by Darcy Burke
She peered up at James. His handsome features might as well have been chiseled in stone, for all the emotion they conveyed. “In this equation, as you put it, why insert me? You could have an amiable partnership with any number of women. Women who haven’t spent the last six months with an agenda.”
“I could, perhaps.” He did not sound interested in that prospect at all. “But I don’t want them. I want the woman who demanded I let her bandage my hand in the study. The woman who won’t take no for an answer, even when it’s her own safety we’re debating.”
Her cheeks flushed. In that description, she sounded almost...strong. Like she’d been when Evan was still alive.
Then he continued, and the spark that had lit within her was dimmed by his practicality. “I’ve seen the way you are with my brother, and my sisters like you. What I want is a wife who already knows my family and can fit in seamlessly.”
Significantly less flattering, yes, but given her current predicament, did it matter why he’d chosen her? The comfort of routine could not be overstated. He was not home often, but when he was, the entire atmosphere of the house changed. Lord Thomas adored him, and the servants were devoted to him.
That thought sobered her. The man had servants. Sweet Mary, she was one of his staff! It was absurd to consider this.
Surreptitiously, she allowed her gaze to travel down the length of his frame to his starched cravat with its mail coach knot, at once dignified yet simple. To the cut of his coat, accentuating his broad shoulders. To his tan breeches showcasing his muscular legs, and his gleaming top boots with the silver tassels. All that power in one man. Could he protect her from Sauveterre? He seemed to think so.
He was the finest male specimen she’d ever laid eyes on, and he couldn’t be hers. But oh, how she wanted him to be.
She forced her eyes forward. “Surely, you must be able to find those qualities in someone of your own class. I have no ways of increasing your stature in society. If anything, a bond with me would decrease your influence.”
His lower lip curled when she said “influence.”
“I am the Duke of Abermont,” he said, as though that title contained every bit of information she’d need. When she did not show any sign of comprehension, he shrugged. ““The Spencer family is the third richest in all of the empire. Do you really think that the ton shall dare question my choice? If I present you as my wife, they will accept you. They are but a herd of cattle, easily rounded up and shown direction.”
“How unbecomingly you speak of the people you consider friends.” She could not curb her scorn, so surprised was she by his callous words.
He drew himself up, no longer appearing so at ease. “Let me make one thing clear to you,” he ground out, the force of his words pelleting her as if they were stones. “Greater Society is not my friend. I consider few people truly my companions. Lord Haley, Mr. Drake, and a few others you are not acquainted with yet. The rest are mere acquaintances I associate with because my position demands it. Were I not duke, I would dispense with their company entirely.”
“It must be a horridly lonely existence.” She lifted her chin, refusing to cave. Given she’d spent six months under the scrutiny of his servants—the majority of whom refused to speak to her once they’d found out her relation to a viscount—she knew a few things about loneliness. “I repeat then, why me? What do you think I will add to your exclusive club?”
“Because you see me.” His steely gaze sent a shiver of awareness up her back. In that look, she saw the emotions he held at bay, shimmering beneath the surface. “And I desperately need someone who will see the man behind my title.”
Barely, just barely, she resisted the urge to press her palm up against his chest once more and feel the beat of his heart against her flushed skin. He was first a real, raw man before a duke.
Did she truly know him? She’d thought she’d drawn an accurate summary of his character over the last six months. With his close friends and family, he was apt to laugh and be merry. Yet in casual society, he was dour and reserved. What if underneath all this pomp and circumstance, he was as lost as she was, just waiting for someone to salve the wounds of the past?
“This...arrangement.” She struggled to find the right term, finally deciding to refer to it more as a business enterprise than a true matrimonial intent. “What exactly would it entail? Say I agree to be your wife. What then?”
He seemed far more at ease when she followed his plans. “We would be married as soon as possible.”
“The banns would need to be announced,” she said. “That’s three weeks, at least.”
He shook his head. “Not if I procure a special license. I want to make sure you’re protected from Sauveterre’s grasp as soon as possible. Besides, once he hears of our marriage, he will act. Expediency is in our best interests.”
“A special license would be a great cost to you.”
“It is not as if I cannot afford it,” he reminded her. “Besides, speed aside, I should personally like to be married at Abermont House, instead of in the village parish. A special license makes that possible, and thus a special license I shall purchase.”
How empowering it must be to arrange things to one’s liking without regard to expense. He’d promised to protect her.
Finally, after six brutal months of more questions than answers, she had the chance to bring Evan’s killer to justice.
“I know it’s a lot to think about,” James said. “But I assure you I am absolutely serious. This is an arrangement that we will both benefit from. I think we’d suit.”
We’d suit.
And even if they didn’t suit, and this marriage damned her to a life of misery, how could she refuse? The alternative was to be at Sauveterre’s mercy. James was her best chance now, probably her only chance.
She owed it to Evan.
His tone became softer, almost apologetic. “As tactless as it might sound, there are certain rights afforded to my class. Our laws do not take kindly to attacks on peers. When you become my duchess, you will then have an added layer of protection against Sauveterre.”
Certain rights afforded to my class. She’d witnessed that first hand. How sickening to think that if Evan had been a duke, his murder would already be solved.
As if he could read her mind, James’s voice became softer. “The system is highly flawed. Do not for one minute believe I don’t know that. But my first concern here is you. Your safety. If I can use these laws in your favor, I will.”
The timbre of his voice drew her to him. He had a smooth way of speaking, as though every word was the auditory equivalent of velvet. But this time, he was gritty. She liked him so much better for it. For the genuineness behind his speech. For the emotion that sank in every word and made her feel sheltered. She could believe in this version of him.
If she agreed, gone would be her old life. Her independence. Since James could give her the tools to destroy Sauveterre, she didn’t care what she’d give up.
“I accept your proposal,” she said. “I’ll be your duchess.”
“Very good.” He did not reach for her hand, or pull her into an embrace, or do anything she’d imagined would be the correct response. He simply nodded—this nod was to tell her he appreciated her agreement. “You’ll be a brilliant duchess.”
She sincerely doubted that, but suspected he’d prefer her agreement to the truth. “I hope that I shall meet with your approval.”
“I’m sure you will.” He stood up, bidding her adieu.
As he headed toward the door, she noted again how his every stride seemed purposeful, deliberate. She watched him walk away, her gaze centering on his rounded buttocks.
He paused halfway out of the room, looking over his shoulder at her. Her cheeks colored. He couldn’t tell that she’d been starring at his bottom, could he? No, better to act as though she’d simply been peering aimlessly off into the distance. She blinked, hoping she looked properly distracted.
A rare grin broke out
across his lips. He hadn’t fallen for her subterfuge, and he knew exactly what she’d been thinking. “Vivian?”
“James?” The flush to her cheeks was now an impossibly hot flame. She met his gaze, trying to convince herself that his amusement at her salaciousness was a good sign. He hadn’t been aghast by her impropriety.
Rather, his eyes locked on hers, and for a second, his face was transformed into something softer. His baritone voice had never sounded so rich as in his next words. “Never doubt that it is you I want.”
He did not give her time to react. He was gone before she could reply, which was probably for the best because she couldn’t begin to puzzle out a suitable response to such a pronouncement.
She remained in the room long after he left. This was a good decision. A logical decision. Yet she couldn’t shake the feeling she’d just exchanged everything she’d ever known for a life she couldn’t begin to fathom.
Chapter 9
“You want to wed the governess?” Elinor shifted on the chaise, her dark eyes fastening on his in a death glare that would have rivaled Josephine Bonaparte’s most demanding moments.
James winced. He’d known telling his sisters would be difficult, but if Elinor’s voice became any higher, dogs would be the only ones able to hear. At least Korianna was still in London. It had taken two months to repair the damage from the last argument she’d had with him.
Still, he’d chosen the parlor for this conversation because there were fewer things Elinor might hurl at him. A man could never be too careful. Using that same reasoning, he’d sent Vivian down to the village market and asked that the servants not disturb their meeting.
Arden crossed the room, coming to stand behind the plum chaise. Her face shadowed from Elinor’s vision, Arden caught his eye and mouthed her apologies.
Not for the first time, James sent a silent prayer of gratitude that he had one sane sister. Because she’d been adopted as a child and raised as a Spencer, Arden didn’t have the bloodline’s famed hot temper.
“I’m sure Jim has his reasons,” Arden began, placing a reassuring hand on Elinor’s shoulder.
Elinor in turn grasped at her hand as though she was a life raft in a turbulent sea. “I can’t imagine any of them would be valid. I presented you with a list of six appropriate candidates, and you choose our governess? Really, Jim.”
James muffled his groan. Of course, Elinor would believe she could arrange his life better than he could. He crossed to the liquor cabinet and poured himself a finger of brandy. Three o’clock in the afternoon be damned.
He downed the glass in one fell gulp, gasping as the burn slid from his throat to his stomach. Schooling his features into a mask of determined resolution, he turned back around. “Ellie, has it occurred to you that you really don’t get to have an opinion in who I marry?”
Elinor blinked.
Arden exchanged a glance with him, an impish smile curling her rouged lips.
Elinor recovered, draping her hand over the side of the couch as though she had all the time in the world to debate this with him. Once, she’d argued with him for four hours over the guest list for the end of the Season ball. He’d eventually given up and allowed her to invite half of the ton. His dislike of Society—and its marriage-minded mamas—was outmatched by his desire to end to the conversation.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she sniffed. “You can like anyone you choose. I like the tiger that drives our carriage. I like the cobbler. I do not wish to marry them.”
He told himself not to respond, but the words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. “That’s completely different, and you know it.”
“Is it, really?” Elinor arched her brows at him in the perfect display of skepticism she’d perfected over years of winning arguments against him.
But this time, he vowed, it would be different. Vivian depended on him. He’d promised he’d protect her, and that was one promise he would never break.
Did you catch the blackguard who killed her?
He remembered Vivian’s question that night in his office. He’d been able to do something about Louisa’s death. Now that Vivian knew who had killed Evan, she wouldn’t stop until Sauveterre was either captured or dead. People touched by grief surged onward, forsaking their own safety until their revenge was achieved. Considering her first attempt had brought a likely Bonaparte spy to their door, he shuddered to think of what else she’d encounter.
“Jim is quite capable of choosing his bride.” Arden sunk down into the voluminous cushions of the hunter green armchair the Lion had always preferred. “Besides, I like Miss Loren, and so does Thomas.”
“I like Miss Loren too,” Elinor said. “If she hadn’t entered service, I might even support this, though I’d of course think you could do better than the ward of a viscount.”
“I was the ward of the duke,” Arden reminded her, quietly but firmly.
Elinor’s face softened. “Yes, but you were different.”
“Why?” Arden arched a single brow at her. “If you’re willing to give me a chance, why not Miss Loren?”
James smiled appreciatively at Arden. No matter what, she had always had his back.
“Because our father was already married and settled. Adopting a ward does not draw the same scrutiny as taking a wife.” Elinor frowned, peering down her nose at them both. “Don’t make me out to be the villain here, you two. A governess has no place as the Duchess of Abermont, no matter how delightful she might be. Our reputations are our best covers.”
“You might want to tell Korianna that,” James muttered.
Elinor sighed. “I have. Many times. She, like you, doesn’t listen to me.”
He took a seat on the settee across from her. “I listen, Ellie. I don’t always agree with you, but I listen.”
Whatever scandal stirred up by his marriage to Vivian Loren would be small in comparison to the attention of a full Season of old biddies cornering him, and the scandal sheets reporting on his every move. There simply wasn’t time to find a wife before the Season started, man the Clocktower, manage his other responsibilities with Abermont House, and solve the Sauveterre problem.
Unless he married Vivian.
And he wanted to marry her, whether or not his cover depended on it. Even if he knew he didn’t deserve a woman like Vivian.
“It will hardly be the worst scandal the ton has seen,” Arden said. “Just think of Elizabeth Chudleigh, or even Prince George’s affair with Mary Darby.”
“There you have it, she could be an actress,” James retorted with a wry grin at Arden. “That would give you apoplexy. Be grateful Miss Loren is a governess.”
Arden sent him a reproving look that effectively summarized as “don’t poke the bear.”
“‘Grateful’ and ‘governesses’ do not belong in the same sentence,” Elinor snipped.
“There are other matters at play here too.” Advancing to the chaise, he pulled out the notes he’d received from Vivian and handed them to Elinor. She read each one, her forehead crinkling in confusion. When she’d finished with the notes, she passed them over to Arden.
He summarized everything Vivian had told him the day before.
Arden grimaced as she gave him back the letters. “What do we know about Sauveterre? I don’t recognize the name.”
“Nor do I,” James said.
In tandem, they both turned expectant gazes toward Elinor.
Elinor’s eyes widened, feigning modesty. “Why would you think I’d know him?”
Usually, James would have rolled his eyes, but today he’d indulge her, for Miss Loren’s sake. “Because you remember every single enemy agent we’ve encountered.”
She smiled drolly. “I suppose that’s true. But no, he’s not familiar to me either. I could certainly check our records.”
As soon as they left the room, he strongly suspected his eldest sister would be rubbing her hands together with glee over consulting her files in the secret room.
And not f
or 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.
