I Spy a Duke (12 page)

“I lived without answers for almost a year. A horrible, exhausting year, in which I did nothing but search for
something
that would tell me why my brother died.” For a second, she closed her eyes, letting the darkness soothe her. She’d always felt better in the blackness, for it was what she deserved. “Evan had enough money saved that after the townhouse was sold, I was able to let a small flat in Clerkenwell too. But everything reminded me of him, and then the money ran out.”

“Did you think of going home?” Abermont asked. “Not
home
, per say, but to your other relatives.”

She shook her head. “My cousin, Viscount Trayborne, wants nothing to do with me. My grandfather has never met me. Grandfather stopped recognizing Papa as kin as soon as he married Mama. Supposedly, Grandfather didn’t agree with the match.”
 

“Still, maybe...”

She raised her chin higher, meeting Abermont’s inquiries with fire. “I would rather work myself to the bone than rely on the charity of others.”

“I admire that.” The tiniest smile creased the duke’s lips. “So you became a governess. But I still don’t see how this has anything to do with lying.”

She held up the bag. “For six months, I have been receiving instructions from a man named Sauveterre. He wrote to me, and I didn’t question it. I should have, I know. A missive arrives on your doorstep with no return address, signed by an obvious pseudonym. Usually, people want to know where it’s from.”

“But you didn’t.”

“I think I was scared to question it,” she said. “Every attempt I’d made in investigating Evan’s death met with failure. Here was this person who promised me the keys to everything I wanted—answers and employment. I didn’t want to look deeper and find out it was a ruse. I just wanted to believe for a little while, I had a chance at revenge.”

Her grip on the handkerchief shook as she breathed in. Nothing would ever be right again, and she’d done nothing to stop it. “But I failed. I failed my brother, and I failed you, because the very man who killed my brother is the same one who claimed he’d help me.”

Abermont did not focus on that detail. “What did he want in exchange?”

“Information on you.”

There it was, the marked change in Abermont’s countenance. The suddenly autocratic tilt to his neck, as he looked
above
her, no longer keeping her gaze. The way he swept back in his chair, putting distance between them.

“Who could you possibly fear more than me, Miss Loren? You must know what I could do to you as duke. Yet you confess your treachery to me...” He paused, dragging his hand through his hair, an expression she’d come to mark as him being lost in thought. “You come to me as if you think I can
help
you.”

Her resolution lagged. She’d made a terrible mistake coming to him. What would he want with a governess who had hurt his family? She’d be better off running, for then at least she’d be independent. But then what would she do? She couldn’t get another position without references from this one, and the duke would surely tell all his friends not to hire her. She couldn’t go far on what she had saved.
 

So she had no choice. Convincing him to help her became her only salvation. For herself, and for Evan—for the Runners worked on a reward system, and they’d be much more willing to look into Evan’s murder again if they thought they’d get a hefty sum from Abermont.

“I can explain, Your Grace.” She handed him the makeshift bag. “That is every letter I ever received from the man who calls him Sauveterre. I have carried the last letter on me since I received it yesterday, as a reminder of the true nature of this blackguard.”

He took the folded handkerchief, emptying the contents on his lap. She had numbered the margins on each note, so that he could follow the story.
 

With each note, the impassiveness of his features contorted, until the raggedness of his emotion washed it away entirely. The fury that had shone in his eyes spread to his cheeks, even to the tip of his crooked nose. She saw it in the death grip he had on the notes, in the way his shoulders hunched over the paper. When he deposited the notes into his coat pocket and turned to her, she expected to be blasted with his ire for what she’d done to him.

Yet something had changed. She would have bet an entire year’s salary on that. His eyes were so bright and full of fire that her breath stilled in her throat.
 

“A man who threatens a woman is the worst sort of man,” he said finally, his voice so gravelly, so raw that it sent a shiver up her spine.

Never had she heard him sound so…candid.

So dangerous.

He’d thrown his arm around her before she could react. God’s above, he should be furious with her. Instead, he’d taken compassion on her. She leaned into him, resting her head against his shoulder, the superfine of his coat smooth against her flaming cheeks. Yes, his body was as hard as she’d imagined. Yes, he was as strong as she’d always thought. His body was rough and toned, reminding her of a warrior.
 

And though she knew it was the pinnacle of insanity, she wished he’d be
her
warrior.

But she’d betrayed him. She’d broken his trust. She’d hurt him and his sisters, all for some false promises made by a man she did not know and could not find.
 

“He’s going to kill me.” Droplets of water streamed down her cheeks. She’d dreamed of being wild and free, but this was something differently entirely. Giving in to the knowledge that she was doomed, no matter what she did. “He sent me my brother’s
teeth.
”

Abermont shuddered. That such a robust man as him was repulsed by Sauveterre’s actions did not comfort her.

“He’s going to kill me like he did my brother and I’m never, ever going to get revenge for Evan. Everything I have done for the last six months has been for
nothing.
”

He pulled her closer, his big hand heavy against her arm.
 

“No. Nothing is going to happen to you, Miss Loren.” His rich, clear voice rang out in the conservatory, his unshakable determination making her believe him, even though she knew the odds were against them. “I’m going to protect you.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

In the space of five minutes, Vivian Loren had transformed from a traitorous enemy to the asset he needed to keep safe.
 

During, his time in the field, he’d learned to judge when a person was lying. Her voice did not lower; she did not slant her head to the side before responding; she did not stare at him without blinking. Miss Loren was as real, as broken as Louisa had been that day when she’d begged him to send her after Nicodème.
He’s hurting innocent women by forcing them into prostitution,
she’d pleaded.
We have to stop him.

He’d thought that since he’d grown up with four sisters, and worked countless missions where he was required to turn women against their own traitorous husbands, that he was prepared for crying women.

He’d thought wrong.

As tears splashed down Miss Loren’s face, his grip on impartiality did not just loosen. It released completely. Her frail body trembled so badly. He couldn’t help it—he’d thrown his arm around her before sense took hold. Before he knew what was happening, he was promising her he’d keep her safe. He’d left a trail of bodies in his wake. Justified countless morally deficient decisions with his duty to the nation.
 

And once the words were said, he couldn’t take them back. That vow became like a brand upon his soul. He had not saved Louisa, but by God, he would save Miss Loren.
 

All thoughts of turning her into Wickham fled his mind. The spymaster would interrogate her for hours upon end, and even after he’d discovered that she knew relatively nothing about Sauveterre or their true occupations, she’d still be kept in gaol on the very slight chance she might present more of a threat down the line.

Under his watch, no one would ever hurt her again.
 

He tugged her closer to him, snug against his body. They did not speak; no words were needed now. She leaned into him, resting her head against his shoulder. He wanted to tunnel his fingers through her flaxen hair, see if it was as silky as it appeared.
 

He ought to release her. Yet he slid his hand down her arm, relishing the satin of her bare skin. Her walking dress had cap sleeves, leaving a tiny space between her elbow-length gloves and the edge of her sleeve.

Already, the stirrings of arousal slid through him, hardening his cock. Never had the touch of a woman undone him so, yet the mere act of holding her to his chest affected him more than the nakedness of any of the women he’d seduced for the Crown. She was too warm, too soft in his arms. And oh God, she smelled delicious. Roses, sweet but with an under-layer of spice. He breathed in deeply, thinking the scent of her soap most apt—that hint of something more beneath the surface, a minx disguised in the prim trappings of a spinster.
 

She was far too tempting. She made him forget who he was. Who he’d been. He did not deserve to forget.

He pulled back from her, settling back on his side of the bench. The distance did not make him less aware of her presence. Her eyes, reddened from crying, focused on him as if he’d provide her with all the answers to her questions. As if he was the only one who could solve her problems.
 

He handed her his handkerchief, and she took it gratefully, dabbing at her running nose.
 

“Tell me everything you told Sauveterre.” He’d be calm, rational. The Clocktower had faced worse before than this threat to his cover. Once he had all the details, he could manage the situation.

“He asked about your schedules,” she said. “He wanted to know your hobbies, and that of your sisters. Any gossip or strange occurrences around the house. So I would listen outside the door, and tell him what I heard.”

Though he was careful to exhibit no outward signs of panic, his stomach dived. He
thought
they’d been fastidious about where they conducted their business, but he’d spent most of the last year in London—he couldn’t be sure what happened at the estate when he was not home.

“What did you hear?”

She inhaled deeply, closing her eyes. Leaning back against the bench, she began to recite monotonously from memory. “Lady Korianna abhors a man named Simon Travers, but Lady Elinor thinks he’s a smart man and Korianna would do best to forget about her feud. Miss Spencer did not want to go to the ball Lord Haley has to commemorate the end of winter, until Mr. Drake told her that he’d be sure to save a dance for her. You think that Mr. Drake is far too rakish, and should exercise more care when it comes to the ladies. Lord Haley agreed with you, but he thinks that’s simply because Mr. Drake is twenty-two and has not learned the finer points of...”

On and on the list went, for a total of fifteen minutes. He tracked her movements as she spoke, and found no signs that she was telling anything other than the truth. While she’d overheard enough
on-dits
to keep the
ton
stewing for months, nothing she revealed was covert. The most “secret” thing she’d uncovered was the state of his investments.
 

But her memory was damnably good. He could use that in the future.

Miss Loren opened her eyes. “And that’s it. Everything I told him. When Sauveterre used to write to me, he’d post his letters as Aline Stuart. I told the postmaster Mrs. Stuart was my aunt.”

He nodded. “Your recall is impressive. So much so that I think even Lady Elinor would admire your skills.”

She looked pleased at that. “Lady Elinor’s memory is frightfully acute.”

“Oh, my dear, you have no idea.” He smiled wryly. “But what I don’t understand is
why
Sauveterre sent you here. What does he want from me?”

“He is convinced you are financing a revolution in France. No matter how many times I told him his theory didn’t have any evidence to support it, he kept
insisting
.” Miss Loren’s brows furrowed. “You aren’t, right?”

James smothered a smile. “No, absolutely not. If I were ever to get involved in revolution, I’d prefer to be actively involved, not just the moneybags.”

Technically, that was true. The Clocktower had its own budget, funded through the Alien Office. And his years in the field had certainly been
active
, to say the least.