Excerpt from Too Bad to Die by Francine Mathews, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

"And if Roosevelt refuses?"

He rose and crossed the room to her. Sank down on the sofa where she was perched. Gripped her chin with the strength of a vise. The other hand held his burning cigarette close to her perfect cheek. He had ordered the death of millions with those hands during the White Terror. He called the victims Communists, but some of them, she knew, he'd once called friends.

"Never question my methods. American money keeps you alive, darling."

She'd taught him the English word, the only one he knew, when he'd divorced his chief wife and three concubines. She'd thought then it was because he loved her. Wanted her. She knew now that the only thing he wanted was power. Her sister was Sun Yat-sen's widow; Chiang was Sun's political heir. He'd married May-ling for her family.

The glowing end of his cigarette wavered near her eye.

"It's too bad you're not invited to Tehran," she said, defying her danger. "That's where the real decisions will be made. This conference means nothing. These lords give you money to keep you quiet—like scraps of meat thrown to a dog. But they expect you to bite Japan's neck. And then what use is the vicious beast to them? You're a cur they can't trust. A cur they will put down. You're the one being used, Kai."

"You will sit next to Churchill," Chiang said softly. "You will find out why he's afraid. I can smell the fear coming off his skin like rancid fat. Find out what he wants from this conference in Tehran, darling. For China."

"For you, you mean."

"I am China." He released her. "England's enemies pay highly. And China wants something to sell."

—

"GOD, SHE MAKES ME FEEL FILTHY," Sarah Churchill Oliver muttered as she wrapped her kimono around her slim body and quietly closed the bedroom door. "Just the look in her eyes. Smug. And knowing. She guessed you were in here."

"Probably knocked on my door first." Gil Winant's mouth lifted in a smile. "What'd she want?"

"Said there was a wire for Commander Fleming, and did I know where he was? I suppose she's after poor Ian now. One more tame tiger on Pamela's leash. I told her to go up to the hotel. Somebody'll buy her a drink."

"I was surprised to see her on the plane, frankly. Diplomatic missions aren't her style."

"Father wanted her to come." Sarah sounded forlorn. "She plays bezique with him when he can't sleep. His nights are getting worse and worse, Gil, and this flu isn't helping."

"Well, if a game of cards with a doting daughter-in-law can win the war for Britain . . ." Winant rolled off the bed and reached for his jacket. "I'm sorry you have to put up with her, Sal. I thought we'd seen the last of her once she got her own place in Grosvenor Square."

"Not a chance, Mr. Ambassador. Our Pammie has her claws in the Prime Minister of Great Britain. She's borne his grandson, for God's sake. And named him Winston. She'll never let us go. She can call herself a Churchill until she dies—even if she does divorce my brother, Randolph, one of these days." Sarah leaned against the bedroom door and studied Gil coolly. "Did you know she sleeps in the War Rooms sometimes? In the top bunk, right over Father? He won't hear a word against her. No matter how many men she bags."

The list was growing, as they both knew. Averell Harriman, possibly the wealthiest American in the world and Roosevelt's ambassador to the Soviet Union, was quietly paying for Pamela's new apartment and most of her expenses by a circuitous banking route from Moscow; but now that he'd left England, she was frequently seen around London with everyone from Jock Whitney to Bill Paley and his famous reporter, Edward R. Murrow. Pamela liked acquiring Americans, but she wasn't exclusive; Lord Beaverbrook, the British press baron, supported her infant son and his nanny at Cherkley Court, the Beaverbrook estate in Surrey. A complement of variously starred generals supplied Pamela with the necessities of life. Fresh beef. Silk stockings. Trifles studded with diamonds and emeralds. Emeralds were particularly striking with her titian hair.

Excerpted from Too Bad to Die by Francine Mathews. Copyright © 2015 by Francine Mathews. Excerpted by permission of Riverhead Books. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.