I Spy a Duke (23 page)

Now, she didn’t know what she felt. Anticipation warred with fear until her stomach roiled, and she had to fight to keep down the stew she’d already consumed at this stop. She didn’t know what scared her more: the idea of going somewhere unknown with her new husband, or the fact that every mile took her further from Sauveterre and her chance at vengeance. Though James was right that they weren’t prepared, that didn’t make leaving the one lead she had any easier.

She let her spoon drop from her fingers, the metal clinking against the ceramic bowl. The sound barely made an impact in the crowded main room of the Jester and Trader Tavern in Otford. They’d stopped for dinner, but none of the food was appetizing to Vivian’s queasy stomach. She’d managed to eat a third of the beef stew served up to her by an alarmingly buxom serving wench—who James never looked at again after he’d delivered his order, granting her a small measure of happiness—because James and Miss Spencer kept watching her expectantly.

“Something wrong, dear?” Concern laced Miss Spencer’s tone.

“No,” Vivian answered without hesitation. How much had James told his sister about her situation? She didn’t know, and she certainly wasn’t about to volunteer information that made her appear to be a lying thief. “I fear I’m a bit fatigued with all the traveling.”

“It’s been a busy day,” James agreed. “You can rest in the carriage.”

“I shall do that,” Vivian said, though she doubted she’d be able to sleep with him so near to her. “Thank you for your concern, Miss Spencer.”

“Arden,” she corrected with a grin. “We are sisters now, after all.”

Sisters.

She’d been alone in the world since Evan’s death. Suddenly, she had three new sisters and another brother, a brother she’d spent the last six months watching as his governess.
 

And most importantly, now she had a husband. She let her gaze drift over to James, hunched over his stew. He’d asked for a booth in the far corner of the tavern, closest to an exit, shadowed by the low hanging eaves. His cravat was tied in a simple fashion, and he wore a black coat that was neither extravagant nor too cheap to draw notice. He’d traded his Hessians for top boots, dusty from their travels. His tanned, handsome face was as inscrutable as ever—but did she detect the smallest furrow of his bushy black brows? Her eyes traveled down, to those firm, chiseled planes of his chest, and her cheeks warmed at the memory of him pressed up against her body, all sinewy muscle and strength, those wicked lips supple against her own.

He might be duke when at Abermont House, but here outside the estate he was a much more intimidating creature. When a grizzly, haggard man passed by their table, his roving eyes stopping on Vivian with more interest than she would have liked, James turned swiftly in his chair, his glower alone sending the man running. Had that been not enough, she had no problem believing that this version of him, rough and rugged like the road they traversed, would have reached for the knife strapped to his side. Perhaps he had one in his boot as well; Evan had often done that.
 

Her husband’s equipped state brought her some comfort. If Sauveterre did happen to find them, James could protect them.

He’d better, because she had no weapon.

Not from lack of asking. When James originally attached his holster, she’d asked him for a knife too. He’d told her he had enough to worry about without her accidentally stabbing herself. She glanced at his waist, frowning into her stew. The nerve of the man! As if she was useless. While she might be unskilled with a blade, she could fathom which side of the blade was supposed to go into a ruffian and which one went in her hand.

Partners, my blooming arse.

He’d been this way since they’d climbed into the carriage late that morning. What had happened to the man who’d held her in his arms as if she was precious to him?
 

During the first hour of their journey, she’d attempted to make conversation. James had told her the name of the town they were going to, and then fallen silent as he’d reviewed a seemingly endless stack of files brought forth from his portmanteau. Eventually, Vivian had grown tired of only talking to Arden, especially when she still wasn’t sure why the duke’s youngest sister accompanied them on this trip. Most newlyweds didn’t need a chaperone.
 

But most newlyweds weren’t fleeing from a threat on their lives, so there was that.
 

Ignoring her ire, James stood and brushed his hands off on his breeches. He went to find the tavern wench so that he could pay the bill, as she’d disappeared once she’d realized James had no interest in her. Vivian’s scowl deepened. That was definitely a second knife sheathed in his holster too. Why should she have to rely entirely upon him for protection? It didn’t seem like good sense to keep her unarmed.
 

Arden caught her eye and winked. “Don’t worry. I have a knife you can use.”

She didn’t have time to express properly her appreciation, for James returned to the table.

“Let’s go,” he said. “Still a few hours left, and I want to be there before dark.”

A few more hours trapped on the same bench as him, while Arden read her book on the bench across from them. Vivian couldn’t ask James the questions she wanted to with Arden present, and so the need to know chafed at her like an uncomfortable itch she could not scratch.

Their small party proceeded out into the courtyard toward the carriage. Vivian eyed it suspiciously. Every postchaise she’d ever seen had been a yellow bounder, but this one was painted black with no defining markings. Distinctly different from the Spencer’s usual coach and four, which bore the Abermont crest of arms. Distinctly covert.

She was beginning to wonder if Sauveterre had been right. Even their jarvey appeared barbarous, a mammoth of a man with broad shoulders and a chest that reminded her of a tree trunk. There was so much about the Spencers that didn’t add up—yet she was certain she’d never found any indication that he was financing a revolution in France.

Perhaps Sauveterre had the right
idea,
but the wrong
execution
...

She pressed her lips into a thin line. As soon as they arrived at their destination, she’d get answers, even if it meant she had to smack some sense into James.
 

He helped her into the carriage, holding the door open for Arden too. Through the open curtains of the carriage, Vivian saw Arden shake her head, instead accepting the reins of a bay mare from the jarvey. The driver helped Arden up onto the horse.

James slid onto the bench next to her. “Arden is going to ride alongside the hack. Apparently she longs for fresh air.”

“Understandable. Had I known that was an option, I might have considered the same.” Vivian remembered Arden’s earlier wink. Maybe having a new sister could be beneficial after all.

James frowned. “We can’t have you out in the open.”

She gave him an arch look. “Hence why I said
might.
”

The door to the carriage slid shut, and a moment later they were off again.
 

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Vivian leaned her head back against the crimson brocade squabs and wondered if this was what her life would be like. While the black Padua silk-lined walls and soft bench seat were an improvement on the hired hacks she was used to riding in, at this moment she would have given up any convenience for some certainty. Some security.

James drew out yet another folder from his portmanteau, signaling that the next three hours would be spent in silence again.

Vivian snatched the folder from him, holding it up and out of reach. She did not, however, account for the fact that he was taller than she was and had longer arms. He easily reached past her, his hand covering hers on the file.

But she would not be defeated so easily. She dug her nails into the paper, refusing to let go.
 

“Vivian,” James said warningly, and if she weren’t so bloody frustrated she might have done the proper thing and released the file.
 

She didn’t. She gripped it harder, because if she were to do the proper thing, she wouldn’t be in this carriage as a new duchess. “All I want is for you to spend one hour of this trip actually conversing with me. Do you realize you haven’t said more than two words to me since you told me where we’re going? I swear to you, James, if you intend for the rest of our marriage to be passed in silent observation, I will go mad. Silence causes slow deaths, I am sure of it.”

“The last thing I would want is for you to die slowly,” he said dryly, dropping his hand from the file. He held his palm outstretched. “At least allow me to put the folder away properly.”

She considered this. He was a crafty man. If she handed him the file back, he’d probably move to the bench across from her and continue reading. So she lowered the file and slid it underneath her, sitting back down on it.

“Don’t think that’ll stop me from getting it.” His gaze swept from her to the file and back to her again, his lips curving into a slow smirk. “Especially since I’ve been aching to put my hands on your delectable rear since the first night I saw you.”

“Oh.” Her cheeks pinked again—maybe more than just her cheeks, for she felt warm in certain areas that had been unexplored until he’d kissed her. “So that kiss was not a chance occurrence?”

That wasn’t the question she’d meant to ask. She ducked her head, avoiding his eyes. It was so much harder to think properly when he looked at her.

He shifted on the seat, nudging her with his leg. “No. Do you really think I would have asked you to marry me if I wasn’t attracted to you?”

“You said, and I quote, ‘Marriage is like an equation. You and I are both variables.’” Her voice dripped with sarcasm, the full strength of her frustration on display. “How was I to know one of the variables is also your attraction?”

“I told you to never doubt that I wanted you.” His voice was coarse, like the late evening stubble on his chin.
 

He cupped his fingers underneath her chin, bringing her eyes up to meet his. The desire reflected back at her surprised her; he was a coiled beast, ready to strike if she gave him permission. And oh, how she wanted him to strike.

 
The sapphire ring on her finger glinted in the sunlight, reminding her who she was now. A duchess—
his
duchess. When he’d kissed her before, her fear over Sauveterre had quieted. She’d felt safe in his arms, and she wanted to feel that way again.

She started to reach forward, but stopped herself. What would his hair feel like without her gloves? Stripping off one glove and then the other, she felt his eyes upon her, tracing her movements hungrily. She ran her hand along the curve of his cravat, the starched linen stiff against her skin. He kept his hair shorter than the fashion. Up her fingers traveled, the black locks slipping through her fingers. He let out a groan of approval. The satisfaction on his face emboldened her. The rocking of the carriage had taken on a rhythm that heightened her, and she moved with it.
 

“You’ve said you didn’t want to talk about where we’re going.” The huskiness of her own voice surprised her. “But we have much time to pass...”

He pulled back from her, scooting further down the bench. “We shouldn’t.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Well, you
could
tell me how you managed to procure an unmarked carriage so readily. Or, you could tell me why your sister is on this trip with us. Or, you could tell me exactly where in Guildford we’re going. Or, you could tell me—”

James’s left eye started to twitch with her first question, increasing as she continued. He held up a hand to silence her, and she shut her mouth. But only because she’d run out of questions, not because he’d told her to.
 

“When I kissed you before, it was because all I’d been able to think about for the last two weeks was kissing you.” He made this sound as if it was a very bad thing, and she was hard-pressed to follow his reasoning. “My thoughts should be about keeping you away from danger, not about how bloody perfectly your lips fit mine, or how you manage to smell like my blasted garden and home all in one. I need to focus, Vivian. When I get distracted, bad things happen. People die.”

The intensity behind his words took her aback. How many near-death situations had he been in, exactly? She filed that as a query to make later, because the rest of his statement was infinitely more interesting.