‘Perhaps—but early intelligence suggests the information is sound. Certainly, both Camborne and Penhurst have recently enjoyed a significant lift in their previously ailing fortunes, both are well connected and both have estates which abut the shoreline.’
‘I agree. There are too many coincidences for us to ignore it.’ And Seb was chomping at the bit to get back in the field now that he was as fit as a fiddle. ‘I can have my men tracking the beaches by tomorrow night.’ Already his mind was racing through the logistics. Two simultaneous missions left the King’s Elite spread very thin.
‘I know Camborne. Our fathers were friends,’ said Flint, all business.
‘Which is exactly why I’m sending you home to rusticate in Cornwall. Infiltrate his circle and learn the lay of the land.’ Fennimore turned abruptly to Seb. ‘And I want you to befriend Penhurst.’
Seb commanded the Invisibles. Highly skilled operatives who lived in the shadows and watched. He preferred to blend in and never stand out. Never, ever stand out. ‘I don’t befriend people.’
‘This time you do.’
‘With all due respect, sir, Warriner is back from his honeymoon in three weeks. Wouldn’t it be better to wait for him? We have always worked to our own strengths. You, yourself, selected us based on them and he’s the one with the talent for befriending.’ Jake Warriner oozed charm and enjoyed society. Basically, he was the exact opposite of Seb. ‘Meanwhile, I can lay the groundwork. Infiltrate his staff.’
‘I’m well aware of his areas of expertise, Leatham, but we don’t have three weeks. Penhurst is hosting a house party for his friends in less than a fortnight and I need you to be there. It’s too good an opportunity to miss. You can poke around the grounds and pay close attention to the man and his comings and goings. Your particular area of expertise.’
Lord Fennimore had clearly gone mad. ‘And how exactly am I supposed to befriend a total stranger and secure an invitation to his house in just two weeks?’ They all knew Seb had no standing in the ton. He’d always avoided it, for obvious reasons. He was a completely unknown entity and blissfully content to remain so. Stepping foot into the same elevated ranks as his father would make Seb uneasy. He hated the nagging doubts that went alongside not being born good enough and really didn’t need a reminder of his place in the world. He felt his hand automatically trace the scar on his cheek, the reward he had received the last time he’d openly set foot in Mayfair. Since that day, he had remained resolutely in the shadows where he belonged. ‘I know no one.’
‘Which makes you perfect for the mission. One thing we do know about the Boss is he likes his minions to recruit like-minded fellows into his network. He relies on that ready and waiting line of succession to slot in when the others fall by the wayside.’ A very polite way of saying those that displeased the as-yet-unidentified master of the dangerous organised smuggling ring, or had ceased to be useful to him, tended to wind up dead. ‘We’ve created an alias for you. Lord Sebastian Millcroft—originally from Lancashire because we all know few in society venture further north than is absolutely necessary and there won’t be enough time to check your credentials. But even if they have knowledge of the area, your family were minor gentry at most. You emigrated with them to the Antipodes as a babe, where they promptly died and left you to flounder by yourself. Only recently are you returned to English soil, your pockets stuffed with the huge fortune you have made on the other side of the globe from slightly dubious means, seeking interesting investment opportunities now that you are finally home.’ Fennimore pulled open the drawer in his desk and withdrew a pile of books. ‘Reading material to aid you in embellishing your new history.’
Seb stared at them with distaste. Not so much because of the reading, but because what Fennimore was proposing involved socialising. With peers. And ladies. Lots of ladies. He’d much rather be shot again. ‘But, sir...’
Fennimore held up his hand. ‘You make your first appearance in society tonight. As the honoured guest of the Earl of Upminster. He has been briefed on your mission and will give credence to your new identity. Penhurst will be in attendance and Upminster will introduce you. From there, it will be down to you. I trust you to do your duty and get into the man’s house!’
Seb looked to Flint for support, but his friend merely grinned. ‘I wish I could be there to see it.’ Because they both knew it would be carnage.
‘Hadleigh here has been drafted in so that we can act swiftly if and when the pair of you gather enough evidence for their arrests. We don’t want either to invoke Privilege of Peerage and avoid trial. As soon as we have proof of treason, Hadleigh will race through impeachment proceedings and have them stripped of their titles. Time is of the essence here, gentleman. If we work fast, we could make some serious inroads into the Boss’s supply lines. They have no idea we have intercepted the message. Within a few hours of receiving it, it arrived safely at its destination with the recipient none the wiser. As far as Penhurst and Camborne are concerned, it’s business as usual. For now, we watch and we wait. When we take them down, I want it to hurt the Boss significantly. I don’t want one packet or twenty. I want to obliterate his stronghold in the south just as we did the Thames. In the meantime, Hadleigh will assist me in scrutinising all aspects of their lives here in town and see if we can find out how they are moving the money while my two best men discover exactly how they make it.’
Seb didn’t share his superior’s faith in his abilities. ‘Perhaps there is another way I can get inside Penhurst’s house. Big estates always need workers. That is how I’ve always operated before.’ Playing the servant was much more Seb’s style. Working men, their aspirations and their mindset, he understood. Aristocrats, in the main, were a complete mystery.
‘Jobs for your Invisibles, Leatham. I need my most trusted field agents shadowing the ringleaders.’
‘But I don’t have anything to wear!’ Had that pathetic sentence just come out of his mouth? Judging by the bark of laughter from his supposed friend on his right, it had. As excuses went, even forlorn, last-hope excuses, Seb was prepared to acknowledge that one had been pretty dire. The King’s Elite had all been meticulously selected for their resourcefulness and adaptability. Two attributes he had always possessed in spades. As did his superior.
Lord Fennimore pinned him with an icy glare that would curdle milk. ‘Your attire has been taken care of. I assumed your measurements are much the same as they were last December when we had that footman’s uniform made for you and your fancy wardrobe should be winging its way to your new lodgings as we speak.’
‘New lodgings?’ Things were going from bad to worse. Seb liked his secluded little apartment in Cheapside, sandwiched between the rich and poor of London. It was the perfect place to blend in and to escape from his work. Like him, it fitted somewhere in between both classes so he didn’t have to pretend to be one or the other. Which he wasn’t and never would be. Unease began to churn away in his belly. With his background, surely Lord Fennimore wouldn’t...
‘Of course you have new lodgings! You’re supposed to be in possession of a huge fortune. A fortune to lure money-grabbing criminals to crawl out of the woodwork! You have full use of a town house in Grosvenor Square.’
Still Mayfair, but at least not Berkeley Square. That was a little too close to his past for comfort. Then the perfect excuse struck him. ‘And what if my dear brother sees me?’
‘Thetford? He hasn’t clapped eyes on you in what? Fifteen years?’ Almost to the day. Seb still remembered his mother being evicted from the hunting lodge on his father’s estate just hours after the man had been declared dead. His long and terrifying journey to Mayfair alone to plead for their home. He’d been a boy. Only thirteen. His childhood had come to a shuddering halt soon after, but he had learned a valuable lesson. A man of his status could never trust the aristocracy. ‘I doubt he’d know you if you spat