The Husband Mission (The Spy Matchmaker #1)(3)

Sometimes it was a shabbily dressed man, hat pulled down to shade his face. Other times it was an urchin boy with a gamin grin. Whichever, they clung to his heels like bottom mud from a country stream. Twice he had attempted to give chase, and both times they had eluded him. He would have thought them no more than footpads except his staff had reported them hanging about the mews as well. He was being watched.

To what purpose? He could not deny that he had hoped it had something to do with his earlier offer to support the War Office. Perhaps the enemies of the Crown did not know he had been refused. He had been rather pleased they thought him intriguing enough to follow. It was nothing but annoying to think it had something to do with his current life instead.

Yet he could not see how. For all his exploits, he was a gentleman. He paid his debts promptly and never dallied with married ladies or unwilling lasses. He never cheated or lied or stole. And he liked to think his physique was muscular enough to deter common thieves. In short, he could think of no reason why anyone would wish to spy on him.

He was halfway down St. James's when he spotted his shadow again. It was the boy this time. Glancing back, Alex saw him dart behind a lorry as if to avoid detection. So, they were still after him. He should alert Bow Street. If the War Office couldn't be bothered, at least the magistrates might look into the matter. Yet after his refusal by Hastings, Alex was in no mood to ask anyone's assistance. He started back to try to catch the boy once again himself, then hesitated.

He had threatened to prove to Lord Hastings that the spymaster was wrong. Alex was capable of working hard, however distasteful he found the prospect. What if, instead of merely catching the lad, he managed to follow the boy to his master? What if he uncovered whatever nefarious scheme they hoped to enact? If it had anything to do with the spy in Society, so much the better. Wouldn't that prove to Hastings that Alex was worthy to join his cadre?

He tipped his hat to a passing lady as if that had been his intent in turning all along. She regarded him with an interested smile, but he turned before she could question him. Then he sauntered up the street and around the corner. With a quick glance back, he saw the boy follow.

He led the lad a merry chase, turning first one direction, then another. Finally, he located a shop with a large front window. He ducked inside and stood back from the light, watching. His pursuer stood just outside, glancing in all directions. Up close, the boy looked to be about eight, with a none-too-clean round face and eyes that were narrowed in concentration. A dusty cap hid all but the fringes of his hair, but it looked to be a deep auburn. Alex held his breath as the boy's shoulders sagged in obvious defeat. The lad turned to go.

"Might I assist you, sir?" a young female shop worker asked politely. Alex took note of his surroundings. Lacy corsets and dainty chemises decorated the walls and sewing forms. Every person from the patrons to the shopkeeper was female, and all of them were staring at him with various degrees of amusement, shock, or disapproval. He tipped his hat to them and hurried after the boy.

He did his best to be inconspicuous. It wasn't difficult in the shopping district. He had never realized just how many tall, blond gentlemen strolled about in dove grey morning coats and black trousers. He'd have to speak to his tailor about something more original. For now, he was thankful to blend in so well. The boy scurried along as if he had no idea he was being followed. He even had the temerity to skip when the cobblestones became more even. The few times he glanced back, Alex was careful to duck out of sight.



       
         
       
        

He fully expected the lad to detour toward a seedier part of town and was surprised when he at last made his way down the alley behind a set of modest town houses at the edge of Mayfair. With bold-faced impudence, he jumped a short kitchen gate and scurried up the walk to enter one of the houses. Had the rascal been hired by someone of the ton, then? Alex waited for a moment, but the boy did not return. Surely this was the boy's home. Alex had located the lair of his nemesis. Anticipation curled in his stomach. Oh, he was definitely made for this. All he had to do was catch the culprits, and Lord Hastings would have to admit as much.

Yet he couldn't simply stride up to the back door and demand the boy. He could scarcely expect the kitchen staff to give the lad up so easily. He rather thought criminals protected their own, if only to prevent them from telling tales to the magistrates. He'd have to try something else.

He counted the number of houses from the corner, then hurried back around the terrace. He had to learn who owned the house and whether they knew their pot boy or stable boy had been spying. It was possible someone else had hired the boy or that he held more than one job. The only way to learn more was to meet the owners of the house. He could decide from there how much information to provide them, and how much he could wrestle out of them. He had to restrain himself from rubbing his hands together with glee.