The Pirate's Lady (Spies of London #1)

Traitor

This chapter here is a bonus for you guys for taking it beyond 2222 reads! Yay! :)

It's a totally different viewpoint and I am finding it a bit difficult, so I'm not sure if it'll be upto the mark, but I really wanna write it!

So this one's for tendulkar14 ! Love u Pooj! ;)

Also for extraordinaryworld .... For seconding the comment! :P

Okay, okay the chapter starts now! :)

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He rolled off the satisfied and panting body of the whore, walking towards the chair on which his robe had been laid. After putting it on and belting it closed, he turned to the now empty bed. The whores had learned not to linger after he left them. He did not appreciate it, and it brought them a round of whipping which they would rather avoid.

Walking to the study, where a light had been left burning on his orders, he poured some brandy from the decanter and settled down at his desk, where papers had been scattered earlier.

He had to say, the French paid well. Their plans of action, like the ones in front of him were precise and ruthless. Two qualities he appreciated a great deal.

His lips twisted as he read the name of his current assignment. James Richardson. Bastard should have died that day when my dagger scarred his face, he thought, anger boiling in his chest. Would have died if that accomplice of his wasn't there to outnumber him. Conrad Brighton. He would take care of that later. Now James was his target.

He had observed him today, dashing from one house to the next, and had laughed at his discomfort. He knew about the Wynter chit of course. Even about how Winchester was besotted with the wench.

After all he was the one who put the idea of abducting her to that sod Townsend, when he had found him lying foxed at that gaming hell. It had been pure luck, finding him there. And the boy was deep enough in his cups to actually plan the thing and go through with it, he thought chuckling to himself. What fools love made of men!

He himself would never understand it. When his gambling father had killed himself with his own pistol, his mother had withered away as well, illness taking her a few years after her husband. But he had been left to pick up the mess that his father had left behind at the tender age of fifteen.

He had left behind everything he had held dear at eighteen, obtaining passage on a French vessel as a cabin boy. He had lived on the ship for two years, when one day he had been approached by some wealthy Frenchmen.

He had been drinking heavily, and with a few questions, had spilled his story, all of his hatred for the country of his birth, because he believed that it had taken his father away from him. They had scoffed when he had told the that he was a titled Lord, so he had shown them the papers his father had left behind, along with the seal of his rank, kept safely in a pouch he always carried with him.

They had taken notice of him then, and had said that they would contact him the next day. He had not known then that he would become a spy for France, returning to England to claim his title, living on funds supplied to him in abundance for services rendered to an enemy country.

But he adapted well to his lifestyle as a traitor, though he didn't think of himself in that light.He was just paying England back for orphaning him.The killing fascinated him the most. Taking the lives of people when they did not even suspect him, walking among them unnoticed, considered incapable of such a heinous deed, gave him a feeling of power he never expected. Stealing information from the bungling fools that called themselves Lords, when drinking them under the table, or losing bets while gambling with them, it helped him achieve his objectives nicely.

When he had met James, an up-and-coming spy for the W.O., in the dim alleyways of France while the bastard was chasing le tueur, his longtime friend and confidant, he had seen his chance to kill the man who had evaded him for so long.

But when he had removed the dagger from its sheath and prepared to kill his opponent, James had not stayed quiet. In the fight that had ensued, he had managed only to scar James face, while escaping with a broken rib when he had seen Conrad approaching them . He had been thankful for the dark, and the long cloth that covered all of his face except his eyes, making it impossible for the men to recognize him.

His friend had died that day, killed by the Englishmen, and he had sworn revenge on James and his partner. But the thought that haunted him was whether le tueur had said anything about him as he took his last breaths. He wanted to think his friend would not do something like that, and the W.O. didn't seem to be looking for him. But one could never be too sure of such things.

This travelling between England and France was tiring sometimes. He wondered how it would be to live like a normal person. A life without murder and mayhem. It was not for him, that was a fact.

He sighed. But one thing was for sure, if James married the chit as he was supposed to, it would make his plan for revenge much, much simpler. He smiled.

And much more exciting.

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Okay so that's it!

Its sort of a filler, so m not counting it as a Chapter. But you can still vote! :D

Oh yeah, 'le tueur' means 'the killer' in French. I looked it up! :P

And comment as well! I can't tell you how much I enjoy reading each and every one of them!

But I can't reply cause Wattpad is not workin properly on my comp, so I have to upload from my iPad but its malfunctioning a lot and thankfully I can at least upload stuff, if not comment ! :(

You guys are awesome! Thanks for all your support!

~shreya07