I Spy a Duke (17 page)

And not for the first time, he’d be grateful for her efforts.

“If you can’t find anything there, send Korianna to the main archives,” he ordered, as he would have with any other agent.
 

Korianna was already in London, and Elinor’s illness had become too unpredictable for her to travel much. One day she’d be fine, and the next she could not move from the pain.

Elinor’s posture stiffened at his dictatorial tone. “Of course.” Her glare told him that his command should have gone without saying.

“I’m sure if there’s a connection, Elinor will find it,” Arden interjected smoothly, her eyes flickering from his face to Elinor’s and back. As soon as her sister’s stance relaxed, the uneasiness left Arden’s expression.

Always the peacemaker. As the youngest sibling in a house full of firebrands, Arden had often been tasked with interference. When they were younger, it had been him and Elinor against Korianna and Louisa. Their lines had been drawn, their fights routine. Now that Louisa was gone, they were combatants without allegiances. The rhythm of their family was forever changed.

He’d lost his little sister, but he’d be damned if he lost Vivian too.

“We need to move fast,” James said. “No more close calls.”
 

“Always have a contingency plan.” A smile ghosted Elinor’s lips. “One of Papa’s favorite expressions.

“So Sauveterre suspects you,” Arden mused. “But not the rest of us?”

James nodded. “From what Miss Loren said, I don’t think he knows about any of you, or even the Clocktower. He must have found something that made him think I’m working for the Crown.”

Elinor pursed her lips, running her hand down the back of the divan. “Precautions will need to be taken. You are absolutely certain this girl is telling the truth?”

He thought of how damnably distraught she’d looked in the conservatory. How he’d drawn her close, his arm around her, never wanting to let her go. The way her head nestled against his shoulder, as if he was truly a hero. And he knew, with the same level of certainty that he knew he’d never be the hero she deserved, that nothing she had told him was a lie.

“She’s telling the truth,” he said, looking straight into his sisters’ eyes. “I know it. The threat against Miss Loren is very real.”

Something in his tone must have stopped her, for Elinor opened her mouth to protest, and then shut it. She settled back upon the divan and waited for him to continue. In the chair beside her, Arden remained silent. Yet without needing to meet her eyes, he could feel her gaze upon him. Observing him. Calculating any minor shifts in his emotion. He’d taught Arden how to interrogate, and damned if she didn’t use his own tactics against him.
 

“The bastard sent her teeth.” James’s fist clenched on the arm of his chair, a futile attempt to master his rage at the memory.
 

Elinor’s nose wrinkled. “How...odd.”
 

“Her dead brother’s teeth.”
 

“Oh,” Arden and Elinor said at once.
 

“It wasn’t enough to coerce her. He had to torment and threaten her too.” His nails dug into his palm, the sharp stab of pain keeping him alert. Reminding him he was alive, when so many others more deserving than him weren’t. “She needs us to protect her.”

She needs
me
.

And maybe, he needed her. Not because of some great love, for he’d long since stopped believing that a spy could ever achieve real happiness. But around her, he began to see glimpses of the man he’d been before Louisa’s death.
 

He needed to be that man again. For the Clocktower. For his own sanity.

“We should help,” Arden said, with a plaintive look toward her eldest sister. “We can’t allow an ingénue to go up against a murderer.”
 

Elinor let out a loud sigh of exasperation, but James could tell from the sparkle in her eyes that she’d relented. “I suppose a governess in the family isn’t the worst that could happen.”

No, the worst was another death. Miss Loren’s vivaciousness extinguished. Her corpse cast out into the stews of Seven Dials like her brother.
 

 
He wouldn’t let that happen. She’d be protected as his duchess. Afforded the same rights as any peer—though that hadn’t helped to save his sister.

He had to do better. To
be
better. “I want this man captured. Whatever we have to do to get him, we’ll do.”

The hours between midnight and three in the morning had become James’s favorite. Every night since Louisa’s death, insomnia besieged him; an uninvited guest that long overstayed its welcome. But in his sleepless state, he’d discovered the peacefulness of silence in a house that was rarely ever quiet.
 

In those magical three hours when he roamed the grounds, he was neither a duke nor the head of the Clocktower. He was simply a man communing with nature.

Tonight, five days after his proposal to Vivian Loren, he strolled onto the front lawn of Abermont House. The full moon was half-hidden by murky clouds, providing moderate guidance for his walk. He did not carry a lantern with him. After so many years of training, he felt more at home under the cover of darkness than he did in the harsh light of day.

James breathed in the crisp night air and said a silent prayer for fortitude in the coming weeks. He stopped, leaning forward to smell the fresh blooms of the rose bushes lining the drive. God, how the flowers reminded him of Vivian. The romantic scent of her soap. The softness of her skin. That delicate flush of her cheeks, so much like the first buds of spring.

The sudden crack of a twig interrupted his reverie. His senses on high alert, James spun around. A figure appeared in the distance. A woman, he guessed. Tall and reedy, her frame was almost boyish—were it not for the outline of her gown in the moonlight, he would have marked her as a man. A peal of recognition sounded in his mind, though from this distance, he didn’t want to chance that he was wrong about her identity. She was too far away for him to be absolutely certain, and he believed in caution above all else.
 

Moving swiftly, she slipped down the tree-lined drive. She knew exactly what spots would shelter her from the gas lamps. He advanced, keeping sufficient distance between them that he remained shrouded in shadow, yet near enough he could positively identify her. She turned to face him, and he ducked behind a tree for cover, peeking out from behind the trunk.
 

Of course.
Korianna.
She wasn’t due back from London for another two nights, but she’d always loved to make a grand entrance.

It was a trait she’d shared with Louisa.
 

He frowned as she stepped out into the open, tilting her head up toward the sky. As if she’d ascertained that there was no threat, and she needn’t be careful now.
 

Come now, Kori, you can do better.
 

All-too-familiar tension seized hold of his gut and twisted. When would she learn not to be so damned reckless? Hadn’t they lost enough already? James crouched, in one smooth movement pulling out the knife sheathed in his boot and standing back up.
 

Countless lectures had done nothing. He could not pull her from sanctioned missions—such was the lone saddle he could put upon this wild horse. While he had retreated inside himself, throwing himself deeper and deeper into the management of the Clocktower, she had come to live for the field.

So he’d use language she’d understand. Violence and blood. He’d remind her that they must always be careful. A simple attack not meant to do more than scare her into being sensible.
 

He crept closer. He waited until she paused. Her arm moved as though she brushed something off her skirt. Seizing the opportunity, he launched himself onto her, wrapping his forearm around her throat. The blade of his knife pressed into her throat.

He
should
have had the advantage. He had at least fifty pounds on her.
 

Yet before he could process what was happening, she’d slammed the ball of her foot into his knee. Pain shot through him. His grip on the knife wavered. Taking advantage of his weakness, she placed one hand above his elbow, the other below it. With one swift motion, she spun around, using his arm as a hinge so she could escape his hold.

Bloody, bloody hell.
His attempt at teaching her had been turned upon him.
 

Korianna fixed her hat back to the proper jaunty angle and smoothed out the wrinkles in her dress. Her brown eyes gleamed impishly, a sardonic smile curling up her rouged lips.

She raised her hand to her brow, executing a mock salute. “You’re getting sloppy. Too many hours spent in the office make Jim a very dull boy, you know.”

He slid the knife back into his boot, trying to ignore her remark, even though a part of him wondered if she was right. He hadn’t been out in the field since Louisa’s death. Could he really keep Vivian safe? He swallowed down his doubt. Yes. One failed attack did not negate years of training. He’d beaten Korianna as many times as she’d thrashed him in the past. That’s what had made them good sparring partners. She fought with passion, making her attacks harder to predict but oft less effective; he fought with logic, proven combined steps and greater estimated damage.

Still, tomorrow he’d start doubling his mills. A session with Arden in the morning, and his regular one with Richard in the evening.
 

Straightening his waistcoat, he faced Korianna, keeping his expression impassive. “One victory, Kori. I needn’t remind you of the last time we met like this.” She’d ended up with a bloody nose and bruised ribs.

Korianna shrugged. “I survived just fine.”

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “In most circles, it’s considered polite to inform the host before you show up on his doorstep. In this family, it’s a matter of life or death. I could have slit your throat.”
 

Korianna let out a loud huff of protest. “You tried and failed.”

His brows wrinkled. “I’m serious. I knew it was you all along, but you still weren’t aware I was sneaking up on you.”

For a second, doubt flickered across her face. It was more self-examination than he usually had from her, so he’d consider it a victory.

He took her arm, escorting her down the lane. “Why didn’t you write?”

She shrugged, the casual bravado to her motion reminding him more of an insouciant lad than a finely bred miss. “Didn't seem a need to, when it's a day trip by hack. I'd already be here by the time you received the missive. The bloody post's so slow.”
 

“Language, Kori,” he replied automatically, though he knew it wouldn’t do a damn bit of good.

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, let me be, won’t you?”

He suppressed a sigh, reminding himself that however much Korianna irritated him, she was still family and family needed to be held close. All too quickly that age-old pang of loss edged up on him, and he shoved his hands into his coat pockets, trying to ignore it.

The mission, he reminded himself. Talk of the mission would steady him, giving him purpose. Korianna had gone to the records room at the Clocktower headquarters.
 

“Did you get it?” he asked, beginning to walk back to the house.

Korianna shot him a look. “Of course I have it. When I have ever failed you?”

“Hanover Square.” He answered too quickly, for her expression soured.

“That was
one
bomb, Jim, and it wasn’t even a large one.” She frowned at him, refusing to take the arm he proffered to escort her down the drive. Instead, she strode forward, one full stride in front of him. A difficult task, in her dress and petticoats. But that was Korianna: audacious, infuriating, and highly competitive.

“One bomb in a square the Beau Monde frequents,” he reminded her. “The mission was to gather intelligence.”

“And I did one better,” Korianna said. “Arden and I snagged you the enemy agent you wanted, and we did it without having to involve Wickham.”

“Just because it worked in this case doesn’t mean it’ll always work.” He sped up, grabbing for her arm to spin her around so that she faced him. “Listen to me, chit. You could have been caught.”