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More Than a Scandal Chapter One Spring 1811 Ciudad Rodrigo, Spain "Thank you for considering me for the privilege, sir," Major Marcus Dunn demurred with a smile. "But wild horses couldn't drag me back to London." "Oh, but your talents are particularly suited to this mission, Dunn," Major General Henry Horace replied, seemingly not at all put out. Yet, two high spots of color tinged his pale, craggy face and his stormy hazel eyes were bright, indicating some discomfort at Marcus's refusal. "Proof of guilt must be ironclad, in this instance, and if what we suspect is true, then Wellington wants the nails hammered in the bastard's coffin." "An excursion to London is a much-sought-after assignment these days." Marcus scratched his chin, pretending to consider it. "Say, Lieutenant Geoffrey's mother's been ill. I'm sure he'd jump at the chance for a visit home and it would be most appreciated by his family." Especially by his older brother, the influential Lord Derbyshire. In his seven years of serving in the King's army against Napoleon, Marcus had learned to be firm but to deliver any refusals with a coating of honey and an alternative. That, and he'd mastered the task of procuring difficult-tocome- by items for the officers, ensuring that at one point or another a gentleman found himself in Marcus's debt. It made for a much smoother jaunt through the war. "But you've such a talent for securing confessions," Horace replied cheerily, as if he were describing a gentlemanly sport. Looking down, Marcus toyed with the white plum on his crimson shako. Once a mission was over, he tried not to re- flect upon the lies, murder and treachery he'd faced. It was enough to make one feel soiled to the soul if you let it. "And," Horace continued, "we're dealing with a certain peer of your acquaintance -- " Marcus looked up. "Willoughby's the officer you want, then. He knows every noble, their lineage, their connections -- " Horace frowned. "We don't need a diatribe on pedigree -- " "Then Kirkland's your man. In polite circles he harvests acquaintances like a dog collects fleas -- " "Yes and likes the tipple for breakfast -- " "Everyone knows that I'm not exactly one of the club, sir." Marcus tried to make his voice sound regretful that he wasn't born with a sterling pedigree. "I don't hunt -- " "But you deal well with targets of influence," Horace interrupted, raising a bent bony finger. "You don't let them browbeat you, and likewise don't try to bully them." Turning, the major general eased his wiry frame into the canvas chair behind his brown wooden desk. The airless tent smelled of mold and damp and Marcus wished they could open the flap. But Horace did not like the mountain air; he said it made his mind empty when he needed it full. The major general scowled. "I still take grief over that Marquis Valdez disaster. Major Redstone was like a raging bull at a soiree." His brows lifted. "Remember that business with Viscount Brent's son, the shamming bugger? You managed that handily without a hint of the nasty affair tainting his innocent family. Stunningly well-done." Marcus knew that he was being buttered for toast, but a gratifying swell of satisfaction rushed through him just the same. "Then that foul Spanish lord. What was his name?" Horace scratched his head. "You know of whom I speak. The one who you ensured kept up his correspondence for Napoleon long after you'd turned him into our informer." His rheumy eyes twinkled as he nodded approvingly. "Capital win there, Major. I still say that misinformation is the most untried soldier in this war." Marcus had to agree that was one of his better successes. But that didn't mean he was going to let Horace shuffle him off to the city of sycophants and timeservers. He was a field man who relished his freedom. Marcus tried not ruminating on his other reasons for avoiding London. "What was that Spanish lord's name?" Horace's slate gray brows knotted in concentration as he stared at the far corner of the tent. The man often had the air of an absentminded academic, with his thoughtful gazes and tendency to mutter to himself, but under that wiry gray hair was one of the sharpest minds Marcus had ever encountered. He would recognize sense in this matter, Marcus was sure. "Was it Leone? Larose?" Lorenz, Marcus provided, but only in his mind.Without even trying he could recall the face and charge of every last traitor who he'd helped experience Lady Justice. The nightmares didn't bother him much, not really. It was only the ones with the relatives demanding to know why that stole his slumber. Ask your father, or brother, he would say to those apparitions when he found himself awake in a chilly sweat. I am only the blade; they laid their own heads on the guillotine. More Than a Scandal . Copyright © by Sari Robins. Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers, Inc. All rights reserved. Available now wherever books are sold. Excerpted from More Than a Scandal by Sari Robins All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.