Circle of Spies (The Culper Ring #3)

He considered the idea as they walked to his carriage and measured the man across from him once they had settled. He looked right for the job. No hulking giant to shout his profession, but he always wore that expression that dared anyone to cross him. Devereaux set his bag upon the seat and straightened his gloves. “Do you have plans for the future, Osborne?”


A glimmer of surprise surfaced in his coal-black eyes. At least Devereaux thought it had, though his usual foul temper swallowed it up in the next second. He shrugged. “Do what I do, I guess.”

What lofty goals. Devereaux smiled. “I’d like you to consider doing what you do for me.”

For a long moment, Osborne just held his gaze, making no other response. Then he gave a short nod. “I’ll consider it. Thanks.”

“Good.” Considering it would no doubt lead him to the logical conclusion.

For now, the closer they got to home, the more Devereaux’s thoughts whirled around the other half of his life. And the tighter his frown pulled. What had she been thinking? He understood the tug of family, but he had specifically told her they would accept an invitation when he got back. Together. That most certainly did not mean making a theater appearance with…with an employee. A guard.

He cast a glance at Osborne as they pulled onto Monument Square. Irritation spurted, but he pushed it down. It wasn’t his fault he’d been pulled into it. No, that was all Lane. And while Devereaux didn’t expect to ever get an apology from the old man, he would get a few answers from Marietta. She should have known better. She must have known better. She must have done it deliberately, which was inexcusable.

By the time he climbed down and strode toward the family home, the fire was a steady burn in his chest. He let himself in the front door, too impatient to wait for doddering old Norris to answer a knock, and nearly bowled into Jess.

“Lawsy!” The old woman splayed a dark hand over her chest. “Mr. Dev, you plumb scared me to death!”

He forced a smile. “Where is Marietta?”

She huffed out a breath and shook her head. “Don’t rightly know, sir. Though yo mama’s in the drawin’ room and looking better ’n I seen her in a year.”

Maybe Mother knew where Marietta was. And even if not, he needed to greet her too. “I’ll head her way then.”

A glance over his shoulder confirmed that Osborne had disappeared, wisely. Devereaux strode into the ground-floor drawing room, a smile ready for his mother to cover the anger simmering below.

“Devereaux!” She rose when he entered, putting aside her mending and not so much as faltering on her way up. That did his heart good, as did the bloom of healthy color in her cheeks as she held out her hands.

He took them in his, noting that her skin no longer felt so fragile and papery, and leaned over to kiss her cheek. “Good day, Mother. Look at you, glowing with health. Have you had a pleasant week?”

“Not as pleasant as this one will be, now that you are home.” She gripped his fingers, her smile bright. “How was your trip?”

“Excellent.” He urged her back down into her chair but didn’t take one of his own. “Is Mari here?”

The usual sour look entered her eyes at mention of Marietta. “I believe so. Probably with that Barbara woman.”

Right. Her. Surely Marietta would tire of the good deed soon and send the woman away. He didn’t like having a Unionist stranger living right above his castle. And he still couldn’t figure why Marietta had taken her in to begin with.

It must be some feeling of debt to her so-dubbed saint of a dead brother.

“Don’t worry, Mother.” Not in the mood to seek all over the grounds for her, he sat after all. His anger would hold. “We’ve already discussed it. As soon as we wed, that woman leaves.”

Mother sighed. “Perhaps you could just buy the house from her. Have you considered that? Then they can both leave.”

His fingers curled into the arm of his chair. “I don’t just want the house. I want Marietta as my wife.”

And he would have both, whatever it took.



Marietta closed the book and made a quick series of signs. “Good job, Elsie.” She glanced up at Walker, Cora, and Barbara too, grinning. “And the rest of you. Though not quite as good.”

Cora’s laugh rang out as she helped the little one from her seat. Blond curls bobbing, the toddler bounced her way to the floor and ran to the window where she’d left her doll.

Watching her, Marietta’s heart fisted. Perhaps she had never yearned as much as Paulina and Laura, but looking at Elsie made her wonder. If she had ever conceived, would her child have looked like Elsie? Been so sweet natured?

Probably not. Her children probably would have been doomed to foul tempers and conniving spirits and abounding selfishness. But maybe, just maybe, her blood would have created someone more like Stephen.