Tavia woke to the odd sensation of something warm and wet curling around her fingertips. Opening her eyes, she found herself staring into the big brown gaze of an enormous dog, who immediately backed up two steps and licked his chops.

Despite its size, the canine didn’t frighten her. The fact that she’d awoken in the duke’s bed was far more disconcerting. She’d slept in the borrowed dress Mrs. Teague had given her, and the fabric had twisted around her as tightly as the bandage binding her ankle. She rolled onto her side and struggled to free her legs.

“Is this beast bothering you, miss?” Mrs. Teague bustled into the room with her arms full. She lifted a foot toward the dog. “Go, Grady, and find Niall. Off with you, old boy,” she commanded before depositing her pile on the end of the bed. “I’ve washed and pressed your clothes, and unless I’m mistaken, the first train departing for London leaves within the hour.” She pointed toward the open door. “I’ve asked Mr. Teague to hitch up the pony cart. He’ll drive you to the station.”

Tavia finally escaped the twisted dress and climbed off the bed. Mrs. Teague cast her a forlorn look, as if there was more she wished to say but thought best not to do so.

“Well, I’ll leave you to dress.” She waddled toward the door and then turned back. “Warm scones and tea are waiting in the kitchen, if you wish to stop for a moment before you depart. And your satchel is just there on the desk.”

A quick glance indicated the bag was still bulging with Tavia’s clothing. She wondered if Graves or one of the Teagues had peeked at the dossier or her weapons.

“Where is Major Graves?”

“He’s gone, Miss Fowler.” The housekeeper fussed with the edge of her apron, refusing to look at Tavia. “Said I should wish you well and make sure you got off all right on your journey.”

“Where is he, Mrs. Teague?” A sharp pain pinched in the center of Tavia’s chest. She couldn’t lose the man she’d come to find. She hobbled forward on her tender ankle. “You must tell me where he’s gone.”

According to Lord Cecil’s dossier, the duke had been on the move for years. Showing up at various towns around Britain, sometimes staying long enough for one of the queen’s emissaries to track him down, but then disappearing again. If he’d gone off to find another hiding place, she would have to find him. Whatever it took.

Mrs. Teague approached and laid a soft, wrinkled hand on Tavia’s arm. “Calm yourself, my girl. He’s only gone into the village to see about the doctor for my back.” The older woman pressed her lips together, her brows drawn in a sad expression. “He insists that you go before he returns. No matter how the man looks at you, lass, you’ll never convince him to return to London.”

Tavia spun on her good leg and lunged for her pile of clothing. She threw her drawers and petticoat on the floor and stepped into them, tugged her chemise over her head, and latched her corset as quickly as she could. There were far too many buttons on her bodice, and she struggled for a good minute to fasten her skirt.

“My goodness, child, what’s the fuss?” Mrs. Teague pushed her fingers away and secured the hooks at Tavia’s back. “The train doesn’t leave until the top of the hour, and Niall will see you get there on time.”

“I’m not going to the station, Mrs. Teague.” Tavia gathered her hair, wound the length around her hand, and tied the wavy tresses into a messy knot at her nape. She had no time for pins. “I’m going to find Major Graves.”

After a good deal of cajoling and a bit of beseeching, Niall Teague agreed to drive Tavia into the village rather than to the train station. He groused the whole way, insisting her appearance boded ill, not just for Major Graves but for Stokingham as a whole. She wasn’t sure if he was relying on an old wives’ tale regarding redheaded women or he’d simply taken an instant dislike to her. Whatever the cause of his displeasure, she was willing to endure the old man’s condemnations if he would get her to the village faster than she could travel by foot on a sore ankle.

“Do you have any notion where he might be?” she tried as the pony cart rattled down the village’s main lane.

Mr. Teague shot her a narrow-eyed grimace.

“I’ll find him whether you assist me or not, but a little help is always appreciated.” Tavia tried for a charming smile. Shockingly, the effort seemed to work.

The old man sniffed and his face softened before he lifted an arm and pointed toward a vine-covered cottage off a narrow side lane. “Went to fetch Doctor Evans for the missus, so he did.”

Before she thought better of it, Tavia leaned over and pecked a quick kiss on Teague’s grizzled cheek. “Thank you. Just stop here,” she said before scrambling down from the cart and starting toward the doctor’s cottage. When she looked over her shoulder, Mr. Teague was still staring at her in dumbstruck shock. She grinned and waved back. Though the cottage wasn’t far, Tavia favored her sore ankle and took the path slowly. A few paces from the vine-covered door, she stopped in her tracks.

In the distance, along the village’s high street, she spotted a man with long dark-blond hair, broad shoulders, and the confident gait of a former soldier stepping into a shop. The duke may have come for the purpose of visiting the doctor, but it seemed he’d decided to purchase a few goods before returning to Finsbury Hall.

Before following him, Tavia waited for Teague to depart. After recovering from her burst of affection, he’d turned the pony cart around and started off toward the estate. She’d asked him not to wait for her, since she had no notion how long her search for Graves might take. She also didn’t want the duke to spot Teague and realize she hadn’t been deposited at the station as he’d directed.

Raising the edge of her skirt for easier movement, she attempted a limping sprint toward the high street. Her ankle protested, but she kept on, ducking under the awning of the shop and craning her neck to see if she could spot the duke. The shop he’d entered seemed to be a haberdashery, and he stood amid a few other customers perusing its wares.

A moment later, he emerged and strode toward another shop down the high street. Tavia counted to ten and started to trail him, but another man blocked her way. He’d stepped out of the same door as Strathmoor, watching him with the same hawkish attentiveness as Tavia did. When the duke stepped into a second shop, the man followed him inside.

Ahead of her, a thin middle-aged gentleman approached down the pavement at a rapid clip. He cast his gaze toward the establishment Strathmoor had entered but hung back. Like her, he seemed to be searching for a place to conceal himself, finally taking up a spot near a tobacconist’s doorway. Tavia watched as the man scanned the high street, his gaze finally snagging on her. As their gazes locked, he stepped forward, closing the distance between them.

“Would you like to earn a few pence, love?” he asked when he stood inches away from her.

“No.” Tavia attempted to move past him, but the man crowded closer, blocking her way.

“I only seek a few answers, and I’m willing to pay.” His eyes were dark, the darkest brown she’d ever seen, nearly black. And they were empty. She’d learned to read people in the past year, searching for any hint of emotion of deception in their eyes and movements. The thin man was blank, with hollow eyes and an expressionless face. His nearness sent a shiver skittering down her back.

“Excuse me, sir.” Tavia bent her arm, employing her elbow to push past him. “Good day to you.” She started away from the shops, down to the quiet end of the village, where cottages crowded around kitchen gardens. Without looking back, she picked up her pace and ducked down a tree-lined lane that veered off to the right. At the foot of an enormous oak, she stopped. Resting a hand against the trunk to catch her breath, she willed her ankle to stop throbbing.

Behind her, the hedgerow rustled, and she snapped her head around to find a young man emerging from a trellised garden. He was the same gent who’d followed Strathmoor into the shop. The one she’d thought sure was trailing him, but now it seemed perhaps the man was trailing her. Young, golden-haired, and handsome, he shot her a warm smile. “Hullo, miss.”

“I’m sorry, is this your tree?” Tavia gazed at him over her shoulder. “I only stopped to catch my breath.”

When he stepped closer, Tavia darted past him, ignoring the twinge in her ankle, and started back toward the village shops. After only a few steps, he rushed up behind, her, wrapped one hand around her waist, and clamped the other over her mouth.

“If you’re quiet, love, no harm will come to you.” He pulled her back toward the tree. She wiggled and nipped at his fingers as he dragged her into the trellised garden he’d exited. The vines were so thick, the two of them were hidden from view. “Stop biting me, you little fool. Now when I lift my hand, you keep mum. Understood?” The man peeled his fingers from her mouth slowly, one by one, testing her.

Tavia clenched her hand, spun to face the young man, and reeled back to strike. Catching her fist in midair, he lashed his fingers around her neck. After digging into his pocket, he yanked out a revolver and pointed the barrel at her cheek.

“You bloody fool. Do you think you’ll get away if I don’t wish you to?” He snorted and shot her an arrogant sneer. “No one slips my net, love. Ever.”

She clawed at his fingers where he clenched her neck, cutting off her air.

“You might be useful to us.” He released her suddenly, dropping his revolver back into his pocket. “Boss wants to do this quietly.”

Tavia gasped for air and reached behind her. Damn! The knife was gone. She’d discarded the sheath and blade with her skirt the previous night, not taking care to retrieve them in her haste to chase after Strathmoor. She’d been so eager, she’d left her satchel in Mr. Teague’s cart too.

“What do you want?” Her voice emerged hoarse and raspy.

“Lead us back to the hall and let us inside.”

Tavia began shaking her head, and the young man gripped her cheeks between his thumb and forefinger.

“You don’t get to say no to us, love.” He pinched her face harder. “We’re watching his every move. We know you’re lodging under his roof. Boss doesn’t want no fuss. Quiet, he said to me. That’s how this is going to go. Get one of us inside. I can take him myself. Tell Graves I’m your brother, your husband, your lover. I don’t bloody care. Just get me inside.”

Tavia glared at the man and offered a single curt nod. His mouth broadened into an arrogant smirk.

“Good girl.” He finally released her face. “Now go back to the estate. I’ll call later, after the sun has gone down. You can either make up a story to explain my arrival or feign surprise when I call…”

As he continued rambling, Tavia rubbed at her cheeks and considered how best to bring the bastard to the ground. He wasn’t particularly tall or broad, though he was surprisingly strong. The beauty of the martial art her father taught was the ability to take a larger opponent off his feet with a few calculated moves.

The man had stopped talking and stood staring at her expectantly, a self-satisfied grin causing his cheeks to bulge.

“Agreed,” Tavia said, having no real notion what he’d just told her. She reached out as if they ought to shake hands to seal their arrangement.

The man stared at her palm a moment, arched one golden brow, and lifted a hand to take hers. Tavia seized his wrist, pushed her body weight against him, and pivoted to twist his arm behind his back. One swift knee to his side and he doubled in half. Ignoring his growls and yelps, she reached for the tail of his coat and yanked the fabric up over his head before releasing his arm. Lifting one leg, she planted her boot on his backside and kicked forward with all the force she could muster. As the man thudded to the ground, she lifted her skirt and sprinted toward the high street.

Past window after window, she ran until spikes of pain shot up from her ankle.

“Octavia!” Killian’s shout rang out behind her.

Tavia stopped and closed her eyes for the briefest moment in relief. Hobbling toward him, she insisted, “We have to go.”

His palm was cool against her face, and the concern in his eyes made her belly flip-flop. She’d never been so relieved to see anyone in her life, but she had no time for tenderness.

“Please, Killian.” She reached for his hand to pull him along. “They’re watching you. We must get back to Finsbury Hall.”

Before she could say another word, he’d ushered her inside the shop she’d seen him enter when Teague deposited her in the village. He gestured to an older man behind the counter. “May we use your back room?” Without waiting for a reply, Killian led her into a snug, tidy space lined with shelves straining under enormous bolts of fabric.

“Now breathe and tell me what’s happened.” He was still touching her, one hand stroking soothing ribbons along her arm, the other clasping her hand.

“Two men. One outside this shop. The other near a garden at the other edge of the village. One of them demanded my help to get him inside Finsbury Hall.” Tavia was talking so quickly, she bit her tongue and winced at the taste of blood. She’d come to retrieve Killian Graves and return him to London. She suspected the two men she’d encountered never intended for him to step outside of Finsbury Hall again.

Killian grew quiet.

“You seem unconcerned.” Shockingly so. His calm, when her pulse was thrashing wildly through her veins, unnerved her.

“I’ve been followed before.” He cast her a pointed stare. “Let them come for me. We’ll go back and await them.”

Tavia frowned so fiercely, her head began to ache. “I don’t think they’re planning a cordial visit.”

The man had the boldness to chuckle at that. Then he saw the thunder in her gaze and swept a hand across his beard.

“No, not pleasant, but if they intend to come, let them. We’ll be ready.” It was his turn to frown. His forehead rippled into lines under a fall of overlong bronze locks caught behind one ear. “What I meant to say is that I will be ready.” He glanced up at a clock on the wall. “If you catch the nine o’clock train, you can be back in London by teatime.”

Tavia sputtered. She was, for the first time in her life, completely speechless. No thought, no word, would form on her tongue. He was the most virile and attractive man she’d ever met in her life, and, without a doubt, the most vexing. His audacity knew no bounds.

“I was assaulted, manhandled, and threatened.” She leaned toward him, planting a finger in the center of his—very hard, very warm—chest. Through clenched teeth, she added, “And as I’ve said, I’m not going back to London without you.”

He was looking at her that way again. As if he wanted her. As if she was all he’d ever wanted. As if he might even need her. Then his brow crinkled, and he swept his fingers gently along the edge of her jaw. “Are those bruises?” He tipped her head left and then right. He tsked disgustedly at whatever he saw. “I’m going to have to kill them for this.”

Tavia swiped his hand away but didn’t want to let go of the steadiness he offered. She pressed her palm to his, and he immediately responded, interlacing his fingers with hers, as if they were a lock and key that fit together.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she told him. “We’re not going to kill anyone.”

“No,” he agreed. “Not until we find out who sent them, anyway.”