THE summer sun faded into autumn late in the south of France. Indeed, it barely faded at all, which was what Georgina preferred. The months spent in England, through a wet, chilled spring and a tumultuous summer, all in the pursuit of a goal that was just now coming to fruition had taught her an appreciation of the more temperate climates she had grown up with.
A little over a month ago, the Burmese had taken the island of Shapuree, which the British had claims to. All of those weeks of whispered words in the right ears were now bearing fruit, as the Burmese were no longer seen as a nuisance, but a threat to the growing British Empire. The desired war—and the desired profits from it for her employers—would soon follow.
Granted the mess in England had put a slight damper on her reputation, and she bitterly regretted being unable to deliver the coup de grace she needed to send the English into a full Protestant fury, but surely her employers would see the right of the situation, recognize her hard work, and pay her the remaining sum they owed her.
And if they didn’t … well, she had other means by which to take what she was owed.
Thinking about the mess in England set Georgina’s face to a scowl, which did not mesh with the symphony of beauty that was Montpellier in October. She forced her expression to clear, careful that anyone that chanced to look at her face would not know her true feelings. Not that it was likely that anyone would look at her. Even if her arm hadn’t hung limply, loosely at her side, rendered useless by twisting it free from Sarah’s grasp, and then landing badly in her fall, Georgina knew she would be outshone by her newly chosen protégée. Chloe, nineteen, lithe, and French, possessed all the charm and beauty of Jean de Le Bon as well as the more fluid moralities of Mrs. Hill, making her the perfect specimen for this line of work. She was young, moldable, although not yet entirely controlled—but they would work on that. Above all else, Georgina relished control.
She glanced over her shoulder, where Chloe was testing her wiles on the clerk of the grand hotel they were staying at, overlooking the deep blue Mediterranean. If she succeeded, Chloe would be purring with pride, and perhaps their rooms would be gratis that evening. If she didn’t … she was very likely to make the clerk feel as bad as she did. Georgina hid a smile at the thought. Impetuous child, but really the best Georgina could have possibly found, and on such short notice.
Green eyes and golden dresses flashed across her memory. It really was too bad that Sarah Forrester had managed to break through the brittle shell of the Golden Lady. Sarah would have made a fantastic student. The right mix of anger and mischief, an internal person who understood the ladders one must climb. And she seemed to take instruction well. Unfortunate that she had to become besotted by a common navy man … even if he turned out to be rather uncommon. Likely shackled to him by now, turned around completely from bold to insipid in love.
Lieutenant Jackson Fletcher. He had ruined a great deal. Not just her arm, which even now tingled as if it still had feeling. Making her want to twitch and scratch and rage. But Georgina was not one to hold grudges. They took up too much time. After all, she had a business to operate. When people of means needed things done quietly, they called her. It was no place for personal malice … no matter how much the man’s existence irked her.
Oh well, she thought, as she turned her face to the setting sun, letting its last rays of warmth wash over her. It was of little consequence, as Georgina had every intention of minimizing her work in London, and pushing forward with her European ventures. If she ever happened to meet with Jackson Fletcher again, well, she would smile, extend her hand…
And slit his throat.
It really was all about timing.
And Georgina always had a knife at the ready. And one steady, patient hand.