"You are my dearest friend."

"And for now ..." Celeste cast her a warm smile. "That is enough."

Evelyn considered her curiously for a long moment and wondered if she'd seen her at all in recent years. Although not being seen, or rather, not being noticed, was what Celeste strived for. She wore her dark hair in a tight, stern knot on the back of her head. Her spectacles hid her startling violet eyes. Coupled with the drab, nondescript clothes she typically donned, one's gaze tended to pa.s.s right over her. But on any number of occasions, Evelyn had noticed the gazes of gentlemen in particular jerking back to Celeste for a second look. Celeste had always been good at making herself appear to be someone she wasn't. Evelyn had long thought her friend was a woman in hiding. Indeed, Celeste DeRochette was not her real name but she had never shared her true name with Evelyn nor had Evelyn ever asked. Privacy was a boundary of friendship neither woman had ever crossed. Nor had they needed to. Evelyn would trust Celeste with her life.

They never would have become friends, they never would have met at all, if not for the department, although they had much in common. Both women had been orphaned at an early age, but Evelyn's father was a viscount and she had been left the ward of a distant relative, Sir George Hardwell. Sir George had had no desire to be responsible for a child and had had little interest in her. He had ensured her education at boarding schools in England and abroad and had provided a minimal allowance when she had finished her schooling thanks to a small trust, left by her parents, now long depleted, administered by Sir George's solicitor. While she had dutifully corresponded with him through the years, he had rarely responded and eventually she had stopped writing altogether. Evelyn had often thought it odd that, at one time, the two most significant men in her life were two she had never met in person. She had long suspected it was through Sir George that the department had become aware of her and her circ.u.mstances although she had nothing to base that suspicion on. It was a feeling, nothing more.

Celeste was the daughter of an actress. She, too, had been orphaned, or perhaps abandoned, Evelyn wasn't clear on that point, when very young. She was pa.s.sed from family to family until she followed her mother's path and found first a home in the theater and then the department. Evelyn thought it something of a pity she hadn't continued on the stage. An expert at adopting accents, be they refined or common, Celeste was also brilliant at changing her appearance and making one believe she was someone she wasn't. Valuable skills to have when one worked for a clandestine government department yet, for the most part, wasted when one was a social secretary to a countess.

"Good Lord." Evelyn stared at her friend. "I've been dreadfully selfish."

"Indeed you have and I have permitted you to be." Celeste met her gaze directly. "But do not think for a moment I would be here if I did not wish to be. It's been most ... refreshing. It's not a difficult job, you know. Keeping your schedule, planning your social events, a.s.sisting your correspondence. And you do overpay me." A twinkle shone in Celeste's eyes. "Why, it's almost like being on holiday."

Evelyn ignored her amus.e.m.e.nt. "But is it enough?"

"You could always pay me more."

"You know what I mean."

"As I said, it is at the moment." Celeste shrugged. "I make no promises about the future, however."

"Good. And I make no apologies for that bit of selfishness." Celeste was as close to her as any sister might have been. Indeed, Evelyn considered her family and they did look a bit like sisters. They were of a similar height and figure although Celeste's hair was nearly black whereas Evelyn's was a determined brown. Her eyes were hazel, brown really, her friend's violet. Evelyn considered Celeste the lovelier of the two women, which bothered her not at all. They were nearly the same age as well. Celeste had turned thirty some months ago and Evelyn's thirtieth birthday was within a few weeks. "I would hate to lose you."

"I a.s.sure you, you will never lose me," Celeste said firmly. "Even if the day comes that I decide this is not how I wish to spend the rest of my life, we will always be close friends."

Still, the very idea of not having Celeste around was most distressing. Evelyn loved Adrian's family but Celeste was hers, the only family she had. She adopted a casual tone. "Adrian still has one remaining unwed brother, you know."

"The barrister?"

Evelyn nodded. "He's very nice and quite handsome."

Celeste laughed. "So you are matchmaking now?"

"Not at all." Evelyn paused. "Although it's not a bad idea. There are worse ways to spend the rest of your life than as the wife of a nice, handsome, ambitious barrister. Who will no doubt one day be a judge."

"And will therefore need a wife," Celeste said thoughtfully.

"He doesn't need one but a suitable wife can certainly be an aide to any man with ambition."

"And would I be a suitable wife?"

"You can be anything you wish," Evelyn said firmly.

"It's a role I have yet to play." A considering note sounded in Celeste's voice.

"A role you were born to play."

"I doubt that. Regardless ..." Celeste shook her head. "Your brother-in-law has never shown the slightest bit of interest in me."

"Perhaps because he has never seen you as who you really are."

"Perhaps. And perhaps when I meet a gentleman who makes me want to be completely candid and forthright and all those sorts of things, then I will indeed marry." Celeste studied her with amus.e.m.e.nt. "You are simply offering up your brother-in-law as a sacrificial lamb. Were I to marry him, we would truly be family."

Evelyn gasped in mock indignation. "I would never encourage your marriage to suit my own purposes. That would indeed be selfish." She grinned. "But it is an excellent idea."

"It is an idea, the excellence of it remains to be seen." Celeste pinned her with a firm look. "But you, my dear, have changed the subject."

"It's not a subject I wish to discuss. Or to think about."

"And in this, too, you have no choice." Celeste's brows drew together. "What happens now?"

"Max said he has an idea as to the location of the file. He will contact me with instructions." Evelyn resumed pacing the room.

"So you wait?"

"Apparently."

"I see." Celeste watched her for a moment. "Patience has never been one of your virtues."

"Now that I have agreed to do this-although agreed is not the right word." Evelyn huffed. "Coerced is more accurate."

"You'd prefer to get on with it."

"Exactly." Evelyn nodded. "From the moment I left Max's office, I have felt that my entire life was in some sort of limbo. As if I were a leaf blown onto a pond. Too wet to blow away and not saturated enough to sink to the bottom. Suspended on the surface of the water, waiting to blow away or to sink."

"How very dramatic of you."

"But accurate nonetheless."

"Nonsense." Celeste scoffed. "Now you're merely feeling sorry for yourself."

"Perhaps."

"Admittedly, waiting is not something you do well but I don't believe I've ever seen you feel sorry for yourself." She shook her head in a mournful manner. "How have you come to such a dreadful state?"

Evelyn narrowed her eyes.

"There are a number of things you have yet to consider," Celeste said. "First of all, Sir Maxwell would not have asked for your a.s.sistance-"

"Asked?" Evelyn snorted in disdain.

"Unless he felt he had no other choice. But he is an odd and independent creature. It's entirely possible that he may recover this file without any help from you at all."

"Then why-"

"It was my experience with him that he always had several plans in reserve in case his original plan did not work. Plans B, C, and so on."

"True enough."

"And remember he only worked with you or I when Sir deemed it necessary. It was my observation that Sir Maxwell never especially liked working with, or having to depend upon, a woman. He is the kind of man who thinks women have a particular place in the world and it isn't by his side so much as in his bed."

Evelyn scoffed.

"Given his nature, there's every reason to think you are nothing more than his reserve plan."

Evelyn brightened. "There is, isn't there?"

"It's entirely plausible."

"Then why contact me at all?"

"He said there was no one else he could trust except you. I suspect he would want you to be prepared if he needs to call on you." Celeste shrugged dismissively. "Especially as he had to threaten you to gain your cooperation."

Evelyn's jaw tightened. "Do you really think he would tell Adrian about my years with the department?"

"To get what he wants?" She nodded. "Without question. Your real concern should be what Lord W's response will be when he finds out, as inevitably he will one day. Have you thought about that? You've lied to him for two years."

"I have not." Indignation rang in Evelyn's voice. "I simply didn't tell him all there was to tell about my past."

"A lie of omission-"

"Isn't really a lie at all," Evelyn said firmly. "It's not as if he ever said to me 'Evie, my dear, were you once a sort of spy?' "

"I believe the preferred term, darling, was agent."

Evelyn waved in a blithe manner. "Spy, agent, the word scarcely matters."

"Perhaps not. Nonetheless have you considered what the earl will say when he finds out?" Celeste shook her head. "He will find out one day, you know. Secrets of this magnitude rarely stay hidden forever."

"Oh, I intend to tell him everything one day," Evelyn said quickly. "I have given it a great deal of thought. When I am on my deathbed strikes me as the best time."

"Rather cowardly, isn't it?"

"And yet, it seems so right."

"And if he dies before you?"

"Then he shall go to his grave content in the knowledge that he had a faithful and loyal wife who loved him without reserve," Evelyn said in a lofty manner.

Celeste studied her closely. "Don't you find it curious that he has never asked about your past?"

"Not at all. He values privacy as do I," Evelyn said. "He knows about my parents, my family, my guardian. He knows I was educated properly and he knows I spent several years traveling and ... and doing all those social sorts of things young heiresses do."

"Funded by the department."

"As all I had was the name and the background. It's difficult to flit through society as an heiress when one has no money to speak of."

"It was rather fun on occasion," Celeste said under her breath.

"Aside from the danger, the constant threat of exposure, and yes, the heart-in-your-throat fear at times."

"All part of the adventure ..." Celeste murmured.

Evelyn was hard-pressed to argue with her. It had been exhilarating and exciting and, yes, she'd had a great deal of fun.

Evelyn had been twenty-two when she had joined the department, fresh from a two-year grand tour with the family of a boarding school friend. Her travels through Europe had changed her from a retiring girl, uncertain as to her place in the world, to a self-a.s.sured woman confident of her own worth. She'd learned as much about herself as she had about the places she'd visited. She'd always known she had a natural gift for languages but she'd had no idea she had a gift for flirtation as well. Gentlemen called her charming and delightful and enchanting. She'd been at boarding schools since the age of six, surrounded by female students and teachers. She'd never thought of herself as pretty or clever or anything at all before. Now, she was being lauded as the toast of any party, the belle of any ball. It was as intoxicating as champagne and gone just as quickly.

She had arrived back in London to be greeted by good news and bad in a letter waiting for her from Sir George. It seemed her parents had owned a modest house in Mayfair, a house she had lived in so long ago she couldn't remember. Her guardian had let it through the years of her schooling, to pay for its upkeep, the letter said. Now, however, he was turning it over to her-as it was, in truth, hers-with the admonishment that he would no longer be responsible for the building's maintenance or staff or taxes. Nor would he be responsible for Evelyn as she was of age and the money her parents had left their only child was gone. Sir George's letter suggested she would be wise to sell the house at once or marry as she had no means of support. A brief meeting with her guardian's solicitor confirmed the bad news. Even now, Evelyn's stomach still clenched at the feelings of desolation that had threatened to consume her. She had declined her friend's gracious invitation to return to the continent with her family until Evelyn could decide her future, knowing even as she did so, it was out of foolish pride. They thought she was simply alone, not penniless. Still, she had a place to live and the servants had been paid through the end of the month, which gave her very nearly three weeks to decide on her fate.

Thank goodness her social standing had not fallen with her fortunes. While she'd never had a London season, she was still the daughter of a viscount and had a large number of school friends she had kept up correspondence with. Two nights later, she had attended a ball at the insistence of one such friend where she'd danced with a dashing older gentleman. And while he was quite charming, she had decided then and there that she would not marry simply to survive. Although she had no idea what she would do. When the gentleman, Lord Lansbury, escorted her onto the terrace and said he had a proposal for her, she'd had more than a moment of unease. If she was not going to become a wife to save herself, she was certainly not going to become some man's mistress.

She'd been seduced by then, of course, by the first man who had tried. A dreadful mistake and she knew it at the time, but she had fancied herself in love and she had learned a great deal. She'd learn to trust her instincts as well. So when Lord Lansbury said he had an honorable position for a young lady of her background, and a few casual questions around the room confirmed his ident.i.ty and his credibility, she believed him.

The next day she went to the address on the back of his calling card, a large mansion not far from her own house. A discreet plaque by the front entry declared it to be the Department of Domestic and International Affairs. She very nearly left then but she had few options as to what to do with her life and decided to hear what Lord Lansbury had to say. She met with him in the very room she had met with Max, as nondescript then as it was now. Before she knew it, she was living the life of an heiress in public all the while ferreting out secrets of those who appeared to the rest of the world to be loyal British subjects. With Celeste by her side and often with Max as well, the course of action and directions issued in writing by Sir.

Celeste was right; it had been a grand adventure. But it was long over and her life now was all the adventure she wanted. If the price for keeping it was one more a.s.signment for the department-so be it.

"You're absolutely right." Evelyn raised her chin. "There's no need to fret at the moment. This may come to nothing at all. Max was indeed notorious for his Plan B's, C's, and so forth." She narrowed her eyes. "Annoying beast of a man."

"Excellent att.i.tude." Celeste nodded in satisfaction.

"Now, then, due to your meeting with Sir Maxwell and your subsequent distress, we are a bit behind today."

"You are exceptionally competent, you know." There was far more to being the Countess of Waterston than most people imagined. That Evelyn handled the position with ease and grace was entirely due to Celeste's efforts.

"Yet another role I play well." Celeste handed her a slim file. "This is today's correspondence, which includes a few invitations you might want to consider as well as your schedule for tomorrow. Don't forget you have a meeting of the Ladies' Literary Society as well as a dressmaker's appointment."

Evelyn nodded. "I shall deal with all this tonight after dinner."

"Then I shall be off." Celeste now resided in Evelyn's town house, which gave her the privacy to live as she pleased. She rarely mentioned how she spent her evenings, yet another area where Evelyn did not pry. Celeste would tell her what she wished her to know. "I shall see you in the morning."

Celeste bade her good day and took her leave.

Evelyn glanced at the file. Her life might seem staid and even dull to a casual observer, but it was what she had always longed for. She was part of a family with a husband who loved her and, hopefully, one day children of their own. She belonged now. She had everything she'd ever wanted and she would do whatever was necessary to keep anyone from destroying it.

Even herself.

Chapter 3.

Something was wrong.

Adrian Hadley-Att.w.a.ter, the Earl of Waterston, surrept.i.tiously studied his wife over the top of the book he'd been trying to read. Evie sat at the desk on the far side of the small parlor and allegedly attended to her correspondence. Said attendance punctuated by the impatient tap of her pen and her unfocused gaze out the window and into the night. It was obvious she was distracted. He drew his brows together. His wife was never distracted. That she appeared so now was, in itself, most distracting.