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Joanna Bourne - My Lord and Spymaster

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Joanna Bourne My Lord and Spymaster
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Table of Contents
Praise for THE SPYMASTERS LADY
What a terrific story! One of the most unusual, resourceful, and humorous heroines Ive ever met, a spy to swoon for, and a great twisty plot with a sense of genuine danger.
Diana Gabaldon, New York Times bestselling author of A Breath of Snow and Ashes
nd ath A breathtaking adventure that kept me turning pages with breathless anticipation. Joanna Bourne is a master of romance and suspense! I cant wait to read her next book!
Teresa Medeiros, New York Times bestselling author of The Vampire Who Loved Me
Wow, what a captivating, unique heroine! Joanna Bournes voice is distinct, fresh, and engaging.
Madeline Hunter, national bestselling author of Lessons of Desire
Love love LOVED it!
Julia Quinn, New York Times bestselling author of The Secret Diaries of Miss Miranda Cheever
THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
Published by the Penguin Group
Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA
Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada
(a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)
Penguin Books Ltd., 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
Penguin Group Ireland, 25 St. Stephens Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd.)
Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia
(a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty. Ltd.)
Penguin Books India Pvt. Ltd., 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi110 017, India
Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, North Shore 0632, New Zealand
(a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd.)
Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty.) Ltd., 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196,
South Africa
Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
MY LORD AND SPYMASTER
A Berkley Sensation Book / published by arrangement with the author
PRINTING HISTORY
Berkley Sensation mass-market edition / July 2008
Copyright 2008 by Joanna Watkins Bourne.
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form
without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in
violation of the authors rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.
eISBN : 978-1-436-22906-7
BERKLEY SENSATION
Berkley Sensation Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.
BERKLEY SENSATION and the B design are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

http://us.penguingroup.com

For Douglas

Acknowledgments
Id like to thank my ever-patient editor, Wendy McCurdy, and my agent, Pam Hopkins, for untiring advice and support in the production of My Lord and Spymaster. Thanks also to Mary Ann Clark and Wendy Rome, and the other Ladies Who Drink Coffee, Claudia McRay and Sofie Couch. Finally, I am endlessly grateful to the Compuserve Books and Writers Community, that hatching ground of writers, whose members have offered aid and comfort. Thank you Susan Adrian, Betty Babas, Jennifer R. Clark, Allene Edwards, Diana Gabaldon, Claire Greer, Jennifer Hendren, Carol Krenz, John S. Kruszka, Darlene Marshall, Janet McConnaughey, Jenny Meyer, Pamela Patchet, Vicki Pettersson, Barbara Rogan, Beth Shope, and Karen Watson. The lines Debts must be paid. The books must balance, are from master story-teller R. A. Heinlein.

One
Katherine Lane
ONCE YOU GET A TASTE FOR THIEVERY, YOU never lose it. Papa used to say that, clouting her on the side of the head a bit to let her know who he was talking about.
She missed picking pockets. Missed the cool, stealthy slide of fingers into a coat. Slithering away with a purse, wise and secret. She missed the best partjingling the coins out on the cobbles, squatting down with her mates, and counting out the take. Shed learned to keep accounts, working out a fair cut.
Respectable was flat beer compared to that. Maybe that was why shed talked herself into running this rig. She was so damn tired of being respectable.
It was a good day for robbery. Fog crawled up out of the Thames and made itself at home on Katherine Lane. It coiled over the drains and lurked in the corners, smelling like the river, which wasnt precisely ambrosia and mead as smells went. Anything could hide in that fog. Probably did.
Welcome home, Jess, she whispered. She pulled her hood up and kept walking. The afternoon folded in around her, drizzling.
In the fog, on both sides of her, all the length of Katherine Lane, citizens were closing up shop, putting merchandise away, giving the day up as unprofitable. The street girls had moved inside, too, into the pubs, taking their sailors with them and the noise and the bright color of their dresses. More and more, she was passing dark doorways and rows of blank shutters. Pretty soon thered be nobody in the street but her and that cat picking his way, finicky, across the cobbles. He had errands to run, that cat. You could tell by looking at him.
Shed have lots of privacy to pick Sebastian Kennetts pocket.
The last thing Papad said when they were dragging him out of the Whitby warehouse in his shirtsleeves was, Dont do anything daft trying to get me free.
Papa knew her pretty well. He wasnt going to be pleased when he found out about this.
The alley to the right was Dark Passageand wasnt that a fine, descriptive name? To the left was Dead Mans Way. Another piece of poetry. When she was a kid shed run this warren barefoot. She knew these streets, knew every thin trickle of an alley that ran into Katherine Lane. Shed been born in a grim little attic a dozen streets to the north. Time was, she chatted friendly and easy with every beggar and pimp on the Lane. She could have ducked into any of these taverns and been welcome to dry out by the fire. Now she was a stranger. Not Jess. Now she was Miss Whitby. She didnt belong anymore. I didnt used to be scared here.
She walked slower as the Lane curved south and slanted down toward the Thames and she watched her feet. The cobbles were slick with muck. Every corner was a puddle. In the old days, shed have brought Kedger with her, for company. The left side of her cloak, under her elbow, had a pocket sewed for him to ride in. Used to be shed set him on her shoulder when she had a ways to walk and she was uneasy about it. Hed sit quiet, breathing in her ear, keeping watch.
But this wasnt any place for Kedger. This she had to do alone.
Then she wasnt alone.
She stopped cold, and her heart banged in her chest like a trapped rabbit. A shadow shifted. A hulking shape emerged from the dark of a doorway.
He came toward her, walking out of the gloom, soft-footed for all his size. He carried his lead pipe with the nonchalance of someone to whom this was not a novelty.
Well now. He slapped the pipe across his palm with a meaty thunk.
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