I Spy a Duke (13 page)

She let out a sigh of relief, shifting on the bench to face him. “I thought so. You don’t even take your seat in the House of Lords. What interest would you have in the politics of France? It doesn’t apply to you.”

He nodded, though he hated to agree with that description of him. He sounded so shallow—if only she knew that he didn’t take his seat because there simply was no time
.
He was committed to serving in England in a much more direct way.

She’d already moved on. “How can you want to protect me, after all of this?”

A pithy lie about duty and the obligations of honorable men was on the tip of his tongue, ready to be used. But with her, it didn’t feel right to outright lie. When was the last time he’d felt something genuine? Pleasure or pain that didn’t contain artifice? He couldn’t remember.

And in that moment, sitting on this bench with her, he wanted
one
thing that was real.

“I want to protect you because I believe in you.” More truth than he’d meant to reveal, but for one moment, he didn’t want to hide. She was smart and vivacious, and he found that bloody attractive.

“Oh.” A flush spread over her high cheekbones. “Well, thank you.”

She reached for him, curling her fingers around the back of his hand. He made the mistake of looking down, and all he could think of was how her hand would look wrapped around far more erotic parts of his anatomy.

Christ.
Releasing her hand, he gulped down his rising desire and tried to pretend he wasn’t aroused at all by her. That she was an asset, and nothing more.
 

“It won’t be easy,” he warned her, his voice coming out gruffer than he’d wanted. “The man who killed your brother clearly won’t hesitate to use extreme measures to get what he wants. If I’m going to keep you safe, you’ll need to follow my instructions. No questions asked.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I want to know what’s going on. It’s my fate we’re discussing. And I won’t stop until I personally have Evan’s killer brought to rights.”

He recognized the flash of fire in her eyes, for he’d seen it in every one of his sisters when they’d argued with him over mission objectives. Lord save him from stubborn women. His job of protecting them would be so much easier if they simply
listened
to him.

He opened his mouth to tell her he knew the best way to handle this, but then she set her jaw. Head held high, sapphire eyes shining, Miss Loren definitely wasn’t a shrinking wallflower. And she was already involved in this.
 

Right now, she thought the problem was limited to simply her brother’s murder. Keeping her out of the loop might actually endanger her more—he had a sinking feeling she’d burst into the middle of a meticulously planned mission and blow all their covers if she wasn’t aware of the stakes. She’d need training.
Lots
of training, if her sneaking in his library was any indication. Yet she had a quick mind, and she refused to drop a matter until she’d ferreted out the answers she wanted. He’d refine those skills. Harness her raw energy into something with purpose and direction.
 

Given Sauveterre’s knowledge of her existence, he couldn’t risk that whomever the man worked for would try to recruit Vivian too. Nor did he want Wickham to get his hands on Vivian. She deserved more than years of missions that would corrupt her soul. If he took her under his wing, he could watch her, make sure she wasn’t harmed. Assign her to missions that wouldn’t put her in great danger.
 

“If I keep you informed, you must do the same for me,” he said. “If Sauveterre contacts you again, I need to know. Every detail counts. If there’s anything you’re leaving out...”

She nodded. “I’ve told you everything I know.”

“Meet me in my office tomorrow night after dinner. We can discuss where to go from here.” He stood up from the bench, extending his hand to help her up too.

She took his extended hand, but she held on after she stood. “Partners?”

He shook her hand. “Partners.”
 

Whether she knew it or not, Vivian Loren had become the Clocktower’s newest agent.

Early the next morning, James sat at the small Cuban mahogany desk in the secret room attached to his library. He had always hated this desk. It was overly ornate with gilt mounts and tapered, fluted legs. He drummed his fingers on the black marbled top of the desk, pounding out the same beat his father had always hummed. But that didn’t help his concentration, and neither did sitting behind this damnably French desk. He tugged on the gold-enameled circular handle and wished for answers.

It was in times like these, when he had a difficult decision to make, that he missed his father the most. The Lion made choices swiftly, and it was the right course of action. Always. Though James inherited his father’s name, title, and responsibilities, he had not gained his infallibility; nor his ability to remain impartial, even when the ramifications would affect their own family.
 

He’d allowed his emotions to cloud his logic the day he’d sent Louisa out on that fatal mission. Now he had Miss Loren depending on him—what if he made the wrong decision? When it came to assigning missions to the seasoned agents of the Clocktower, he tried to remember that they knew the consequences of their covert work. They’d made an informed choice about their fate.
 

Vivian Loren hadn’t made that choice. She’d been used by a brutal killer to get to him. Her actions had been the by-product of her grief, not a deliberate desire to enter the world of espionage. Hell, after six months, she
still
believed that Sauveterre had the wrong idea about him.
 

He pushed the chair back from the mahogany desk and stood. No amount of old relics from successful missions would help him channel the Lion’s wisdom. After he’d left the conservatory yesterday, he’d immediately informed the guards that patrols around the estate needed to be increased. Then he’d spent all evening in this little room, for here he thought the best.
 

James turned on his heel, facing the wall of cabinets holding data on the Clocktower agents. The files were a small percentage of information compared to that kept in the organization’s headquarters in London, yet Elinor had lovingly cataloged each record as though this were the lost library of Alexandria. James paused in front of the drawer labeled L-M, pulling out Miss Loren’s file. He already knew the contents, yet the act of browsing through the paper always soothed him. As he set the file down on his desk, the panel clicked and the wall receded. James’s hand slid down reflexively to his knife, but he didn’t need to draw out the blade.
 

Richard took the seat he’d vacated behind the Lion’s desk. “Hundreds of missions and this place still makes me feel like I’m in the
Mysteries of Udolpho.
I like that. No matter what Ellie says, I’ll always have a soft spot for disguises and secret identities.”

“For the sake of everyone in the Clocktower and most importantly, my sanity, I beg you not to bring back Malcolm Mustachio,” he said, remembering Richard’s favorite costume from when they were children.

Richard placed his hand over his heart, feigning a wound. “You said you loved that mustache. You asked me to borrow it!”

James chuckled. “I was eight. Cooler heads have prevailed.”

Richard muttered something that sounded vaguely like “grumpy old badger.” It was their usual routine—Richard would tease his solemnity, and James would claim Richard needed to take life more seriously.
 

Their friendship had stretched from childhood to their schooling at Eton and now, as agents of the Clocktower, they relied on each other to stay alive.

That thought sobered James. He and his siblings had grown up so entrenched in spycraft that he’d never known anything different. Not until he left home did he realize how strange their upbringing truly was. This life had already taken so much from the people he loved.
 

But if he didn’t bring Miss Loren into the fold, she wouldn’t be prepared for the danger ahead. How could he keep her safe? Not just from this threat, but also from any other peril she might face? He couldn’t explain why he felt so protective of her—how she’d dug so deep under his skin.

Richard took a seat at the desk, crossing one leg over the other. “Why’d you call me here, Jim?”
 

James passed the folder to him and leaned against his own writing table. Solid oak, square-legged, and sturdy. Now
that
was how a desk should be.

Richard’s brows shot up as he flipped through the file. “Your governess? Hardly a cause for such secrecy, unless...” He paused, grinning wolfishly. “Did you bed the governess? I’ve noticed her too, you know. Quite a beauty. Wish she wouldn’t hide underneath those out-of-fashion garments. If she wasn’t in your staff, hell,
I’d
tup her.”

“Must you be so bloody crass?” James clenched his fists at his sides. He’d never minded his friend’s sordid comments before, as long as Richard didn’t attempt to flirt with his sisters. But now, when the subject was Miss Loren, his blood boiled.

A sly smile slid onto Richard’s lips. “From your growls, I’m guessing you have a personal interest in Miss Loren, but I still don’t know why you called me here.”

He handed the notes to Richard and explained what Miss Loren had told him about her brother’s death and Sauveterre’s reason for sending her to Abermont House. When Richard finished reading, concern washed over his normally jovial features. “So this man thinks you’re financing a revolution. That’s a damnably fancy way of saying he suspects you’re a spy. Well, this certainly complicates things.”

James snorted. “Understatement of the year, mate.”

Richard gave him back the letters. “But when are our lives not complicated? You’d think by now we’d be used to it.”

“There are many things I will never get used to.” He did not need to specify, for Richard could tell the dark turn his thoughts had taken. Though his friend had not been on the mission that claimed Louisa’s life, he’d tracked the Talons before.
 

Richard sighed. “I’m not going to tell you it wasn’t your fault, because you wouldn’t listen to me anyhow. Just know that I would have made the same call. She was a damn good spy, Jim, and she died doing her duty to the country.”

He frowned. There was that word again: duty. From the time he’d been old enough to form coherent sentences, the Lion had drilled into him that it was his duty to serve the nation. It was never up for debate. Spencers fought for the Crown. Death, destruction, and diabolical plots were all perpetuated under the name of the empire.

Before Louisa’s death, he’d never questioned their missions. He’d accepted, without any further thought, that what they did was for the good of the people. The needs of many outweighed the life of one. As they faced their hardest fight ever against Bonaparte and his assassins, James still did not doubt their
cause.
Bonaparte was an egotistical blackguard who wanted to remake the world in his own image. He needed to be stopped. Now that James was no longer in the field, Korianna and Arden were the best agents the Clocktower had.
 

But that did not mean that he had to like it. Every time his sisters were on a mission, his stomach twisted. He did not sleep until they came home. Hell, he did not sleep in general, usually.

And now he contemplated dragging Vivian Loren further into this muddle.
 

He pushed back his chair and stood. He needed to move, to be active, to feel the ground shift beneath his feet and know that he was in control. His Hessians pounded the carpet, back and forth, back and forth. He felt like he hadn’t stopped moving since the day he’d taken over the Clocktower.
 

Richard watched him pace, his hazel eyes following James’s every step. “You want to bring her in.”

James was again reminded why he and Richard had been so successful in their missions together: they understood each other, even without talking. He made another circle of the room before responding. “I fear what she’ll do if she doesn’t have all the information. She wants revenge on Sauveterre for killing her brother. If we don’t train her, she’ll get herself killed. But if we
do
take her in, we’ll not only protect her, but hopefully catch Sauveterre before he gets definite evidence against me.”

Richard shook his head. “Of course you’d manage to employ the lone governess who’s out for blood. It never ceases to amaze me how stubborn women just flock to you. Do you remember the Countess of Marcondeux?”