I Spy a Duke (32 page)

“I shall include that in my report,” he quipped, as his fingers trailed down her arm.

She pulled back from him. “You wouldn’t.”

He grinned. “While I think that wouldn’t be the most salacious thing my superior has ever read, no, I most certainly wouldn’t. The idea of another man knowing how to summon those delectable moans from you makes me want to challenge him to pistols at dawn.”

She flushed. She’d never found violence attractive before. It had become necessary once Evan was murdered, but she did not relish the idea. Yet the prospect of James fighting a battle in her honor was strangely arousing. God, it had been so long since someone had supported her. Cared about her.

Loved her.

She saw a million futures before her eyes, and she dared hope that someday he might truly be enamored with her. For now, what they’d just done—the way he’d made her writhe with ecstasy—perhaps that was enough.

“As much as I’d like to stay here with you forever, it’s time to go.” James stood, extending a hand to her. “But don’t fret, love. That was only the beginning.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Three days passed. Three days of fighting, fencing, and shooting, a constant surge of excitement through his body. Vivian progressed well with her training. She’d picked up shooting with the flintlock as though she’d been born with his Bedford pistol in her hand. Her combat was becoming fluid, the steps to each defensive maneuver now rote. Tomorrow, he’d start to add more complex moves into her exercises.

It was not enough.

He could not shake the feeling that something bad was coming. No matter how much they prepared, this sensation kept him wide-awake at night. He pushed open the door to their bedroom, intending to creep quietly inside so he wouldn’t wake Vivian. She had gone to bed early, while he’d stayed awake to review more files.
 

But the candle burned in the lamp, casting a golden glow. Amber flames burned in the fireplace, bathing the room in comfortable warmth. The fur rug had been brought out from the armoire and spread in front of the fire. It was a cozy, convivial scene—made even more welcoming by his wife curled up on the rug in a thin white nightdress that left little to the imagination. Her blonde hair trailed down her back in a thick braid, while a maroon shawl draped over her shoulders.
 

He shut the door, and she looked up at the click of the handle, a slow smile crooking her lips. She sat up on the rug, her legs tucked beneath her. Reaching behind her, she held up a bottle of brandy. “Care for a drink?”

He didn’t remember leaving brandy here; one of the other spies must have forgotten to take it with him. “We seem to be missing snifters.”

She gave him a playful look. “Why must we be civilized? This is not a grandiose social event. We are in the middle of the woods, James. There’s a bottle and there’s your mouth. For a man so skilled in
equations
, I think you can do the mathematics.”

He leaned down, removing his boots and setting them by the door. Then he came toward her, sitting down on the rug beside her. “I shall never make amends for that dashed proposal, shall I?”

She laughed. “You are a duke and a master spy, a combination bound to swell your head. It is my duty to keep you grounded by reminding you of the most unromantic proposal in history.”

“How benevolent of you,” he said. “Years from now, you’ll be telling our children how ‘Papa said we were like equations.’”

He hadn’t meant to say that. He hadn’t meant to speak about the future at all. He’d wanted to live in the moment, with no thoughts of the danger the upcoming weeks would bring them.

She raised the bottle to her lips, sipping. “So you think we’re going to live through this.”
 

“Yes.” He grabbed the bottle from her and imbibed. “We are survivors, aren’t we?”

She snatched the bottle from him, taking another drink from it. “Everyone must end sometime. I doubt Evan ever expected to die, but there you have it. He’s dead.”

“Ah.” He now knew why she drank tonight. “I won’t let you die before your time. I made you a promise, darling.”

This time, I will keep my vow.

She passed the bottle back to him. He took another long sip, brandy splashing down his throat, the sweet, nutty bite saturating heat throughout him. Combined with the warmth of the fire, it was almost enough to cut the chill settling in the base of his spine. The unsettling dread that he’d fail again.

“Even you, with all your eminent skills, cannot predict the future.” She ran her hand across the rug, her pale fingers a stark contrast to the dark brown fur. Once this wooly shell had been a bear—a living, breathing animal with power and ferocity.
 

 
“I do not need to predict the future.” His fingers curled around the lip of the bottle, but he did not drink again. “All I need to know is what I am willing to do to ensure that you live a long and healthy life.”

She lifted her eyes to him, her long lashes flitting against her milky skin. “And that is?”

“Anything,” he answered without reluctance.

Her lower lip quivered. He’d hoped to reassure her, not scare her further. She needed to know the truth: he was in this fight until the end. No matter what he had to sacrifice. She would live.

She shook her head. “I don’t want you to do that. You know I appreciate all you’ve done to protect me, James, but there has to be a limit. My life is not so valuable that it would justify the loss of yours.”

Another swallow of brandy, smaller this time, just enough to fire his body again. “I disagree.”

“This is my problem,” she reminded him. “
I
accepted Sauveterre’s proposition.
I
spied on you.”

He tucked the brandy bottle behind them. “And my organization failed Evan, and by extension, you and everyone else. Sauveterre
is my problem, too. He was looking for me, Vivian. He used you as a vehicle to get to me.”

 
“That doesn’t mean you get to die for me.” Taking his hand in hers, she wrapped her fingers around his. “Because even if you don’t say exactly that, I know that’s what you’re thinking. I see it in your eyes. That dark, haunted look you get when you think I’m not watching you.”
 

For a second, he could do no more than gaze into her eyes; breathe in her rose scent and pretend that a lifetime with her was not as elusive as he believed. With her free hand, she drew the shawl tighter around her, as though it might keep her safe.

Nothing so trivial could ensure her security. Nothing—no one—could do that but him.

 
“I’m not going to let you.” Her determined tone matched his. “We will fight Sauveterre together, and if it comes to the point that there’s no way out, you will run.”

He released her hand, shifting so that he sat with his legs straight out on the bear rug. The fire made his socks and the hem of his breeches warm. “I can’t do that.”

Something in his tone must have intrigued her, for she leaned forward, her eyes searching his face. “I can’t help but wonder if there’s something more to this than self-preservation or the standard heroism of a spy.”

He wasn’t a hero. He was a callous killer—that he’d slayed in the name of the Crown did not change the fact. And those murders weren’t the worst things he’d done.

Vivian’s features took on the contemplative cast he knew too well. “That night in your office, on the first anniversary of your sister’s death, you said she died in a hunting accident. But knowing now what I know about your sisters, I cannot help but wonder…was Louisa involved in the Clocktower as well?”

The temperature in the room seemed to drop by ten degrees at the mention of Louisa’s name. No amount of fire or brandy could staunch this cold. Still he shifted closer to Vivian, pressing his thigh against her leg, as close as he could get to her without pulling her into his lap.

She laid her hand on his knee. “I told you all about Evan, about the life I had in Devon. You know everything about me. Tell me what really happened to Louisa.”

He stiffened. He did not want to discuss this.
 

Her voice grew quiet, barely audible over the lapping flames of the fire. “I know honesty is not in a spy’s vocabulary normally, but I am your wife, James. Whatever you tell me, it won’t change how I see you.”

He did not want her to view him as weak. Or worse, to know that he had forfeited his sister’s life by underestimating his opponent.

But she leaned her head against his shoulder, and her touch quieted his mind the way no liquor could. He’d promised to tell her what he could, and Louisa’s death was common knowledge amongst other Clocktower agents.

“When I said someone was hunting—that was the truth. But what I didn’t specify was that
she
was the one doing the hunting. There was a mission.” He rested his head against hers, counting her breaths. Anything to distance himself from this story. “We have the Clocktower. Bonaparte has not only Fouché’s secret police, but also his own special group of assassins called the Talons. We received word that one of the top Talons, an agent named Nicodème, would be in Paris at a concert held for members of the First Consul’s court.”

“So you wanted to capture him.”
 

He nodded. “It wasn’t just the information he might give us on other Talons. Nicodème ran one of the worst prostitution rings in all of France, aimed at men with violent proclivities. Every day, our inside agents delivered reports of women being raped and beaten in his brothels, sometimes to death.”

“That’s horrible.” She burrowed deeper against him, as if through their closeness she could lessen the woes of the world. “Why didn’t the police do anything?”

“Nicodème was a Talon, and he had ample blunt to pay the police off.” James’s voice grew cold, remembering how the ruffian had boasted of his influence. “But then he made the mistake of kidnapping several British citizens for his bordello. Once I determined that intelligence was solid, I formed a team. It was supposed to be Arden and me, but Louisa demanded to be included.”

“What happened?”
 

“We managed to rescue the women he’d taken, but something went wrong. Somehow Nicodème knew Louisa worked for the Crown. He kidnapped her, took her to his torture chamber.” His voice broke, but he continued, for Vivian rubbed circles on his hand, soothing him. “By the time we got to her, she was too far gone to save. Arden and I took her back to our temporary hideout, and she died that night.”

“I am so sorry,” Vivian murmured, clutching his hand. “No wonder you were in such a state that night. I wish I’d known—I wish I’d been able to do more for you.”

“You did more than you could ever know.” He pulled her closer against him, his hand gripping the curve of her waist. He held onto her as though she were his salvation, the light to chase away the darkness of the last year. “You gave me a chance at something more.”

“I am glad for that, then,” she said, squeezing his hand too.
 

He let out a long, shaky breath. “But nothing we do can change the fact that I sent my sister to death. I knew the mission would be difficult, and still I sent her in.”

Vivian tilted her head to look up at him. “Was she a capable agent?”

He deliberated. “She was at times too impulsive for my tastes, but yes, she was an excellent agent.”
 

“And did you have any intelligence that said Nicodème would know who she was?”
 

“No. They’d never met before.” For the last year, he’d gone over the missives they’d received until he memorized the contents. Every asset they had on sight had indicated that Nicodème was unaware of their plans. “But what does it matter? She was twenty-one, and I sent her to her grave.”

“You assessed the situation given the information you had, and you made a decision that was logical. Your sister
asked
to be added to the mission, so clearly she thought she could handle it.” Vivian’s calm voice lulled his tired nerves, until he wanted nothing more than to believe that she was right.
 

That everything he’d done could be absolved by Vivian’s support.

She needed to know the real man she had married. Could she accept him then?

“When you asked me if I’d achieved justice for her, I let you think that I handed Nicodème over to the police. But I slit his throat. He died in my arms and I felt
good
about it.” He dropped her hand. He would not sully her skin with his touch. “How can I ask you to be near me when this is a part of my everyday life? The things that I have done for my country…”