I Spy a Duke (18 page)

Korianna wrenched her arm away from his grip. “I’m not some child you can order around anymore. I wasn’t caught. I’m never caught.”

“Kori—” He gave up halfway through another attempt to force caution into her. After they’d dealt with Sauveterre, next on his list was managing Korianna. “What did you discover about Evan Loren?”

“Nine trips overall. I cross-examined the timeline of Miss Loren’s brother’s tenure at Hoare’s Bank against known covert activities at the time.” Officially, the Alien Office’s main purpose was to monitor entrances and exits into the country by foreigners. Korianna had gone to their headquarters to check their files against the Clocktower’s. She tilted her head toward him, a curious expression on her face. “You know, this really would have been a better job for Elinor.”

“She’s indisposed,” James said with chagrin. Elinor could walk into any records room and immediately know the layout, but when her illness flared, traveling became near impossible. The mere act of moving from bed was taxing.

Korianna frowned. “Again? That’s twice in the last four months.” She dropped back to walk with him, now accepting his arm. They’d made it down the driveway, and now stood at the front of the house. Steering him toward the garden, Korianna opened the gate. “I’ve spent all day cloistered in a hack. The night air is lovely.”

 
He agreed, and they set off down the path. “Tell me about the trips.”

“I copied down the information for Ellie, or as much as I could get without bloody Rupert hanging over my shoulder, peppering me with questions about her.” Korianna rolled her eyes. “I swear to all that is holy, if she doesn’t put him out of his misery,
I
will.”

“Poor Castwell,” James laughed. The head archivist was hopelessly enamored with Elinor, though she ignored his attentions. “But at least his fancy for our sister is useful. At times.”

“I’d like him much better if he stayed out of my way,” Korianna grumbled. “As it stands, it appears Evan Loren went to France six times in the last three years, and Switzerland thrice, under the guise of work for Hoare’s Bank.”

“Anything match our missions, or French activity?”

Korianna’s nod confirmed his suspicions. “Five of the trips match.”

“So he’s an agent. But whose? Definitely not ours.” He and Elinor were the sole people to know the real identities of all the Clocktower agents. The rest of the spies went by code-names exclusively, unless they had prior knowledge of each other, as in the case of Deacon and Richard.

“I suspect the Alien Office,” Korianna mused. “If he were French, there would be more crossover with Bonaparte. The events that flagged are British missions.”

James let out a sigh of relief. At least Vivian would have the solace of knowing her brother was loyal to his country.
 

“I didn’t make inquiries to Wickham’s assistants,” Korianna said. “I figured you’d want to do that.”

“Good.” The spymaster hadn’t mentioned Evan Loren when he’d performed Vivian’s background investigation for her governess position.

If they went to Wickham now, without the shield of Vivian being his duchess, there was a grave chance that she could be taken into custody. He couldn’t risk that. He felt it in his gut that she’d been used by Sauveterre—she didn’t deserve to be gaoled as a possible enemy to the Crown.

“After the wedding, I’ll contact Wickham myself.” They had come to the bench where he’d found Vivian sitting last week. The moonlight shone down on the white-painted wood, silhouetting the alcove. He paused in front of it, his hand on the armrest.
 

Once he formed an accurate picture of Evan’s life, he’d know how the man ended up in Sauveterre’s crosshairs. And from that, he’d extrapolate how
he
had come to this Sauveterre’s attention.
 

He carded a hand through his hair, frowning at the bench. Puzzles had never been his favorite. He was a problem-solver, a delegator. The pieces of this mystery whipped through his mind, never fitting together. He knew enough to proceed on his current course. Enough to suppose that Evan Loren really was one of Wickham’s, and a damnably skilled agent at that. Wickham wouldn’t have protected the identity of a lower agent in Vivian’s background check, not to him. The Clocktower and the Alien Office worked together, but ultimately Wickham was the supreme power.
 

Korianna watched him in a rare moment of silence.
 

He shifted uncomfortably, not used to her scrutiny. “Is there something else?”

“Vivian Loren. Ellie’s letter about your engagement made it all sound so...dispassionate.” She spoke with softness unfamiliar to him, more sister than spy now. “But I’m concerned.”

For a moment, they could be naught more than siblings, discussing his betrothal as though it affected two lives, and not the fate of the nation. “Because she was a governess?”
 

Korianna shook her head. “Of course not. In fact, I relish your name appearing in the scandal sheets instead of mine, for once.”
 

James’s grimace at that made her laugh more. Though he’d never admit it to her face, he admired her ability to shake off what the rest of the world thought of her.

 
“Ellie mentioned the threat on Miss Loren’s life.” Korianna’s next words came in a long stream, with barely a breath taken in between. “If you’re doing this out of a sense of a duty, there has to be another way we can keep her safe. You shouldn’t commit to marrying her because you feel some sort of misguided notion that you have to protect everyone.”

“I
do
have to protect everyone.” Fist balled at his side, he spoke through gritted teeth. He couldn’t expect Korianna to understand, not when she threw herself in danger’s way at the drop of a hat.
 

“She’s gone, Jim,” Korianna whispered. “Martyring yourself won’t bring her back. As for the rest of us, you have to trust we know how to live our own lives.”

He turned away from the bench, back down the trail. Back toward Abermont House. Back toward Vivian, who he’d vowed to protect with his life, and who somehow managed to pry out of him the very things he did not wish to talk about.
 

Korianna followed after him, for once not turning the walk back into a race. As she pulled open the door to the conservatory, he shook his head. “This marriage—it’s not just the duty. It’s something more.
She’s
something more.”

 
A grin stretched across Korianna’s face. “That’s all I needed to know.”

CHAPTER TEN

The next day, Vivian remained in the drawing room after the appointment with the milliner. Miss Spencer had placed an order for several dresses last month that were now ready. Lady Elinor had suggested that since Vivian was of similar proportions to Miss Spencer, she could take the gowns instead. A few alternations would need to be made, but by the wedding Vivian would have several gowns suitable for a duchess. The rest of her new wardrobe would arrive in the following weeks.

Swallowing, she ran her hand down her old dress. What would it be like to be constantly adorned in the finest fashions? It seemed extraordinary.

And scary, for it was all so very new.
 

Elinor had gone back upstairs to her quarters, but Vivian had nothing else planned for the day. She glanced at the clock. Two in the afternoon. Three hours still to dinner. If only she could will the minutes to move faster. The hectic schedule she’d grown used to in the past half a year was suddenly empty, except for any wedding plans or meals with the family. She still made it a point to visit with Thomas after his lessons, but soon he would have a new governess.

She’d go mad from this inactivity. Taking a seat on one of the dainty blue cushioned chairs, she planted her feet firmly on the carpet, resisting the urge to jiggle her legs.

She stood, going to the small group of books atop the mantel. A book would calm her nerves. Selecting a leather-bound volume with the simple title of “Family” embossed on the side, she made her way back to the chair. Flipping open the book, she quickly discovered it was not a work of literature at all, but instead a portrait album. The first page featured a sketch of an older couple in with the caption “Edward and Margaret Spencer, 1583.” The book continued on, with drawings of important members of the family.

Should she put the book back? It seemed so personal. But in a few days, she’d be a Spencer too. Shouldn’t she learn as much as she could about her new family? “Better to have all the facts before you form an opinion,” she’d told Thomas a fortnight ago when he’d asked her why he must learn ancient history. “The past influences the present. Without it, we are lost.”

Turning the page again, Vivian decided that since the book was out in the open, it was fit for public consumption. She skipped to the next page. The portraits appeared to be from the reign of Charles, before that unseemly affair with Cromwell. Each stately ancestor of the Spencers was more impressive than the next. “
Lady Henrietta Williams, second cousin to Elizabeth Stuart.
” Sweet Mary, James was related to the blooming Queen of Bohemia.
 

She bit her lip, proceeding to the next page. It became worse from there. Page after page, decades of influential people. She should have used this blasted album to teach Thomas history, since almost every name in it had left their mark on Britain’s past.
 

Her fingers curled around the locket charm she wore around her neck.
 

She was a Loren. Her name meant nothing to the
ton
. Evan, her dear, sweet, wonderful brother, had been deemed so unimportant by the Runners that they’d left his murder unsolved.
 

Vivian shoved the book off her lap. It landed upside down on the floor with a plop, somehow fitting when her stomach felt like it was sinking to the floor too.

“Abysmal ending?”
 

She hadn’t noticed James hovering in the doorway. Her cheeks flamed with embarrassment. She bent down to pick up the book as he ambled into the room.
 

Dash it all.

She couldn’t hide the album from his sight, not when he sauntered over to her, leaning over her shoulder.
 

“I haven’t seen that book in years,” he said. “It was Elinor’s project with Thomas’s mother, Juliana. The new duchess wanted to know all about the ‘illustrious Spencer clan,’ as she called us.”

“It slipped from my hands,” Vivian lied, hoping she wouldn’t have to explain further.
 

His brow arched as if he didn’t believe her, but he let her untruth slide without comment. Sinking down on the cushion next to her, he pried the book from her hands, glancing at the page where she’d left off.

“Ah, Great-Uncle Herman.” He held the book out to her, pointing at the stoic man with far more facial hair than could ever have been fashionable. “No one liked him—or so my grandmother claimed when I was growing up.”

Vivian scooted back on the settee, turning her body so that she could see both him and the book. “What did Uncle Herman do to that made him so unlikable?”

“If I remember correctly, he liked pickled fish too much. Thankfully, Great-Aunt Matilda had no sense of smell. So she thought he was delightful.” James smiled, and she was struck by how handsome he looked when he smiled.
 

In a few days, he would be
her
James—in name, at least.
 

Someday, she’d learn how to make him smile often. Someday, when the past did not have such a hold on them, and they could breathe without the ache of loss.

Someday, if Sauveterre did not kill her first.

She shoved that thought from her mind, forcing herself to focus on the story of his relatives. “It sounds as though Herman and Matilda were a match made in heaven.”

“Or hell, because apparently Matilda was an appalling jaw-me-dead. Between the two of them, they could clear a room in record time.” Passing the book to her, he pointed at Great-Aunt Matilda, a severe woman with a feathered headdress that could have poked out an eyeball if she came too close.
 

“Well, at least they had each other.” She took his story as a sign that the universe promised happy endings for some people—if not all. That gave her hope.

“’Til death did they part,” James said with a chuckle. “I personally think they should have buried Uncle Herman with a jar of pickled fish. My grandmother, however, caned me for suggesting so.”