Latymer by Tracey Devlyn Page A

against the damp late-August evening, Giles cleared his throat. “Charles Street, four-story house, white door, number thirty-five.”
    Latymer snaked an arm around his son, pulling the boy into his warmth. “Four-story redbrick home.”
    “Four-story redbrick home.”
    “Very good, Giles. In a few seconds we’re going to emerge from our hiding place and stroll down the pavement as if it were three in the afternoon rather than bedtime. Your job is to memorize everything you see between here and there. Understood?”
    His son started to nod, then changed his mind and shook his head.
    Latymer strove for calm, but the passage of time wore on his every nerve. In two hours The Gladys would set sail—with or without them. They couldn’t afford to miss the ship, for the next one wouldn’t leave port for over month. Surviving another month in such close proximity to two powerful enemies would be virtually impossible.
    “If something happens and we’re separated—”
    “Separated?”
    “Keep your voice down,” Latymer said in a harsher tone than he’d intended.
    Giles flinched, and Latymer’s jaw clenched at the small sign of his son’s fear.
    “I will do everything within my power to keep us together. However”—his voice grew more serious—“the unexpected can happen, and I want to make sure you know where to go if ever you need help.”
    “I won’t go back to that place,” Giles said with uncharacteristic defiance.
    This time it was Latymer’s turn to flinch. The French had kidnapped and hidden Giles away, compelling him—and Latymer’s gentle Lydia—to bring them a list of Lord Somerton’s secret service agents. Latymer knew Somerton wouldn’t even share the names of his agents with his colleagues at the Alien Office much less jeopardize the agents’ safeties by putting their names to paper.
    But the French agents would not listen to reason. Nexus had done much to prevent Bonaparte from invading Britain’s shores, costing the emperor a good deal of time, money, and resources. Bonaparte wanted Nexus eradicated, and his followers desperately wanted to please their emperor.
    Latymer knew there was only one way his little family could survive the demands of the French and that was by removing the only leverage they had— Giles. He’d finally tracked down his son at Abbingale Home for Displaced and Gifted Boys, where a French schoolmaster used boys as political pawns. After they had served their initial purpose, the bastard sold the boys to generate more revenue for the emperor. Thinking about how close he’d come to losing Giles to such a fate made his stomach heave.
    “No, you won’t go back to Abbingale,” Latymer assured him. “You’ll come back to this safe house.”
    “Safe house?”
    “A place where no one will harm you. If we should get separated, you find your way here to thirty-five Charles Street, Somerton House. Lord Somerton is a friend.” Was a friend. “He will keep you safe until I can come for you. Now repeat.”
    “Safe house. Thirty-five Charles Street. Somerton House.”
    “Exactly right.” He squeezed his son’s side in approval, then stood. “Remember, Giles, you must memorize everything. Keep your chin up and your eyes sharp.”
    “Yes, Papa.”
    “Follow me.” Latymer moved away from the protection of the building, listening for the telltale sound of Giles’s footsteps behind. But there was no sound of shuffling feet or rustling clothing. Nothing but the silence of rebellion. “Giles,” he whispered urgently. “It’s time to go.”
    His son dropped his gaze and shrank back. Latymer frowned, not understanding the boy’s odd behavior. He scanned the area before moving closer. “Giles, we don’t have time for this.” 
    “What if you don’t come back for me?” Giles burst out. He rubbed the backs of his fingers under his chin in a gesture that was both anxious and angry. “What if Lord Somerton gets mad at me for talking? What if he sends me away and