Prologue

PROLOGUE

Jack Wit was a man of many secrets. First and foremost, his actual name was neither Jack nor Wit. It was Lord John Foxcroft, Earl of Marlborough.

His favorite uncle had called him Jack. Even from a young age, the rest of his family had called him Foxcroft. And his father…he'd called Jack, bastard.

His father was convinced that his mother had had an affair, which had conceived Jack, and nothing had galled the old earl more than having an heir conceived by another man.

Of course, when Jack had joined the service of the king and became a spy, the old earl had not been pleased with that either.

"If you're going to take over my title, the least you could do is stay alive longer than myself."

"Think how happy you'd be to learn I'd died," he'd replied. It had been the last words he'd ever spoken to the man he'd publicly acknowledged as his father.

His father's last words to him, "The only thing worse than you as my heir is no heir at all. At least the world thinks I produced one. But if you could not reproduce so that my cousin might inherit, it would likely be best."

Jack had been on assignment when he'd received word the old earl had passed and so he hadn't attended the funeral. He likely would not have regardless of where in the world he'd been when he'd received the news.

So no, Jack didn't mourn the other man overmuch. But with the old earl gone, the King had been encouraging Jack to leave his position in the service behind and return to the ranks of the elite.

And by encourage, what Jack actually meant was the King had mostly just yelled. But Jack was used to men of power intimidating him. Or attempting to. He'd only smiled at his King, smoked his cheroot, and answered in a near-bored voice, "I'm very close to defeating the man who calls himself the ‘king' of criminal trade here in England. You really wish for me to stop now?"

Jack knew that the real King very much wanted this self-declared criminal king captured. Not only did the man gouge the tax profits of the country, it was a personal affront to their sovereign leader to declare oneself a king.

"A month. Two at most. If you haven't finished this business, you retire, and I'm not asking. I'll see your sisters married to toads if you disobey me beyond eight weeks."

Jack grimaced. His sisters were his one negotiating weakness.

Both younger, they'd been no more liked by their father than Jack had been, and Jack had declared himself their protector from an early age. "You play dirty."

"I am a king. I play exactly how I wish."

Jack had grunted. Being given a timeline made his job more challenging, but he'd have to persevere.

The question was how to draw the largest smuggler in England out of hiding. Simple was likely best.

Jack had a few ideas…

But he'd need help.

It took him a fortnight of precious time, but he convinced Fulton Smith, a partner of his, to lend him some of the finest Italian wine the vineyard owner had brought to England with his fleet of ships.

Then, he'd coerced his good friend, Lord James Bancroft, to captain the transport of the wine on one of the Smith brothers' ships. All of them had a vested interest in seeing the criminal caught. He'd been terrorizing the Smiths and their businesses.

The plan? Travel to Plymouth where the criminals had a known hub. Make it understood that they were looking to make a quick buck outside the Smith operation by selling the wine on a side deal. There was only one man who sold Italian wine under the King of England's nose with any volume and that was the other king.

The criminals would know it was a trap. But it was too tempting of a deal for his enemies to refuse. At least, that's what he was hoping.

And Jack had been right.

A week after making the inquiries, a buyer came to the pub where he conducted business.

"I hear you're looking to sell some wine."

"I am," he answered. "Quiet though. No noise."

The man that Jack had never met, but immediately didn't like, made a pishing noise. He was a rough fellow, with greasy hair and the kind of beady eyes that made him look as shifty as his profession implied. He smiled, showing several missing teeth. "Quiet or real loud? Everyone knows you want my boss. This isn't a trap, is it?"

Jack had lounged back in his chair. "There is only one way to find out."

"There's more than one…" The man had pulled out a gold chain with a locket at the end.

For a moment, Jack's heart pounded in his chest. What would he find in that locket?

Did it have to do with his sisters?

The man released the clasp and flicked open the locket, revealing pictures of two different women. The first he didn't recognize nor the second. Relief pulled at his shoulders as the air rushed from his lungs.

His brows rose. "Who are they?"

"You don't know?"

"Am I supposed to?" A smile spread across his lips. Had these buffoons taken the wrong women in an attempt to threaten him?

That would be a laughable mistake.

The man flipped the tiny hinges on the second picture, revealing a third. That woman he did recognize. Isabelle Armstrong.

Wife of his good friend, Bode. A woman of strength, character, and a commitment to her sisters that matched what he felt for his.

His breath held in his lungs as he clenched his fist against his thigh.

Because an inkling of who those first two girls were, made his stomach clench with sickening force.

"We couldn't get to your sisters, protected by the King of England as they are, so we've taken the next best thing. You can explain to Bode Armstrong how you got his sisters-in-law killed, or you can hand over the wine in exchange for the ladies."

"Fuck," he whispered under his breath. Because it wasn't much of a choice at all…