Children of the Sea 03 - Sea Lord

Tugging him to his feet, she threw herself into his arms. “ Yes .”
    “You will never leave me?”
    “Never,” she promised.
    “I love you.”
    At last, they kissed, rediscovering each other with lips and hands and hearts, and for that moment the air around them was as warm as spring and the garden bloomed like summer.
    Because love is the greatest magic of all.
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    OF THE FIRST BOOK IN THE FITZ
    CLARE CHRONICLES
    Kissing
    Midnight
    BY EMMA HOLLY
    COMING JUNE 2009 FROM
    BERKLEY SENSATION!
    Paddington Station, 1933
    GRAHAM FITZ CLARE WAS A SECRET AGENT.
    He had to repeat that to himself sometimes, because the situation seemed too ludicrous otherwise. He was ordinary, he thought, no one more so, but he fit a profile apparently. Eton. Oxford. No nascent Bolshevik tendencies. MI5 had recruited him two years ago, soon after he’d accepted a job as personal assistant to an American manufacturer. Arnold Anderson traveled the world on business, and Graham—who had a knack for languages—served as his translator and dogsbody.
    He supposed it was the built-in cover that shined him up for spywork, though he couldn’t see as he’d done anything important yet. He hadn’t pilfered any secret papers; hadn’t seduced an enemy agent—which wasn’t to suggest he thought he could! For the most part, he’d simply reported back on factories he and his employer had visited, along with writing up impressions of their associated owners Page 125
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    and officials.
    Tonight, in fact, was the most spylike experience he’d had to date.
    His instructions had been tucked into the copy of The Times he’d bought at the newsagent down the street from his home.
    “Paddington Station,” the note had said in curt, telegraphic style. “At 11:45 tonight. Come by Underground and carry this paper under your left arm.”
    Graham stood at the station now, carrying the paper and feeling vaguely foolish. The platform was empty and far darker than during the day. The cast-iron arches of the roof curved gloomily above his head, the musty smell of soot stinging his nose. A single train, unlit and silent except for the occasional sigh of escaping steam, sat on the track to the right of him. One bored porter had eyed him when he arrived, shaken his head, and then retired to presumably cozier environs.
    Possibly the porter had been bribed to disappear. All Graham knew for sure was that he’d been waiting here fifteen minutes while his feet froze to the concrete floor, without the slightest sign of whoever he was supposed to meet. Doubly vexed to hear a church clock striking midnight, he tried not to shiver in the icy November damp. His overcoat was new, at least—a present from the professor on Graham’s twenty-fifth birthday.
    That memory made him smile despite his discomfort. His guardian was notoriously shy about giving gifts.
    They were always generous, always exactly what the person wanted—as if Edmund had plucked the wish from their minds. He always acted as if he’d presumed by wanting to give whatever it was to them.
    The habit, and so many others, endeared him to his adopted brood more than any parent by blood could have. The professor seemed to think it a privilege to have been allowed to care for them.
    All of them, even flighty little Sally, knew the privilege was theirs.
    Though Graham was old enough to occasionally be embarrassed by the fact, there really was no mystery as to why Edmund’s charges remained at home. Graham’s lips pressed together at the thought of causing Edmund concern. If tonight’s business kept him waiting long enough to have to lie to the professor about where he’d been, he was not going to be amused.
    Metal creaked, drawing his eyes to the darkened train. Evidently, it wasn’t empty. One of the doors had opened, and a dainty Oriental woman was stepping down the stairs of the central car. Her skintight emerald dress looked straight out of wardrobe for a Charlie Chan picture. Actually, she looked straight out of one, too, so exotically gorgeous that Graham’s tongue was practically sticking to the roof of his mouth.
    He forced himself to swallow as her eyes raked him up and down.
    “Hm,” she said, flicking a length of night black hair behind one slender shoulder. “You’re tall at least, and you look healthy.”
    Graham flushed at her dismissive tone, and again—even harder—when