He’d kissed her.

Vivian’s mind sputtered back to life. She raised a hand to her lips, swollen from his kisses. Her eyes barely focused as he rubbed his hands against his legs, as though he needed to keep his hands busy because if he did not, he’d touch her again. Sweet Mary, how she wanted him to touch her again.

He had kissed her!

She ought to say something flirtatious. Maybe express her appreciation of his prowess? She didn’t know. This was another area of etiquette that thoroughly boggled her. What was the proper reaction to being kissed senseless? Vivian could only rest her weight against the back of the settee, her ring finger still poised on her lips.

She still tasted him. She still felt him. The tight muscles of his arms as he held her to him, that particularly intriguing bulge in his pantaloons as he leaned into her, his body perfectly fitted to hers. She still heard the sound of her own pleasure-soaked moan in her ears. She’d been so wanton, thinking nothing of the other people in the house who might overhear them.

She sneaked a glance over at him. He appeared as stunned as her, eyes wide, jaw jutting out, lips as red as her own must be. He battled against the passion that had seized him—she noted it in the raggedness of his breathing, as if each gasp was an endeavor in its own right; in the clench of his fists at his sides, making her think of a warrior preparing for battle. So much about him reminded her of a fighter. The rigidness of his sculpted muscles, so hard and well-formed under her questing fingers. That determined flicker in his eyes whenever he made her a promise. The rawness in his voice when he spoke of his sister.

He was a man who’d never give up.

He was a man of honor.

And he was her man. Perhaps more than in name only, if that kiss was any indication. She ought not to feel so blastedly elated, as she hadn’t accomplished her true goal yet. Sauveterre lived. But that weak, romantic part of her wanted to run back into James’s arms and relish being his duchess.

She must crush that part of herself as ruthlessly as Sauveterre had crushed her brother’s windpipe. This was not about her, or even them. It could not be. Not yet.

A knock sounded on the closed parlor door, and then the door began to swing open. Miss Spencer entered, her calm green eyes taking in the distance between them, perhaps even noticing the way Vivian’s hair looked mussed, and how James’s coat was no longer so straight. Vivian had the sinking suspicion the quiet Miss Spencer observed far more than she ever let on.

“The carriage is ready,” Miss Spencer said.

“Ah.” James nodded, but Vivian didn’t have any idea what this nod meant. So much for reading him well.

Miss Spencer made no move to depart. “We need to leave in the next five minutes.”

James gestured for her to go. “Tell the jarvey we’ll be right out.”

Miss Spencer exchanged an enigmatic glance with her adopted brother before she closed the door to the room again.

Vivian pounced, seizing the opportunity before he had a chance to deflect her questions. In the chaos of the wedding plans, she’d forgotten about the trip Elinor had discussed during the fitting. “Lady Elinor mentioned a trip. Where are we going, James? And why? If you’ve already taken precautions to fortify this estate, why would we leave? The start of the Season isn’t for another month, so it can’t be for that.”

She came to stand beside him. As close as she’d felt to him mere minutes before, doubt crept back into her. Why did it always feel like he was hiding something? He’d sworn they were partners—in more than finding her brother’s killer—but she could not shake the thought that she’d married a man she would never truly know.

“And don’t tell me it’s merely a celebratory wedding trip.”

James opened and shut his mouth, the briefest flicker of surprise in his eyes before he regained control of his emotions. “The staff believes we are going to Brighton.”

Her eyes narrowed. “But we are actually going to where?”

He strode to the door, and she was momentarily distracted by the power and speed behind his gait. Even his walk was authoritative. It would be so easy to throw her fate in his hands. To believe without question in his ability to keep her safe. Yet she’d spent enough time under the thumb of mysterious men.

She followed him, stopping him before he could open the door. “I’m going to ask you one more time: where are we going? If you want me to get in the carriage with you, I need answers.”

He turned back to face her, letting out a resigned sigh. “You’re awfully aggressive, did you know that?”

“It has been pointed out to me before, yes,” she said. “Evan preferred to call me ‘domineering,’ but you may use whatever term you see fit.”

“How benevolent of you,” he noted dryly.

She shrugged. “I can be magnanimous when the situation calls for it.”

“There are certain precautions that need to be taken,” he began, with a pointed look toward the door. “If I tell you where we’re going while we’re still in this house, that will put your safety at risk. I refuse to take that chance. So we can argue about this when we’re in the carriage.”

“No, we can argue about this now.” She stepped in front of the door, blocking the door with her body. A flawed idea, since he’d had no trouble touching her moments prior, but it was all she had. “Why do we need to leave so hurriedly? What aren’t you telling me?”

“You’re impossible, woman.” He gave her a beleaguered look that almost made her feel sympathetic. “I didn’t want to worry you, because I’ve taken measures to ensure your safety. There was more to the letter. The innkeeper at the Boar and Deer thought that Sauveterre might be coming to Maidstone.”

He did not need to say anything more. She knew from the alarm in his eyes that he suspected Sauveterre was on his way to Abermont House. To her.

“He’s figured out that I can’t get the information he wants, so he’s going to kill me.” She clasped her hands together to keep from shaking, but that did not stop the frantic racing of her mind. She’d been a duchess for exactly one hour and already her death warrant might as well have been signed. “You’re taking me far, far from here? Somewhere he can’t find me.”

“That’s the general idea, yes.” James reached for her, but she shied away from him, stalking over to the teacart.

“Why?”

“I should think that obvious. If he can’t find you, then he can’t kill you.”

She leaned her hands on the cart, her back to him. “But then we can’t find him.”

“A secondary goal when compared to keeping you alive.” James advanced on her, spinning her around so that she faced him again. He laid his hands on her shoulders, and she did not want to admit how much his grip steadied her.

She jutted her chin out, refusing to give in to the fear. This was a chance to accomplish what she’d vowed. Nothing else mattered. “Let him come for me. I will rip out his heart.”

If only her voice did not waver when she made that declaration. If only she believed she was truly capable of going up against a sick, twisted killer and surviving.

“No, you will die in the process.” James leaned forward, resting his forehead on hers. The certainty in his voice whispered across her face, a soft touch when it should have been a slap. “We are not ready, my dear. Let us prepare to take him on first. My contacts found him once, and they’ll find him again.”

“Do you really think so?” It seemed impossible that the Runners could find Sauveterre again. But wasn’t it better to be prepared? Every step she’d made had been based on false assumptions. “How will we become ready?”

“I’ll teach you how to fight,” he said. “I have not always been duke, you know. As a boy, I was as rough and tumble as you and your brother. I’ll teach you how to shoot and how to defend yourself.”

“And then we’ll end Sauveterre.” She needed to hear him say it. She longed for a time when this was over, when the guilt of failing Evan did not consume her soul.

“And then we’ll catch Sauveterre.” He pulled back from her, but only to loop his arm in hers as he guided her to the door so they could both change for the trip. “Justice, Vivian. Justice before revenge.”

* * *

Guildford.

James had said they were going to Guildford, somewhere in Surrey. She wasn’t familiar with the place. On three fingers she could count the places she’d frequented in the last twenty-four years: Devon, London, and then Maidstone. Yes, she’d traveled through various towns on the way to each destination, but she’d never paid much attention to the scenery going by the mailcoach. Each trip, she’d been too eager to start out on her new life.

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.