The radical social reforms advocated by the earl-a man rumored to be the next prime minister-weren’t universally popular. An attempt had been made on Ridgemoor’s life two weeks earlier, an act Simon had already been investigating as part of his duties for the Crown. Now it was too late. Whoever had wanted Ridgemoor silenced had succeeded on their second attempt, something that filled Simon with a sick sense of guilt and failure.

Since becoming a spy for the Crown eight years ago, he’d suffered several unsuccessful missions, but none that had cast suspicion on Simon himself. Unfortunately, this failure had done just that-Ridgemoor’s butler had discovered him standing over the earl’s dead body, holding a pistol. Simon had gone to the earl’s town house after receiving a note stating that Ridgemoor had important information to share. Sadly, Simon had arrived too late. The butler swore to the authorities that no one other than Simon had entered the house, and indeed, all the windows were locked from the inside.

When Simon saw the flickers of suspicion in his superior’s eyes, he knew trouble was brewing. John Waverly, the man to whom he reported, hadn’t said anything to indicate he doubted Simon’s account, but Simon had sensed the man’s hesitancy, and it had hurt more than he cared to admit. Eight years ago, Simon had known nothing about being a spy. In fact, he’d known nothing other than the wealth and privilege afforded him by his exalted title and family name. He’d wanted, needed, a change-needed to do something useful with his life-and John Waverly had taken him under his experienced wing and taught him the intricacies of the spy game. He’d always considered Waverly more than merely his superior-he admired and respected him, and thought of him as both a trusted friend and mentor.

As if Waverly’s uncertainty didn’t rankle enough, Simon also saw the glimmers of mistrust in the eyes of William Miller and Marc Albury, his two closest colleagues, men he thought of as brothers.