When Arden told James that Vivian was outside the next morning, he had not expected to see her with a thin metal blade clasped in her right hand, the point of her foil directed at the tree opposite him in the glen. She darted forward, thrusting out her blade before skipping back. Clad in wide-legged trousers and a white linen blouse that did nothing to hide her womanly curves, she was temptation personified. Her current position, standing with her back turned to him, presented him with far too much opportunity to compose any number of obscene ditties about the view.

His cock twitched as he watched her, just longing for the chance to cup her rounded buttocks in his hand, maybe even give her a solid smack. Tingles started in his hands at the prospect, and he ached to tug her into his arms and teach her exactly what a roguish spy did with his lascivious wife. Of course, given how they’d left things yesterday, he doubted she’d allow him to touch her hand, let alone her rear. More’s the pity, for what a fantastically glorious arse it was.

He watched her for a minute longer, as she swept her blade out, then assumed the first position of parry. Her form was good, but that didn’t mean she’d hold up as well against an opponent. Or that she’d even want to fight when she was equally matched.

Christ, he didn’t want her to have to fight. He’d give anything he had for her to get to lead a normal existence. But the day Sauveterre targeted her she’d lost that chance. When one French spy was involved, another was sure to follow—the bastards were like lemmings. Crazed, deadly lemmings that followed the orders of a man who wanted to remake Europe in his own image, no matter whose freedom he had to destroy. In this war against Bonaparte, agents were needed. People with quick minds and even quicker moves.

As he observed Vivian practice her footwork, he sent up a silent prayer that she would eventually agree to join the Clocktower. He’d bring it up later with her, when she was more receptive to talking with him. He wasn’t sure how their marriage would function without her being a fellow spy; she knew the truth now.

He carded his hand through his hair. If she didn’t want to share his life after Sauveterre was captured, then at least Abermont House would be a safe place for her. He’d see her in Town during the Season, but there would be so much he wouldn’t be able to tell her. Their entire marriage would become like last night. He hadn’t returned to their bed until well after midnight, when he’d known she’d be asleep. He’d crept out before dawn again.

This couldn’t continue. He wanted more for them.

He advanced upon her, tapping her shoulder. She spun around, the button tip of her rapier inches from his chest. Her brows winged up at the sight of him, but she did not take a step away from him. Allowing her this show of strength, he decamped first, though her blade scared him little. He knew the foils Arden had packed for their trip were not sharp enough to pierce flesh, even without the covering over the top.

Her lips curled into a smirk. “Come to duel, Your Grace?”

He bristled at her use of his title. What was respect from others was a step back in intimacy from a woman who had moaned his given name in pleasure. “You’re displeased with me.”

“Nothing trouncing you in a match wouldn’t fix.” She shrugged, and the movement made her breasts jounce against the fabric of her white shirt.

His mouth watered, even as he tried to shake off the haze of attraction. If she wanted to funnel her aggressions into her foil, then he’d grant her a worthy opponent. After, perhaps they could have a sound, logical conversation about their relationship. He suppressed a groan. When had he started to want to discuss his feelings? Damned woman.

He turned to head back to the house. “I’ll go retrieve another blade.”

“No need.” Vivian gestured toward the tree she’d originally faced, and he saw another blade tucked to the side of the trunk. “I had a feeling you might find me here.”

“I do so like a woman who prepares.” He winked at her, and her cheeks pinked delightfully—reassuring him that though she was irritated with his reveals, she still desired him. He’d take that as progress. Undoing the buttons of his coat, he tugged it off, folding it up neatly and setting it on the grass. His waistcoat came next. As he rolled up his sleeves, she watched him, unable to veil her interest. He may have flexed his muscles, just for a second. A man had his pride, after all.

She handed him the foil, and he assumed the position. Driving her blade up, the metal of her foil clanged against his, their blades meeting in the shape of an “X.” She stretched out her left arm behind her, improving her balance. “En garde.”

The atmosphere between them changed, as if a curtain had been pulled back. The air became tighter. Every sound amplified, from the chirping of the birds in the woods to the whisper of the river behind the cottage. Seconds felt like minutes, as all his senses sharpened, readying for battle.

She lunged for him, her blade aimed at his shoulder. But he parried her attack with his foil, sliding into a riposte as he whipped his rapier up and went for her chest. He almost had her, but she was too swift on her feet. She jumped back, his foil swishing uselessly above the space she’d occupied a second before.

“Impressive,” he said, as they both retreated and resumed beginning stance.

Hurt flashed in her cobalt eyes. “I told you I defeated my brother often. You remember him, the brother your supervisors didn’t protect?”

He flinched at the bitterness of her voice. The accusation. Perhaps the Alien Office truly had failed Evan Loren. Until he knew the exact reasons why Sauveterre had killed the man, he couldn’t for certain declare that the agency hadn’t taken the proper precautions. There was still a chance that Evan’s death had been brought on by his own failure to observe caution.

But James had known every single guideline for a mission. Hell, he’d written half of them. And still Louisa had died on his watch.

So he’d take Vivian’s blame. He kept his lips pursed firmly shut, his gaze steely.

She lifted her chin, challenging him. “You shouldn’t underestimate me.”

He brought his foil up, clashing it against hers. “That is a mistake I shall not make again, wife.”

She appeared pleased by his promise. He took advantage of that, catching her off guard as he charged forward. The side of his foil swiped her gut. She winced, but he suspected it was her pride that was wounded, and not her stomach, for in the next second she was back in position again.

“No point. You must hit me with the tip of your foil, not the side,” she declared, her tone begging him to differ. “You may have played dirty in the past, but when I fence I follow the rules.”

He was unsurprised she’d placed such emphasis on established codes of conduct when her whole world had shifted without her approval last night. She’d want to cling to what was familiar, as he had with running the Clocktower in the wake of Louisa’s demise. For her, fencing must be that same comfort zone.

So instead of arguing with her, he simply nodded and reset his stance. “Shall we go again?”

She crossed blades with him, and then they were off again. He swung at her; she dashed out of the way. She cut her foil through the air, but he dived away, avoiding her tap. They continued on for a few more swings, each narrowly missing the other, their blades clinking together until he felt the smack of the tip of her foil against his chest. She’d nicked him.

Dancing back, triumph washed over her flushed face. He knew then he’d take any number of hits if it meant she’d grin like that again, so utterly pleased with herself. She waggled her brows at him, the outward signs of her ire beginning to fade, replaced with the joy of successful exertion.

“Go again?” she asked.

“If you think you can handle it.” He goaded her, knowing that she’d rise to the bait. She needed an enemy to fight against, so that she’d feel like she was in control of at least a part of her life again.

She lifted her foil. “I’m the one who gained a point against you, old man.”

“I’ll have you know I am only four years older than you,” he retorted, raising his own foil.

She squinted. “Is that a gray hair I see?”

He blinked, and in that instant, she almost hit him again. He parried her attack just in time, carrying through with a riposte of his own. The button of his foil notched her shoulder.

He grinned back at her. “Point, even.”

She returned his smile, her eyes sparkling. “I’ll give credit where credit is due. You’re a good fencer.”

“As are you,” he said, wiping the sweat from his brow. “I haven’t been this well matched in years.”

“I thought you’d take it easy on me,” she said, her voice softening as though she was admitting a dark secret to him. “But I’m glad you aren’t.”

He came toward her. “I want to protect you, Vivian, not cage you.”

“Sometimes they are the same thing,” she said.

He knew that firsthand. In the past, the Clocktower had felt like a prison, keeping him from embracing anything normal. But these past two weeks with her had made him wonder if he could be both spy and husband. He’d existed with dual identities for so long the mere possibility of having someone in his life who understood all the aspects of his personality seemed like paradise.

“Again?” He queried.

She nodded. They fought longer and harder, each scoring points against the other. When finally they were both straining for breath, she pushed forward, pinning him back against the tree. Her foil crossed over his chest, his own thrown up to fend off her thrust. The cool metal did not abate the burn of his body at her closeness. She leaned forward, and he breathed in the welcome scent of roses. For a minute, they remained poised like this, their eyes fixed on each other, as if they could see into the depths of each other’s souls. She dragged in another breath, her kiss-worthy lips quivering.

Just as he would have brushed his lips against hers, she lowered her foil, sighing. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that before. About Evan and your superiors.”

He followed her lead, dropping his blade as well. “You should say whatever you feel. You need time to accept all of this.”

She tapped the side of the blade against her leg, her expression pensive. “I don’t know what I feel. Confused, I suppose.”

“Might I help?” he asked gently, not wanting to pressure her. “Perhaps I could explain things more thoroughly. Give you some clarity.”

She shook her head, giving him a sad smile. “There are some wounds only time can heal. I’ve spent so long blaming myself for Evan’s death—thinking that even though I didn’t kill him directly, I was still the reason we were in London. Now I know the blame lays nowhere other but with Sauveterre.”

“You couldn’t have saved him,” he said, the familiar line bursting from his lips before he could stop it. It felt as false when he said it to her as it had every time one of his friends repeated it about Louisa. Perhaps guilt knew no sense. The heart attributed culpability, whether or not the mind knew it to be false.

“I know.” She turned, walking away from the tree, back toward the house. “Which makes me even more determined to find and gut Sauveterre. If your grand ‘spy senses’ can help me to do that, then I’m grateful not just to you but to your training.”

He trailed after her, resisting the urge to fold her in his arms. Her brother’s true vocation was something she’d have to come to terms with on her own. “My skillset does make me extraordinarily useful in this case.”

She tilted her head toward him, her foil still in her hand, but pointed downward. “I’m not surprised about you, James. I think a part of me always knew you were involved in something dangerous. I’m not happy you didn’t tell me before, but I do understand your reasons.”

He let out a sigh of relief. Maybe there was hope for them after all. “Thank you.”

“Evan always said to fight fire with fire,” she said. “Well, I’m bringing a damn inferno to the party, then.”

* * *

That evening after dinner, Vivian curled up in an armchair by the fire in the library. Her body ached from their rigorous fencing, but it was a good ache—a reminder she’d done something for once. She’d fought James on equal footing. She hadn’t given in to the urge to flee far from here.

She still couldn’t make sense of what their relationship would become, but at least for now, her mind was clearer. That was the beauty of spirited exercise. She resolved to challenge him to another match tomorrow, and the day after that, onward until she could find the right words to express the tumult of her thoughts.

Untucking her locket from underneath her gown, she lifted it up, surveying it. The gold was dingy, burnished. She flipped the clasp open to the portrait of Evan.

“How could you?” She murmured. “How could you lie to me for so long?”

But she knew the answer. It was the same reason James had kept the truth from her too. To protect her—not just from enemies of the nation, but their own people. She closed the locket, dropping it back underneath her gown. Fine, so she understood why they both had lied, but that did not make the revelations any easier.

This new knowledge did not bring Evan back from the grave. Nor did it show her how to continue with James. All she could see was a lifetime of him holding back a part of himself from her. He’d do his spy work—whatever that was—and she’d stay home, raising their children.

She’d gone from the lonely existence of governess to perhaps an even lonelier one as duchess; married to a man she wanted desperately to know. But when he’d spent his life perfecting fabrications, she was scared to trust that anything with him was genuine.

Even if it felt realer than anything else she’d ever experienced.

Just as she was about to pick up her book again, James poked his head in the doorway. “May I join you?”

She nodded.

He sidled in, taking a seat in the chair across from her. “I have another proposition for you.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Will I get to know all the facts ahead of time?”

“Yes. As long as I can say it without endangering anyone, I will tell you everything you want to know.”

She leaned forward. “You have my interest.”

He grinned, his enthusiasm catching. “We will begin your defensive training tomorrow, but there’s more. I want to instruct you on how to be an agent with the Clocktower.”

“You want me to be a spy?” Perhaps she should reevaluate her previous assessment of him as sane. “I can’t be a spy. I haven’t a stealthy bone in my body. If you hadn’t been gone from the estate so much, I’m sure you would have found me earlier.”

“No one’s ever taught you how to be furtive.” He propped one elbow up on the arm of his chair, resting his head in his outstretched palms. “It is a skill, learned and practiced like any other. After I am through training you, I swear to you that you’ll be able to creep through any room unnoticed.”

She closed her book, setting it on the table. “And I would take orders from you, yes?”

“Yes. I assign the missions.” He nodded. “I took over after my father’s death four years ago. For almost a hundred years now, a member of the Spencer family has run the Clocktower.”

“So many rules and regulations you must have to learn,” she said. “How do you ever keep track of what you can say freely?”

His lips turned up slightly, the barest hint of a grin. “Lots and I do mean lots, of practice.”

She stood, going to the teacart and pouring herself a cup of tea. Northley had just refreshed the pot, and preparing the cup would give her time to think. She held up another cup, but James refused her offer.

She splashed cream and sugar in her cup, and then took the tea back to the chair. “I don’t know if I’m comfortable with more lies.”

“The most important things are true. You and me. Our marriage.” For a minute, he paused, his gaze resting on her face. “I confess to some selfish desire in wanting you to join our ranks. We’d be together far more often, and I’d be able to share basic information with you that I would have to keep to myself otherwise.”

She imagined nights spent with him in some shadowy corridor, forced to wait there until their opponent left the vicinity. They’d put the time to good use, finding all the right places to touch, the threat of possible exposure fueling their passion...

She took a drink of tea, coloring as she realized his eyes were on her. “What would becoming a spy entail?”

“For now, it would be simple missions. Reconnaissance, eavesdropping, and evaluating the intelligence received by other spies. Document retrieval, if you’re with a more experienced agent. Largely, the same thing you’ve been doing in the last half a year. Nothing too perilous. The last thing I want is to endanger you further, but you’re already in this life.” Having completed a full circuit of the room, he retraced his steps anew. “There are other spies who will handle the more dangerous missions, like persuading an asset to our side or...”

He stopped himself in time, but she did not need him to finish the thought.

She peered over her teacup at him, widening her eyes in faux doe innocence. “Or elimination?”

He stopped his pacing, turning on his heel to meet her gaze. The muscles in his throat worked as he swallowed. “Or elimination.”

“You who speak so highly of justice,” she murmured, setting her teacup down on the table.

He came to her, finally plopping onto the seat next to her, his long legs stretched out before him. “It is because of the terrible things that I have done in the name of my country that I caution you against vengeance. Once you take a life, you’re forever changed and not for the better. You’re a good person, Vivian. I don’t want to see that stripped away from you.”

She didn’t feel like a good person. Hadn’t she burned that bridge the day she accepted a position in his employ under false pretenses? Yet he still saw something worth championing in her.

“This spy proposal of yours,” she began. “Would I have to answer now? Or could I have time to think about it?”

“You may have as long as you need,” he said. “But what I've told you has to stay between you and me alone.”

She nodded. “I understand. Would you still teach me self-defense?”

“Absolutely.”

She breathed a sigh of relief at that. The idea of being unprepared for Sauveterre's attack ate at her. “Good. Because I need time to think about this.”

“You are my wife, Vivian.” He rose from his chair, crossing to the door before turning around. “I am never going to take your choices away from you. You must find your own path--but I hope it's with me.”