LITMIR.BIZ

       Chapter One

      August 1815, Paris, France

      ‘Touch one hair upon her head, monsieur, and you are destined to meet your maker sooner than you might wish!’

      It took every ounce of his indomitable will for Christian Seaton, Fifteenth Duke of Sutherland, not to react or turn to face the person who had just spoken softly behind him.

      Not because he was disturbed by the threat itself; his reputation as one of the finest shots in England was not exaggerated, and few gentlemen could best him with the sword either.

      Nor was he concerned by the barrel of the small pistol he currently felt pressed against the top of his spine through his clothing.

      Or that the person making the threat was a woman who, judging by her voice, was a woman of mature years.

      It was the fact that the threat had been spoken in accented English which caused him such inner unease...

      As an agent for the English Crown, Christian had arrived secretly in Paris from England by boat just two nights ago and, as had been planned, he had immediately taken up residence as the Comte de Saint-Cloud—an old and extinct title of his mother’s French family—in one of the grander houses situated alongside the Seine.

      Since his arrival Christian had been careful not to speak any other language but French, which he could claim to speak like a native, once again courtesy of his maternal grandmère.

      He had been especially careful to maintain that facade in the Fleur de Lis, a noisy and crowded tavern situated in one of the less salubrious areas of Paris.

      That he was now being addressed in English brought into question whether this pretence in his identity had somehow been compromised.

      He continued

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