Chapter 27

Ryland almost stopped breathing as he watched the emotions play in her eyes. He couldn’t identify them but was simply thankful she wasn’t hiding them. “Are we going to move on and see if we could have a good life together?”

He tried to think through any additional objections she might have. Anything he could eradicate now would only help his case. “My friendship with Griffith has survived nine years of secrets and long absences. I don’t think I need you to maintain that connection. It’s you and me at stake here. Nothing else.”

Miranda bit her lip, looking as unsure as he’d ever seen her. Despite what most of London thought, he knew he wasn’t the best potential husband. And Miranda knew enough about him to know life with him wouldn’t be the safe and uncomplicated one she’d grown up with. She’d been raised by a duchess to be a perfect duchess.

He didn’t need a perfect duchess. He needed one who could navigate between the world he’d lived in and the world everyone else lived in. Someone who would understand him even when his choices hurt her.

The breath flew from his lungs.

He’d hurt her. Why hadn’t he fully realized that before? He was always admiring the fire lying just below that ladylike surface. How could he not have realized that those vibrant emotions could be bruised? It wasn’t a temporary thing caused by shock and misunderstanding. It was real.

“I’m sorry I hurt you,” he blurted.

She looked like she wanted to grin. “You said you weren’t going to apologize.”

A bit of the tension eased from his chest, and he breathed a bit easier. He didn’t stop his lips from turning up at the corners. “I’m not sorry for what I did. I would do it all again. But I didn’t mean for you to find out in front of your brothers. I wanted us to have this conversation the first time I saw you in London. Not weeks later.”

“And still in front of my brother.” Miranda’s smile flashed before her face fell into contemplative lines. “I’ll think about it.”

Ryland’s gaze fell to his toes. At least it wasn’t a no. Her fingers curled and uncurled. Was she trying to get her emotions back under control? Trying to stuff them behind the mask of ladylike perfection? If she allowed him to court her, he had every intention of challenging that composure. No doubt that was one of the things she wanted to think about. “How long?”

“Three days.”

He could do three days. “I’ll give you three days.”

“And you’ll stay away from me for those three days. No bribing servants to seat you next to me at dinners or suddenly showing up at balls I’m attending. And you’re not to send Colin round to my house either. I’ll not go riding with your investigator again.”

Ryland wanted to laugh at the indication that his plan had indeed worked. The little things had gotten to her. In retrospect, sending Colin had been more desperate than wise, but it didn’t appear to have damaged his campaign too much. “Very well. Three days. I’ll come by Thursday to take you for a ride in the park.”

Moments passed, heartbeat by heartbeat, as they stared at each other. He should go. She’d asked for three days, and he had every intention of giving them to her, but that meant they had to leave Trent’s study.

Three days without the opportunity to do anything. Three days in which she would only have her memories of him to consider.

He’d better make them powerful.

Without warning he dipped his head and brushed his lips against hers. She stiffened in surprise. Ryland lingered until he felt her soften and sigh into the kiss. Then he made himself lift his head, clenching his hands around his trousers to keep from wrapping his arms around her.

“Until Thursday,” he whispered.

And then he turned and left.

“Do you think this curl should stay here? Would it look better pulled up around this braid?” Miranda fussed with the bouncing ringlets framing her face. In the mirror she saw Sally pull a face as she adjusted the curl according to her mistress’s wishes.

Miranda sighed. Her three days were up and she was a nervous wreck. “No, you were right. It looked better down.”

“My lady, you’re going to be wearing a bonnet while you ride. He’s not going to see any of this.” Sally adjusted the curl once more and stepped back, silently declaring she was done with the coiffure.

Miranda stood and then leaned down to examine her hair one last time. “He’ll see it when he comes into the drawing room to get me.”

“It looks perfect, my lady.”

Miranda gave her maid a smile. The poor woman had been very patient with her. First she’d gone through six different outfits. Sally had run downstairs twice to press dresses Miranda thought she wanted to wear. In the end she’d found her way back into Sally’s original suggestion. Now it had taken three times longer than normal to dress her hair. Even if it was her job to do so, Miranda decided the woman had displayed remarkable constraint.

“Thank you, Sally. Have Mother and Georgina left yet?”

“I don’t know, my lady. I’ll go down and see.”

Miranda paced while she waited for Sally to return. When Mother and Georgina had mentioned going visiting and shopping this afternoon, she’d begged off, claiming a headache. It suited her well to be alone when Ryland came to call. She didn’t know what he would say when he arrived. She wasn’t even entirely sure of what she was going to say.

The past three days had been difficult. Despite his promise to stay away while she considered things, she kept looking for him. Irrational disappointment always followed the realization that he was going to respect her wishes.

Once she thought she saw him across the ballroom, but she wasn’t close enough to be sure. If it had been him, he’d spent the entire night in the card room and never once stepped out on the dance floor. She knew because she’d watched for him.

One thing became clear very quickly. Life without Ryland would be pale and lifeless. Was holding on to her equilibrium worth throwing away her best chance to marry for love? Because if she didn’t pursue things with Ryland she knew she would never have another chance to find true love again. She would have to settle for one of those respectable men that wanted to increase their holdings or improve their connections.

Someone like Ashcombe.

The thought made her shudder.

Sally returned and verified that, yes, the other two women had already departed. Miranda swept from the room, anticipation building and making her heart thump in her chest. She skipped down the stairs and couldn’t resist doing a little twirl as she entered the drawing room to wait for Ryland. Her life would no longer be dull, that was certain. While it was probable that her heightened emotional state would prompt many more lady lessons, it would be a good trade for the potential happiness with a man like Ryland.

She plopped on the settee, allowing herself to bounce a bit. The closer the time came, the giddier she felt. Things were going to work for her this time. God was going to reward her diligence in accepting His plan and being at peace with the idea of being a doting aunt.

After a few minutes, she grew restless and rang for a maid to bring her embroidery. She sat, the focus required to perfect an intricate flower momentarily distracting her. After finishing the cluster of pink and yellow roses, she glanced at the clock to find nearly two hours had passed. The fashionable time for riding in the park was fast drawing to a close.

She shrugged. Being fashionable was not all that important right now. Eventually she would want to parade down Rotten Row at the height of the afternoon so everyone would see that she and Ryland were courting. It would help stake her claim among the other marriage-minded females. Maybe he wished for fewer interruptions today, and so wanted to ride a bit later.

Hoping that the next bit of the pattern would be as mentally consuming, she applied herself once more to her needlework. A while later, she heard a carriage rattle to a stop. Voices could be heard beyond the window, the words and tones indistinguishable.

Miranda leaped across the room to peer around the drapery. Her mother and sister stood on the steps, directing the servants who were unloading their packages. Heart racing, she spun around to face the mantel clock, unable to believe what was happening to her. The clock didn’t lie though. It was getting on into the time for the various evening festivities that would be taking place around town. No one would be going riding in the park this late in the day.

She ran from the room, desperate to get upstairs before Georgina could see her. Of all the ways she had imagined this day going, him not showing had never seemed a possibility.

Had he done some thinking of his own? Decided he didn’t want her after all?

Given his impassioned plea in Trent’s study and all the little things he’d done since coming back to London, she knew he wouldn’t choose to stop his attempt to court her.

Her heart wasn’t listening very well though. She escaped into her room, her emotions and her thoughts battling for control. The door slammed against the wall, leaving a small dent in the plaster. In a spontaneous fit of sensibility, she caught the door before it could slam closed and announce her upset to the rest of the household. After shutting it gently, she resumed her fierce pacing, grabbing a pillow off the bed on one of her rounds.

Punching and squeezing the innocent lump of fabric and stuffing eased a bit of her frustration. Throwing it at the wall and pretending it was Ryland’s head was even better. Was this a sign of what life would be like with him? Wondering what he’d gotten himself into? If he’d been unable to leave his life of danger and ended up facedown in the gutter somewhere?

She grabbed all the pillows in the room and hurled them at the wall. Chest heaving, she gathered them up and went at it once more.

Energy spent, she crumpled into a little ball in the middle of the floor. Ryland Montgomery, Duke of Marshington, former valet and spy extraordinaire, would not be an easy man to live with.

But if this was a sign of what life was going to be like with him, perhaps she should put more effort into trying to live without him.

Ryland leaned his head back against the chair and allowed his arms to dangle over the sides. His feet extended toward the low-burning fire, crossed at the ankle. An apple hung from the hook on the mantel, spinning slowly on its string, firelight glinting off the shiny skin as the fruit roasted its way to a comforting snack reminiscent of his days at school. He watched the apple twist until his eyes crossed, and then he let the lids drift shut.

He was the very picture of a relaxed gentleman with nothing on his mind but the next pleasurable pursuit, except perhaps thoughts of his last pleasant endeavor. The truth was something else altogether, but then again it usually was. Survival often depended on appearing one way while doing something entirely different. In this case, his body was relaxed, but his mind was tense.

Flexing his mental muscle to twist and pull and stretch the problem so he could inspect it from every angle was exhausting, but it was the only thing left to do. He had names now. On the surface none of them appeared to be a traitor, but one of them was meeting with Lambert and it couldn’t have been with noble purposes.

The couple from the tea shop had married last week before retiring to Yorkshire. The woman with the young girl had turned out to be a governess. One of the men was a baron and the other the second son of a viscount. Both in keeping with Colin’s description of the investor—high enough to want more and low enough to feel they had nothing to lose.

And one of them knew he was getting close, though Ryland didn’t know how.

The clock on the mantel chimed seven times. The fading tones of the final ding brought a wince to his face. What was Miranda doing right now? Mentally roasting him over the fire like an apple, no doubt. Three times this afternoon, he had drafted a note to send to her, to make some excuse, but he couldn’t risk sending it.

He was sure his house was being watched and any messenger would be followed. Even if he could get the message out without detection, the man could be watching Miranda to see if a note arrived. While the man might know about Miranda, he couldn’t know the depth to which Ryland cared for her. Ryland couldn’t risk doing anything to change that.

He’d already set up a rotation of servants to watch over Miranda’s house. They slipped out at odd hours, taking a circuitous route to Hawthorne House. Griffith would probably kill him if he learned what Ryland was doing. He’d considered telling his friend about the potential danger, but didn’t think Griffith would know how to properly protect Miranda in this situation.

So he’d send his own people and beg for forgiveness later.

The calluses on his hands scraped his face as he tried to physically wipe away thoughts of Miranda. Beyond setting up a discreet guard, there was nothing he could do. His time would be better spent determining who his enemy was so he could roust the scoundrel and get back to his life.

He hated sitting here, waiting for information. Everything in him wanted to go out and dig around himself. To find things himself. To catch the man red-handed instead of directing the effort from his desk.

The snick of the door latch jerked him into the present. He forced his body to remain loose, while his senses reached out to determine the visitor to his study. One eye opened a crack to take in the hulking shadow slipping in the door.

“Any news, Price?” Ryland eased his eye closed once more and allowed part of his mind to sift through what he knew about Lambert while he focused the bulk of his attention on Price’s report. He was quickly learning that one advantage to staffing his house with former spies and war survivors was the ready source of capable aid when he needed something strange done. Or information gathered.

It might be killing him to not be out there, but he had every confidence that the people he had out there were the best. He’d sent word round to the War Office about their findings. While they claimed to be looking into it, he was fairly certain they were letting him take care of it on his own.

Though they’d probably still take the credit.

He heard Price move across the room to the fireplace. After a few moments of silence the smell of roasted apple drew nearer and the fruit was pressed into his dangling hand. Ryland lifted it to his mouth and let his teeth puncture the wrinkled skin. Warm juice flooded his mouth as he tore off a chunk of the now almost gooey fruit. “Make yourself one, Price. There’s a bowl of apples on the shelf behind the desk.”

“Don’t mind if I do, sir. My mum used to roast apples for us at Christmas. I haven’t had one in years.”

Ryland tracked the man’s movements out of habit. He thought he had left the life where knowing where everyone was in a room at any given moment could mean the difference between life and death. The note he’d received that morning said differently.

After several moments, the other wing chair creaked and sighed as the springs adjusted to support a large weight. Ryland eased his eyes open and continued to munch on his apple.

In deference to the unseasonable fire, Price had removed his jacket. It draped over the back of the chair. With slow movements, Price arranged his bulky body into a casual pose similar to Ryland’s. “There’s nothing, sir. It’s as if the letter just appeared on the front stoop. We can’t find a messenger, not even a street urchin admitting to taking a few coins in return for bringing the letter. Jess has been scouring the streets, looking for anyone who knows anything. She slipped back in a few minutes ago.”

Ryland frowned. Jess was one of the parlor maids. “Jess is just a girl, Price. I don’t want her out there.”

Price shook his head. “She’s not that young girl you found in a trunk anymore, Your Grace. Watching your parents get hauled off as English sympathizers grows you up real quick-like. Don’t forget she’s done her own share of work for the Crown since then.

“She had the fortitude for you to smuggle her across the channel seven years ago, and she’s not lost any of that since, even if she is still a mite of a thing. It lets her pass as a youngster out on the street.”

“I still don’t like it.” Truth be told, Ryland hadn’t liked that any women served with him in the intelligence field. At his core he was still a gentleman, and it went against the grain to allow a female to deliberately endanger herself. It was a care he’d learned to ignore early on in his career but he’d never been able to eradicate it.

Price poked at his spinning apple. “Which one do you think sent the note?”

Ryland fished the paper from his pocket to read it again, though he had the entire short missive memorized.

You will pay for ruining this for me. You’ve robbed me of everything I worked for. Now I shall rob you. Maybe I’ll start with the girl.

“I have my suspicions but no proof.” Ryland passed the paper to Price and got up to pace. “He’s not professi— Wait. Are my aunt and cousin still at home?”

Price shook his head. “Left an hour ago for the theater.”

Ryland nodded and resumed pacing. “Our man, whoever he is, is not a professional. Which is surprising given the strong network of spies he put in wealthy houses across the whole of England. He’s too emotional, too close to whatever this is he thinks I’ve taken. He’s out for revenge.”

The Office had picked up Lambert two days ago in a smuggler’s boat bound for France. Since then the man had talked about everything except who hired him. They were going to have their hands busy for the next few weeks looking into all the servants the man claimed were part of the spy ring.

“That makes him all the more dangerous.”

Price and Ryland exchanged glances. As a former smuggler, Price knew about hidden enemies and the cold, calculating nature of the breed. He also knew how dangerous it was when those men left logic behind.

Archibald stuck his head around the study door. “I think we got it, Your Grace. You were right about Baron Listwist.”

Ryland waved Archibald into the room as he took another bite of apple. It was the only thing he’d had the stomach to eat all day.

“His fields haven’t been planted in two years. The estate’s empty except for an old couple taking care of the house and the donkey they use to take them into town.” Archibald handed over a list. “Yet all of these creditors said he’s paid off his bills in the last six months. Bills he’d run up to the point of being on the verge of debtors’ prison.”

“Is the estate on the water?”

Archibald nodded. “A nice cove. Deep and calm. It’d be a simple thing to sail in and out of.”

Ryland dismissed Archibald and told him to get some sleep. The man looked exhausted. He must have ridden nonstop, alternating between horse and mail coach.

“Does he have a connection to France?” Price asked.

Ryland nodded. “An aunt. She’s a member of Napoleon’s court. That’s enough to make him suspect. The influx of money seals the deal. If he’s not our traitor, he’s at least doing something criminal, because he’s claiming the money came from his estate.”

Jeffreys entered into the study, slamming the door behind him so that he could continue across the floor without breaking stride. “There’s been another note.”

Ryland spun and held his hand out for the paper. “Where?”

“The front hall table. It’s the same shaky handwriting.”

Price stood up with a growl. “Someone came through my door?”

A grin fought to find a home on Ryland’s lips. “I believe it’s my door, Price.”

“The house may be yours, Your Grace, but that door is mine.”

Laughter begged to join the repressed grin. “Let’s see what this one says, shall we?”

You never know where I’ll strike. Imagine your door without that preposterous butler.

“I think the man’s an idiot,” Jeffreys said with a shake of his head.

Ryland cast a sideways glance at the “preposterous butler.” The servant’s ears were turning red. “He has a death wish at the very least.”

“First my door and now my person. I’m going to kill him, Ryland!”

Alarmed that Price had reverted to calling him by his given name, Ryland pushed the big man back into the chair. “Calm down. Remember the attack is against me, not you.”

Ryland slowly paced some more, keeping Price in the corner of his eye.

Finally, Ryland leaned both arms on the back of his vacated chair and stared into the flickering flames. Price’s forgotten apple spun merrily around, casting shadows on the ceiling. “Jeffreys, send word to the Office that we have our man. They’ve been letting us run things unofficially until now, and I am willing to assist in his capture, but they’ll have to be the ones to make the actual arrest.”