No Place for a Dame by Connie Brockway

lifestyle. But as his desperation had grown—because the appetites of such men were always unquenchable—so, too, had his involvement in less savory undertakings until finally… well, Vedder was completely Jameson’s creature.
    Sir Jameson had achieved his current position of power through a combination of ruthlessness and guile, statesmanship and fear, and a remarkable ability to subjugate emotion to cold impeccable reason. Indeed, he took great pride in his clinical dispassion.
    Which is why it was so important to put this issue of Jack Seward, his adoptive son, his heir, and now his most dangerous enemy, to rest. Because when he thought of Jack, of how the most effective and lethal of all his agents had betrayed him, it filled him with pure, unadulterated rage. Such extreme emotion inevitably led to disaster.
    Eventually his rage would cause him to make a mistake, make him vulnerable. And that was something he would not allow. The Prime Minister had voiced “grave concerns” over Jameson’s handling of his lastassignment. He needed to be able to concentrate his full attention on overseeing his portion of the Secret Committee, lest Knowlton be given sole directorship. He could not afford the distraction of hatred, of this… this need for revenge.
    Which is why his hands shook with anticipation, with the hope , that Vedder had some information, some clue as to where Jack had gone to ground. He handed the glass of port to Vedder.
    Vedder took the proffered glass. “Scant as it is, you don’t have pretend at civility. I could just as well have told you in the hallway everything I learned.”
    “Pretend at civility?” Jameson echoed. “Good heavens, Lord Vedder. We are nothing without protocol.” He meant it, too. He firmly believed in keeping to a proscribed standard of behavior. At least, whenever possible. He smiled, though he knew his smiles did little to set people at ease. “One would think you didn’t enjoy my company.”
    Vedder looked away, red spots appearing high on his cheeks.
    “So then.” Jameson returned to his chair behind the desk. “What did you learn?”
    “Nothing,” Vedder said gracelessly. “I asked the footman who showed me in if Seward had been there recently but the fellow had only just been engaged. When I asked Strand what had become of his friend, he asked why I wanted to know.”
    “Did you press him?”
    “There was no opportunity. I arrived at the same time as Lady Demsforth and her progeny. She’s angling for her daughter to become the next marchioness. The damn woman wouldn’t leave!
    “I had begun to think she intended to take up residence in Strand’s drawing room until he agreed to wed her chick.” He snickered. “Though it wouldn’t have mattered if she had left, all of Strand’s attention was taken up by his new protégé.”
    Jameson tipped his head inquiringly. “Protégé?”
    “Yes. Some boy genius he picked up on the continent after throwing over his fiancée.” His lip curled at Jameson’s raised brow. “No one believes Sophia North would have ended the engagement of her own volition. Anyways, apparently the young man impressed Strand enough that he decided to bring him back to London. He’s some sort of stargazer chappie.”
    Jameson’s eyes narrowed. Strand was not a patron of the sciences. He was entirely a creature of the ton: facile, ready with a quip, as easily bored as he was distracted. True, Knowlton had considered him useful but his activities always seemed to Jameson fairly inconsequential. Besides, immediately after the war he’d gone back to his pursuit of pleasure. That is until this past summer when Jack had applied to Strand to smooth his way into Society while he’d hunted for a thief that had been plaguing the prince regent’s wealthy friends. Such an entry would have been impossible without Strand’s cachet.
    There had been more to it than that, of course. The thief had inadvertently stolen an extremely sensitive letter that