Stephen Blake’s life goal is to protect people, especially those closest to him, but war in 1914 England doesn’t follow any rules. When Blake is informed that a noted German spy may have taken up residence at Havensbrooke Hall—his cousin Lord Astley’s estate, which is being used as a convalescent war hospital—he’s sent there to uncover the plot.

Lady Grace Astley has become a force to be reckoned with while Frederick is out on the war front. With Havensbrooke as a hospital, she’s shocked by the devastation the war is bringing home; but ever hopeful, she is determined to help these weary soldiers find some relief. However, not everything is as it seems inside Havensbrooke. Precious items soon start disappearing. . .and not just the kind that are worth a lot of money.

Through a case of mistaken identity, a comedy of errors, a kidnapping, and a race for time within the crumbling subterranean passageways beneath Havensbrooke, can Blake and Gracie work together to root out the criminals, thieves, and spies before time runs out?

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About the Author

Pepper Basham is an award-winning author who writes romance peppered with grace and humor with southern Appalachian flair. Both her historical and contemporary novels have garnered recognition in the Grace Awards, Inspys, and ACFW Carol Awards. Her historical romance, The Thorn Healer, was a finalist in the 2018 RT Awards. Her historical romance novels, My Heart Belongs in the Blue Ridge and The Red Ribbon, and her contemporary novels, the Mitchell’s Crossroads and Pleasant Gap series, showcase her Appalachian heritage, as well as her love for humor and family. She currently resides in the lovely mountains of Asheville, NC where she is the mom of five great kids, a speech-language pathologist to about fifty more, and a lover of chocolate, jazz, hats, and Jesus.

Excerpt

Prologue

May 7, 1915

Stephen Blake had been trailing the presumed spy most of the voyage—first to secure his target, and then. . .to strike. Every clue pointed to the fact that the gregarious businessman Donald Leaman was none other than Albert Stein, a German informant ferrying English war secrets straight to the fatherland.

Unfortunately, every opportunity Blake had found to confront the man had been thwarted: too many watchful eyes, too much pomp and luxury for a clean cornering. With the Lusitania’s transatlantic voyage ending in less than a day, his time to complete this mission was slipping away.

Worse, he couldn’t shake the feeling he was being followed himself. Only a limited few knew of his operation to uncover a ghostlike informant who’d used their “ordinary” position to gain extraordinary intelligence—from transfer stations, casualty clearing posts, even a general’s bunker at the Western Front. The spy had proven madden-ingly elusive, slipping through every trap British intelligence laid

with almost theatrical flair.

But what did they know? Stein was the spy’s last contact. And Blake was tasked with finding out what he knew.

The Lusitania was hardly Blake’s first ship, but certainly it was the grandest. It felt as though Claridge’s, the famous hotel in London, had taken to the sea, complete with its extravagant marble floors and its crystal chandeliers, with champagne in the air and ease all around. Just after luncheon, Stein had excused himself early and started down the grand staircase toward the lower decks. An odd choice for a first-class passenger, especially so near the end of the trip and with

his companions urging him to remain for cards.

So, of course, Blake followed.

Deck by deck, corridor by corridor, until the music and chatter faded into the deep measured thrum of the engines.

Occasionally, Stein cast a look behind him but never appeared concerned enough to stop his descent. This was certainly a planned meeting.

The elegance of the upper floors gave way to simpler decor, narrower corridors. Second-class accommodations. Stein stopped before a cabin door. His knock held an unnatural rhythm—three quick raps, a pause, two more. After only a beat of silence, a murmur from within responded.

Stein’s immediate whispered answer? “Octavia.” A code word, no doubt.

The door opened. Stein slipped inside, but before the door could click shut, Blake rushed soundlessly forward and caught it with his fingertips.

Perfect.

He released a self-satisfied grin and then pressed himself against the corridor wall, listening through the crack over the hum of the ship’s engine.

The cabin was small—voices carried easily in the confined space—and the faint scent of cigarette smoke drifted through the opening. “You’re late.” A man’s voice, crisp and impatient. Something about the cadence nagged at Blake’s memory, but he couldn’t place

English, certainly. Kentish?

Blake frowned. He could overpower Stein easily—the man was more socialite than combatant, the sort who’d probably never thrown a proper punch in his life. But this unknown fellow, clearly in charge and confident enough to smoke a cigarette while conducting treason? That suggested either experience or exceptional stupidity. Blake hoped for the latter but suspected the former.

“It was difficult to get away without raising suspicion,” Stein replied, his accent thickening into full German. “Blake is on this ship.”

Blake’s pulse quickened. So Stein knew he was being followed. “I know.” The other man’s tone didn’t waver. A long exhale

followed, as if he were breathing out smoke. “We’ve been watching him to ensure he didn’t wreck things.”

We? Who?

Blake’s mind raced through the passenger manifest, through his team members, through every face he’d seen on this voyage. That voice. . .

“But with that in mind, we need to move quickly,” the Englishman continued. “What do you have for me?”

A rustle of papers. “The Midnight Angel’s next assignment. She’s to embed herself in a convalescent hospital—but not in France this time. There is too much interest in her there.”

Blake’s breath caught. She was called the Midnight Angel? The informant they’d been hunting for months. And she was a woman.

“Italy, then?”

“Nein,” Stein answered simply. “A place much closer to your front door, mein Herr.”

England? A convalescent hospital in England?

“Perfect,” the Englishman murmured. “Wounded officers talk too freely around nurses they think are angels of mercy.”

“Clever, no?” Stein’s voice held a note of pride. “No one suspects the nurses. They’re invisible, really. Moving between stations, tending to generals and privates alike. She’s already proven invaluable.”

“This is excellent information, Stein.” A pause. “And you’ve given

it so freely. Too freely, I’m afraid.”

Blake froze. He knew that tone—the shift from curiosity to finality. The Englishman was finished with Stein. The German had served his purpose, been found wanting, and now. . .had become a liability.

He couldn’t wait any longer. Stein had to be taken alive—had to be questioned, catalogued, and wrung dry of every detail about the Midnight Angel and her network before—

He drew his revolver and pushed through the door. The scene materialized in a horrifying instant.

Stein stood near a narrow desk, documents scattered before him. And holding a gun already drawn, already aimed at Stein’s head with casual confidence, stood Evan Montgomery.

Blake’s breath squeezed closed in his throat.

Montgomery? His colleague. His friend. The man he’d trained with in Scotland, shared terrible army rations with in the trenches, trusted with his life on half a dozen missions across the Channel. The man whose sister Blake had been half in love with for six months but was far too professional to mention. The man who was, apparently, a traitor.

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