Saving Shadow: A Regency Spy Romance (The Beckett Files Book 1) Read online

  Laura Beers

  Contents

  More Romance by Laura Beers

  Prologue

  1. London, England, 1813

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Epilogue

  Coming Soon

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Text copyright © 2017 by Laura Beers

  Cover art copyright © 2019 by Laura Beers

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored, copied, or transmitted without the prior written permission of the copyright owner. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Created with Vellum

  More Romance by Laura Beers

  A Peculiar Courtship

  To Love a Spy

  A Tangled Ruse

  A Deceptive Bargain

  The Baron’s Daughter

  The Unfortunate Debutante

  Prologue

  Italy, 1809

  Lady Elizabeth Beckett pulled her brother’s bulky wool overcoat tighter against her body in a vain attempt to ward off the night chill as she hurried along the quiet street. Her quick, darting steps sought equal amounts of speed and silence, and she regretted not trading her stylish kid ankle boots for something sturdier as she avoided another treacherous hole in the worn cobblestone.

  Eliza suddenly froze, pressing herself against the cold stone of a building that offered meager concealment in its shadows. Some thirty yards ahead, Lord Jonathon Beckett stopped and glanced backwards, prior to ducking into an alley.

  Tugging at the cloth cap concealing her chestnut brown hair, she hastened to follow her brother. She bunched his overcoat at the waist of her thin muslin dinner dress and ran towards the alley into which he had disappeared. Slowing as she approached the alley, Eliza paused at the corner, doubts once again rising in her mind.

  What did she think she was doing? Jonathon would be furious if he even suspected she had followed him from their rented apartment, despite his refusal night after night to answer her questions about his nighttime departures. Overwhelming curiosity had compelled her to begin this impromptu pursuit, and she would now see it through despite the possibility of facing her brother’s ire if she was caught following him.

  After all, it was not as though Jonathon had reason to distrust her. They had worked together on sensitive assignments for almost a year now! Yet he still dismissed her questions and chided her to focus on her own tasks. Did he doubt her abilities? Her commitment?

  Dangerous and important work was something of a family business, after all. Eliza’s Uncle Charles served as England’s chief spymaster and was responsible for all agents of the Crown. Jonathon had been recruited by their uncle four years before and had brought many sensitive missions to successful conclusions, both official diplomatic ones and undercover assignments. Eliza’s father, the Duke of Remington, had begun to permit her to accompany her brother on diplomatic missions shortly before her seventeenth birthday, and Uncle Charles had seen a rare opportunity for her to use these diplomatic visits to gather intelligence for England.

  Jonathon, who was five years her senior, was responsible for meeting with foreign governments, in lieu of the Duke of Remington, to continue to rally support for England in their ongoing war against France. Even though he would be in meetings during the day, the evening festivities were equally important to garner support and allowed them to exhibit English grandeur by their fashionable dress and jewels.

  These diplomatic visits permitted Eliza to have access to a wide range of homes and offices throughout the world. As a young noblewoman, she had the advantage of being easily overlooked during dinner parties and official gatherings.

  More importantly, unsuspecting servants often left her to wander unattended during the day, carefully avoiding gentlemen whose sole purpose seemed to be to flirt with her. She regularly found herself free to investigate offices and studies in embassies and homes, a veritable cache of poorly-guarded secrets.

  She had also taught herself to pick locks, and with a few simple and easily-concealed tools, she could gain access to nearly any room she desired.

  Eliza possessed a remarkable memory, and she quickly confirmed Uncle Charles’ confidence in her by demonstrating she could locate a document, absorb its contents, and faithfully reproduce the information later with great accuracy. She would peruse the unguarded desks and bureaus of dignitaries, ambassadors, and even royal family members during her visits, and found a wealth of information available to her. Military communications revealing troop locations, personal correspondence between high officials, and even evidence of lovers’ trysts and scandalous goings-on passed before the young spy’s eyes.

  After reading as much as she was able without being noticed or interrupted, she would return to the privacy of her chambers and copy down the information she had gleaned. When her brother found a free moment amid his meetings and other duties, she would pass him the handwritten pages, and Jonathon would secretly transfer the documents to other awaiting agents at his soonest opportunity.

  If she found herself with the luxury of additional time, Eliza would also rapidly copy coded messages she discovered carelessly stuffed into drawers or left beneath other documents on a desk. She had shown an aptitude for deciphering codes while quite young, and she often as not was able to pass Jonathon already-deciphered messages along with the encoded texts she had copied.

  The responsibilities of an agent had been exhilarating at first, but despite the constant risk of being caught in one of her acts of espionage, Eliza soon grew tired of merely handing off papers to Jonathon, then sitting demurely in her room waiting for the next assignment. Agents of the Crown were called upon to perform much grander deeds than clerical work, she knew, and she believed that this was a path to the adventure that her mundane life so desperately lacked.

  So here she was, creeping along Florentine streets in the cold and dark, hoping that Jonathon would not detect her trailing him. Eliza admitted to herself that she did not fully know what she hoped to accomplish with this outing, but it certainly had been more exciting than retiring for the evening.

  Eliza reached beneath her garments to grip a concealed dagger and edged around the corner into the alleyway. Her senses were immediately assaulted by the stench of rotting food and the pungent reek of urine. She pulled the collar of her overcoat up over her nose and pressed on, stepping around a pile of discarded waste.

  She was vaguely aware of crumbling stone archways and a haphazard arrangement of architectural styles butting up against each other, but she focused on her path, taking care that her boots did not slip or make too much noise, and trying not to think about the contents of the dark puddles of rank liquid that dotted the a
lley.

  Finally, Jonathon’s silhouette took shape in the darkness ahead. Beyond her brother, Eliza could just make out a man gesturing wildly. She crouched and crept a few feet closer, taking advantage of a stone doorway recessed enough to allow her to remain hidden.

  Eliza saw the other man repeatedly throw up his hands in obvious frustration, but she could only discern snippets of the heated conversation. It slowly became apparent that this man was a fellow agent and the topic was an upcoming mission. Although she wished she could hear the entirety of what was being discussed, she did not dare get any closer for fear of discovery.

  Her legs started to ache from crouching so long, and she began to lower herself to a sitting position. As she pressed her shoulder against the doorway, staying quietly concealed, she heard muffled footsteps coming slowly towards her. Eliza pulled the coat’s collar over her face and held herself motionless.

  The footsteps passed by. She risked a look and saw the slowly receding form of a stocky man with tangled hair pulled back and tied at the neck. Eliza’s eyes moved down the man’s form as he crept stealthily on, and her heart leapt into her throat when she glimpsed the long, thin form of a stiletto pressed close against his thigh.

  Jonathon’s voice was louder now as he continued to argue with the agent, but neither man seemed to notice the threat moving towards them in the darkness. “Turn around,” Eliza muttered under her breath. “Just turn around, Jonathon.” Her mind raced. If she shouted a warning, the man might still attack and have the advantage. She must act.

  Eliza carefully stood, steadying herself against the stone door frame and slipping off the unwieldy overcoat. The night chill pierced her thin dress, but she dared not risk entangling her arm.

  She stepped clear of the doorway, feeling the dagger’s familiar heft as she calculated the distance and angle to the creeping man. He was ten paces from Jonathon’s back… nine, steadily closing in… eight. Her pulse pounded in her ears. She had spent hundreds of hours practicing with this dagger, and even killed small game in the presence of her uncle’s game warden, but she had never anticipated she would ever have to attack a person. Could I really…

  The stiletto in the man’s hand began to rise, and Eliza’s mind snapped into focus. She took a deep breath, planted her foot, and threw her dagger fiercely at the center of the shadowy form.

  The blade found its mark and plunged deep into the man’s back. He cried out in pain and shock, falling to his knees and twisting in vain to reach the dagger. Jonathon and the agent whirled around at the man’s cry, pistols drawn, but the would-be assassin merely coughed and slumped forward onto a pile of excrement.

  The two men raised their pistols in Eliza’s direction and peered into the darkness. She remained motionless until Jonathon’s voice rang out.

  “Eliza?” Jonathon exclaimed in disbelief, lowering his pistol.

  “Yes, it is I. How you did not notice that man approaching you with a stiletto is beyond me,” she said, rubbing her arms to ward off the chill. She stooped to retrieve the overcoat from the ground and quickly put it on. Eliza winced as a stench hit her, realizing too late she had dropped the coat into some foul substance, but it was too cold to remove it again.

  Jonathon replaced his pistol in the waistband of his trousers as he walked over to the dead man. He placed his foot on the man’s back and yanked out the dagger. He crouched down and wiped the blade clean of blood using the man’s coat, then paused to examine the weapon, running his thumb slowly over the jewels embedded in the ornate hilt. He approached his sister and held the dagger out to her.

  “Father’s dagger?” he asked through gritted teeth.

  “Yes,” Eliza confirmed, taking the weapon and placing it into a pocket of the overcoat.

  Jonathon let out a gruff sigh which sounded more like a growl. “And are you wearing my overcoat?”

  Eliza raised her eyes to Jonathon’s face. Even in the darkness, she could see the firm straight line of his lips and his eyes blazing with fury. “Are you angry?” she asked, slowly wringing her hands together. “I have just saved your…”

  Jonathon put his hand up to silence her. He looked ready to explode into a rebuke, when the other agent stepped close to Jonathon and touched his shoulder. The agent leaned in to murmur something into Jonathon’s ear, and Eliza’s eyes widened as she caught sight of the man’s muscular chest beneath his open white shirt. She glanced up, taking in the long brown hair that hung down the sides of his face and partially concealed a shabby beard.

  Both men directed their gazes at her, and from the bleak expressions on their faces, neither appeared eager to start a conversation. Looking away, her eyes flicked past her brother to the place where the dead man lay. The agent stepped forward, blocking the dark form of the corpse, and spoke in a deep voice.

  “Eliza, is it?”

  “Yes, it…” she began, when Jonathon suddenly grabbed her arm and began pulling her out of the alley.

  “Who is that? Why did you not introduce me?” Eliza asked, glancing over her shoulder at the man who remained standing in the alley.

  “He is not someone you need to know,” Jonathon said firmly.

  “Why not? Is he an agent?” she prodded.

  “Yes, he is an agent.”

  “Why was he so upset with you?”

  “He was voicing his concerns about his new assignment.”

  “What is his new assignment?” Eliza asked curiously.

  Jonathon stopped for a moment but did not release his grip on her arm. He sighed and tilted his head towards his sister, then continued hastening them along the street. “If you must know, Uncle ordered him to impersonate a French Navy officer in hopes of locating their eighty-gun ship, the Franklin.”

  “Oh, that sounds dangerous!” Eliza said. What a mission! Though she could guess at his concern. His life would be forfeit if he were discovered as a foreign spy.

  Being forced to keep pace with Jonathon’s rapid, determined strides was becoming tiring. Eliza was tall for her age, but she could not hope to match her brother’s stride for long. She tried to pull her arm free from his iron grip. He slowed his pace, but he did not stop.

  Soon they turned onto a familiar street and approached their apartment. Two uniformed guards armed with pistols turned towards them. Jonathon finally released Eliza and held his hands up in front of him to show he was not a threat.

  “Lord Jonathon, is that you?” the shorter of the guards asked in surprise as he lowered his pistol.

  “Yes. My sister and I decided to go for a stroll before we retired for the evening,” Jonathon said lightly.

  “The streets are a dangerous place at night, my lord! Next time you go for a walk, please inform us and we will accompany you,” said the taller guard, pulling open the gate to allow them entry.

  Eliza and Jonathon thanked the guards and proceeded up the path to their apartment. Jonathon threw open the door to their lavishly-decorated drawing room, dimly lit by a low fire in the ornate marble fireplace, and stood aside for his sister to enter. Along one wall, there were large floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked Cascine Park, but were draped with heavy silk curtains.

  Wrinkling her nose as she took off the overcoat, she placed it on a side table, then settled herself onto a floral upholstered armchair and waited for Jonathon to start yelling. She did not have to wait long.

  “Are you mad?” Jonathon exclaimed.

  “Hush, Jonathon. The servants might overhear you,” Eliza admonished, glancing over her shoulder.

  “I do not give a damn about the servants,” he growled, as he began to pace in front of her. “Do you know what could have happened to a seventeen-year old girl on the streets of Florence in the middle of the night?”

  Eliza kept her back straight and her hands folded primly in her lap as Jonathon continued to rant. She opened her mouth to defend her actions several times, but each time her brother simply shouted louder about the dangers of leaving the apartment unescorted. She clenched her j
aw and continued to endure the tirade, wondering whether the servants had been awakened by the noise.

  She was so tired of this, how Jonathon coddled her, how he refused to let her make choices that concerned her future. This night had been the most exciting in months, but Jonathon would now ensure that she never left their apartment alone again. It had been an exhilarating taste of freedom, but she knew Jonathon would not understand.

  Her brother’s firm voice broke into her thoughts. “If you sneak out one more time, I will send you back to Uncle Charles’ estate. Do I make myself clear, Eliza?”

  She clenched her hands tighter. Uncle Charles was wonderful, when he was there, and his household staff was kind, but the thought of going back to Uncle Charles’ estate to be forgotten by the family was not something she would accept. She had been given reprieve by going on these diplomatic missions, and she would not go back willingly. Her espionage efforts as part of these visits had proved she was meant for greater things, and she would not, could not, return to the quiet life of a young noblewoman.

  “No,” Eliza replied sternly.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  Eliza fixed her brother with a penetrating glare, gratified to see a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. “I said no!”

  Jonathon looked confused and started to speak, but this time she put her hand up to stop him. “You may try to send me back to Uncle Charles’ estate, but I will not go. If you lock me in my room, I will escape.” Her eyes never wavered from his face. “Have you already forgotten what happened tonight? You would have been killed but for me!”