The Duchess War

Oh, God. This was going to be awful. He should never have said a word.

“I mean it,” Robert said. “If you two come, I don’t want to hear a peep out of you. Not one word the entire trip.”

“Really,” Violet said, “you know you can trust me to be circumspect.”

“I’m not worried about you,” Robert said, which was true in the relative sense. “Sebastian?”

“You can rest assured that I will not break my vow of silence until you have given me leave to do so, lest I lose my immortal soul.”

A less grandiloquent promise would have inspired more trust. Particularly since Sebastian refused to admit whether he believed in an immortal soul. Still, Robert bowed his head and hoped—fervently—that this would not turn out as badly as he feared.

THE CONDUCTOR WAS CALLING FOR ALL TO BOARD the train leaving out of Euston Square, and Minnie had hidden herself in the second-class car. The cars were almost empty, and she had her cloak drawn up to her cover her face. A look of firm disapproval usually sent any would-be traveling companions scampering for the next compartment over.

So when the door handle rattled, she fixed a grim, uninviting expression on her face. The hinges squeaked; the door swung in, and a woman stepped into the compartment.

Not just a woman; a lady. She was dressed in the dark gray of half-mourning, ribbons and bows flirting with a lavender so pale it was almost colorless. Minnie didn’t need to see the seed pearls lining her cuffs to know that this woman was wealthy and important. She’d have guessed it from the careful tucks and frills of the gown, the fabric that billowed out in careless excess, the fit of a gown that could only have been perfected through countless visits from a modiste.

What was a woman like that doing back here in the second-class cars?

Her eyebrows were drawn down; she rapped the bench across from Minnie lightly, as if to ascertain that it was indeed as hard as it appeared. Then she shrugged prosaically.

Before she could look at Minnie, a man—a gentleman, by the look of him, trousers pressed and creased, red waistcoat covered by a long traveling coat—ducked his head in. “Cobber’s lost the truck again,” he said. “And Matilda says the porter insists on loading your second crate on bottom, no matter what the markings say.”

“Oh, hell,” the woman said.

The man didn’t blink at the profanity. He simply stood aside and let her sweep out the door.

Oddly enough, that gentleman—dark-haired and dark-eyed—looked at Minnie. It was probably too late to drive these people away, whoever they were, but she glared at him anyway.

In return, he winked at her.

“The first-class cars are there.” She gestured.

He shrugged, tossed his heavy coat on another seat, and then followed after the woman.

So she was to have companions after all—and odd ones, at that.

The door rattled again. She looked up, expecting to see her strange companions—but no. Her heart dropped. Her hands burst into flame.

“Miss Pursling,” the Duke of Clermont said. “How absolutely lovely to see you.”

The last time she’d seen him, he’d told her to look up. She’d wanted to do it. And then… Then, she’d discovered that she had even fewer choices than she supposed. Looking at him made her want to forget all that. She’d hoped to put that longing out of her mind for good, but at the sight of him, the memory returned unbidden, waiting on the surface of her skin, reviving with every breath that passed through her lips.

I want you.

Those words had taken hold of her imagination, and even though her mind knew that nothing had ever happened between them, her flesh seemed unconvinced. She broke out in prickles of awareness at his presence. She looked down.

“Are you having a nice journey?” He placed a satchel in the rack overhead and then sat across from her.

“Yes,” she said, somewhat stiffly. “I visited a papermaker in London so I could discover where you were getting your materials.”

She tossed it out so he would know where they stood—as far apart as she could push them.

His nose twitched. “A progress report,” he said happily. “I see I have advanced in your standing. How lovely.” And he smiled at her.

There was no place for him and his wants in her life. No place at all. Luckily, the door opened again to admit the lady in the impressive traveling habit.

“Robert,” she said, “we cannot leave yet. They have misplaced Herman and the conductor is threatening to go anyway. What can it matter if the train is delayed? You must stop them, because my stratagems will not last much longer.”

“Your stratagems?” The Duke of Clermont sat up straight, and his voice grew darker. “What have you done?”

The woman held up a silver-plated whistle. “The conductor’s,” she said simply.

The duke stared at her, then groaned and rubbed his forehead. “Oh, God.” He touched his hat and turned to Minnie. “Wait. I’ll be right back.”

The door closed again, and she was once more left alone. Minnie briefly considered moving compartments. But if she did, he would only find her again. Besides, the conductor had marked off her ticket in this seat, and she wasn’t certain he’d remember her if she moved to another compartment.

The next temptation struck in a moment. He’d thrown his bag on the seat next to her. Only a single metal buckle separated her from his papers. His potentially damning papers.

He had to be importing the handbills from somewhere. Maybe he had a bill of sale or a note in that satchel.

But…it would be a tremendous breach of privacy.

And what would she do even if she found something? His word against hers would still leave her ruined. She argued with herself back and forth, until the passage of time made her decision for her.

The door to the car opened. It was the duke. He glanced at his satchel overhead and then shook his head. “Really,” he said, “you didn’t go through it?”

“Really.” Minnie gritted her teeth. “I didn’t go through it.”

“Am I not your enemy? Are we not at war?”

“I don’t know what you are. I certainly don’t know what we are doing.” Her nose wrinkled. “But I would have the devil of a time proving the provenance. Even if I did find a stack of radical handbills in your satchel, what would I do? Take them out and show the magistrate? I’d have no proof you once owned them.”

He took the satchel down and looked over at her. “You are constantly surprising me. I have to remind myself that whatever it is you are planning, it is going to be thought through more thoroughly than anything I have ever contemplated.” He undid the leather strap and reached in, taking out a handful of papers. “Here,” he said. “If you had gone through my satchel, you’d have found this. I wrote it for you anyway.”