Chapter 64

The afternoon seemed to stretch for hours. Linley's back ached from hiding in the mews outside Jackson's Salon. The dark suit he wore was borrowed and slightly too big, as were the waistcoat and breeches. The entire ensemble was nearly threadbare and didn't keep out the chill of the winter wind. With each gust, he hastily gripped the edges of his white-powdered wig on his head, keeping it secure.

He prayed that the man he was sent to watch would appear soon. His fingers were turning blue and his blood was like ice in his veins. His quarry, the Earl of Lonsdale, a skilled boxer, could spend hours in the salon. There was no telling when Linley would get a chance to escape the cold and seek shelter inside. He rubbed his hands together, attempting to generate warmth. It didn't help.

A sudden wave of exhaustion swept through him. He didn't want to be here. His master had made him come here. Sir Hugo Waverly. A true bastard if there ever was one. Tom tried not to think about it but failed.