My Wicked Little Lies. Victoria Alexander

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      She chose her words with care. “It seems to me, if one is concerned with secrecy, putting this kind of information into a single file is rather, well, stupid.”

      “In hindsight perhaps,” he said sharply. “Do not forget this is still a governmental department, and when one’s superiors make a request, one complies without question.”

      She raised a brow. “My, my, we are sensitive about—” A thought struck her and she gasped. “It was stolen from you, wasn’t it?”

      He huffed. “That’s neither here nor there at the moment.”

      “It was, wasn’t it?” She tried and failed to hide a grin.

      “It’s not amusing,” he snapped. “I would trust no one else with something of this importance and whoever arranged the theft knew that.” He glared at her. “I was set upon by thugs and rendered unconscious by the use of chloroform.” He shuddered. “Nasty stuff.”

      “And when you woke up?”

      “When I woke up, the file was gone and I was ...”

      “You were?”

      He hesitated.

      “Don’t stop now. If I am to be involved in this, I need to know all of it.”

      “Very well,” he snapped. “I woke up naked in a most disreputable brothel.”

      She choked back a laugh. “As opposed to a reputable brothel?”

      He ignored her. “It was most awkward.”

      “Because you have never been in a brothel before?” she said sweetly.

      “One does not purchase what one has always had for free.”

      She stared at him, then laughed. “You have certainly not changed.”

      “Unfortunately, I have,” he said under his breath. “Lady Waterston.” He leaned forward and met her gaze. “Because you are no longer an agent and because your real name is not included in the records here, you can act without suspicion. If you noticed, I asked you here on a day when few people are in these offices. Those that are have been sent on errands. All to preserve your privacy.” He paused. “In truth, what I need from you is fairly minimal.”

      “I can scarcely go back to being Miss Turner, an unmarried heiress with a penchant for travel and parties. Without the wealth, of course,” she added wryly.

      “No, but you are now Lady Waterston, who is welcome at very nearly any social event.”

      “Yes, I suppose.”

      “Your presence would be unremarkable at those events where mine might be noted. In spite of my title and my family connections, I am little more than the head of an unimportant government office concerned with minimally important trade.”

      She sighed. “Go on.”

      “I am close to discovering where the file may be located. All I ask of you is to recover it.”

      “That’s all?”

      “That’s all,” he said quickly although it did seem he hesitated for no more than the beat of his heart. She might have been mistaken and it had been some time since she’d trusted—or needed to trust—her instincts, but instinct was telling her now that he was not being entirely forthright.

      “What aren’t you telling me?”

      He considered her question, obviously deciding how much to reveal. “The file contains the names of the last three men who headed this organization. The first died a few months ago.”

      She raised a brow. “By foul play?”

      “It’s impossible to say. He was elderly and appears to have died in his sleep. But you and I both know how easy it is to make death appear natural.”

      “Only by hearsay.” She narrowed her eyes. “If you recall, I was never in a position where such measures were necessary.”

      “Nor will you be now.” He shook his head. “It could well be coincidence especially since his death was several months ago. But it should not be discounted completely.”

      “Sir’s name is in that file, isn’t it?”

      “It is.”

      “I would think he would wish to handle this.” She thought for a moment. “Was this his idea? To bring me back?”

      “He knows nothing about it.”

      She pulled her brows together. “Don’t you think you should tell him?”

      “I see no need for that.” His gaze met hers. “Sir left the department at very nearly the same time you did.”

      “I see.” Relief again washed through her. She had no desire to resume their correspondence. Sir was a road not taken and such roads were best left in the past. She drew a deep breath. “The days of my slipping into a house in the dead of night are long over,” she warned. “As are my days of eliciting information by means of my charm alone.”

      “Understandable.” He nodded.

      “A certain amount of deceit will no doubt be necessary, but I have never lied to my husband and I do not intend to do so now.”

      “Come now, all women lie to their husbands.”

      “I don’t.” Indignation drew her brows together. “I have never had any need to.”

      “You’ve never hidden a bill from a dressmaker you did not want him to see?”

      “No.”

      “You’ve never said you were going one place when you went somewhere else altogether?”

      “Certainly not.”

      “You’ve never told your husband another gentleman’s flirtatious manner was less than it actually was?”

      “Of course not.” She cast him a pitying look. “You know nothing at all about women. Most of us do not lie as a matter of course. It’s not surprising that you aren’t married.”

      “I know a great deal about women, which is precisely why I am not married. And you all lie, each and every one of you.”

      She ignored him. “You should find a wife. You’re not getting any younger. Fair-haired men do not age well. All that boyish charm and that handsome face of yours will not last forever.”

      He cast her a devilish grin. “And yet, both continue to serve me well.”

      “You haven’t changed at all.” She rose to her feet and he stood. “Mark my words, one day you’re considered dashing and desirable and the next you’re a lecherous old goat.”

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