.â
âFarthing has withdrawn his services due to impending fatherhood and will probably retire permanently. If and when Millie resumes her position, she will need a replacement.â
âAnd you think that Brandon will suit?â
âDonât you?â
âNo. Sheâll chew him up and spit out the pieces.â
âShe will try. But I suspect that young man will give as good as he gets ⊠and without ever losing one iota of that chilly courtesy. When Millie comes to terms with that, I believe they could make a very effective team.â
~ * * ~ * *
Â
Master swordsman and eligible bachelor Adam Brandon undertakes a covert mission to expose a smuggling operation â and win the heart of the taleâs wilful heroine â in this historical romance.
The novel opens in Paris, where the mysterious Goddard eyes Adamâs potential for espionage and pursues him as a recruit to the equally oblique âM Sectionâ (12). Despite Adamâs âicily sarcasticâ (12) demeanour and âchilly courtesyâ (15), his interest is piqued by the prospect of such âcloak-and-dagger stuffâ (15). The role sees Adam travel to London where he undergoes extensive training â think Georgian-era James Bond â and encounters adamantine singleton and fellow M Section member, Camilla (Millie) Edgerton-Foxe. Following a crushing betrayal by her husband-to-be, the defensive Millie wears her single status like a suit of armour and views all men with scepticism. Enter Adam, and cue verbal sparring and witty exchanges ĂĄ la Shakespeareâs Beatrice and Benedick. For seasoned fans of historical romance, the narrative signpost couldnât be pointing the way any more clearly â predictability that is as familiar and reassuring as it is clichĂ©d. When Millie insists on retreating into spinsterhood at her family home, Dragon Hall, Adam is charged with accompanying her. It is here, on this marshy stretch of Kent coastline, that he is to discharge his assignment. A gradually thawing Millie reluctantly joins forces with the protagonist, realising that âhis morals [are] as good as his mannersâ (155). Oneâs interest is maintained in the action via a certain element of tension and suspense: Is Millieâs erstwhile younger brother Guy, heir to Dragon Hall, somehow involved in the illegal goings-on? Can the pointed and guarded silence of the locals ever be penetrated? Will Adamâs legendary swordsmanship be called into action? Will hero and heroine turn out to be the âvery effective teamâ (15) Goddard prophesied? Across 37 chapters, Riley judiciously unfolds an accretion of detail, expounded with the confidence of an author who knows her niche. The tropes of the genre do make an appearance â for instance, there are references to âfirm, perfectly-proportioned torsosâ and âneat, well-defined muscleâ (174); then we have the female protagonist whose defences are ultimately infiltrated by the male love interest. But there is an element of tongue-in-cheek humour to counteract the platitudes: Millieâs references to fainting and having the âvapoursâ (174) at the sight of male flesh could even be interpreted as subversive. These characters are somewhat more hinterland than the usual stereotypes of historical fiction.
An accomplished and agreeable yarn that delivers on the expectations of the historical romance genre.