Free I Spy a Duke by Erica Monroe

narrowed as she flipped through the pages, finally getting to his financial records. All this searching, yet she hadn’t removed a single thing from his office. Her being a thief was becoming more and more unlikely.
    As she turned, he was forced to retreat from the doorway back to the shadows of the potted plant. He dare not risk being seen through the crack in the door when she faced him. Though he couldn’t ascertain exactly where she was, the creak of wood moving against wood told him she’d found the window seat. In a minute, she’d closed it again.
    She hadn’t found what she was looking for.  
    He heard her approach, then stop. From the length of her strides, he guessed she’d paused in front of his desk. He remained in the shadows, not daring to emerge, for her position would bring her directly in front of him. A loud squeak broke the relative quiet. She’d opened the top drawer of his desk, and she wouldn’t find anything there but writing supplies. For a few minutes, the room echoed with opening and shutting drawers, shuffling paper, and finally a muffled curse.
    That sealed it—she was no thief. A thief would have seized the gold paperweight on his desk; the ancient Chinese vase on the low table, worth more than four times her annual salary; or the small red chalk study known as the “Three Graces” by the Italian painter Raphael, framed above the filing cabinets. The gilded gold frame alone was worth a mint, even if she did not recognize the value of the sketch.
    Not to mention the fact that she was a bloody bad sneak. In all his years with Clocktower, he’d never seen anyone conduct such an inefficient, noisy search. Her strengths laid clearly in handling his rambunctious brother, not in stealth. So why in the devil was she searching his library? Had someone sent her here? Wickham had checked her background, but something must have been missed.
    None of this made a damn bit of sense.
    All he knew was that she’d betrayed his trust. If she didn’t have a damn good explanation, he’d make sure she paid for that mistake.
    A shaky light appeared at the end of the winding hall, coming toward him. His fingers tightened against the handle of the knife. The beat of his heart quickened as his other senses sharpened, readying for attack.  
    But as the figure advanced, he discerned the hazy features of Mrs. Engle, his housekeeper. She held a candle in her hand, accounting for the moving flicker. His heartbeat returned to a steady rhythm. Though he did not fear Mrs. Engle, he tucked further between the wall and plant, taking refuge in the darkness. He couldn’t chance that the housekeeper would acknowledge him, thus alerting Miss Loren to his presence.
    The housekeeper headed toward the stairs. When the door clicked shut, Miss Loren sighed in what he imagined to be relief. To her knowledge, no one had seen her. James held his breath as she came out from the library, willing her to pass by without noticing him.  
    As Miss Loren strode in the opposite direction, James inched after her. When the hall forked off, she took the right turn, heading toward the nursery. Her room was located beside the nursery, so that she could tend to her charge at all hours, if need be. Stopping at the entrance, she glanced over her shoulder. He ducked behind another potted plant. Never again would he question Elinor’s purchases of more plants.
    She went inside the room, shutting the door behind her. Yet it did not close all the way, as Abermont House had heavy oak doors, and hence an extra tug was needed to seal the lock. James nudged the door with the tip of his boot, enlarging the gap enough so that he could watch her.
    The oil lamp sputtered to life as she lit the wick, casting a shadow away from the candle’s flame. She faced him as she sat down on the bed, sliding off her slippers and lining them up neatly at the foot of the bed. In the lamplight, her hair looked even more golden than normal, reminding him of the softest