Free I Spy a Duke by Erica Monroe Page A

satin. God, how could he still want to run his fingers through her hair when he didn’t know if she was an enemy or not? His body refused to listen to reason, ruled instead by primal urges.
    She stood, facing him. For a second, he wondered if she could see him. But her nimble fingers plucked at her fichu, untucking the cloth from the neckline of her gown. His mouth went dry at the revealed expanse of porcelain flesh, the swell of her breasts. His cock hardened as she tilted her head back, rubbing her hand in a circular motion against her neck.  
    Bollocks.
    If only he’d known how traitorous she could be when she’d offered to bandage his wound. Demanded to bandage his wound was more like it. He would have told her just what he did to people who betrayed him...or so he wanted to think. Because even now, watching as she strode to her jewelry box, a small voice in his voice sounded. Claimed this was not who she really was, that she’d been forced to spy on him. The woman who had listened to him talk about Louisa without pity could not be an enemy agent.
    Please, Lord, not her.
    He couldn’t explain how in such a short time this woman had come to mean so much to him. It lacked logic, and it certainly was dangerous. He couldn’t afford to be distracted by what he thought he knew of her.
    She pulled open her jewelry box, dropping in her earrings. His eyes zeroed in on that jewelry box—there was a piece of parchment inside the bottom drawer. A letter, from how it was folded. Had there been more papers in that drawer? He’d have to investigate it further.
    Closing her jewelry box, Miss Loren proceeded to the wardrobe in the far corner of the room. He could not track her movements in his small window of light, but he marked the swish and sway of fabric. She emerged from the wardrobe, and made her way to the bed, pushing the sheets down. Selecting a book from the bedside table, she crawled into bed.
    He wouldn’t risk trying to find answers tonight. He’d wait until tomorrow when she was in the schoolroom and complete a thorough sweep of her room, starting with that note. He’d planned on staying in Kent for a few days, as the Clocktower was headquartered in London, but he’d write Deacon in the morning that he was extending his stay.  
    Miss Loren might have secrets, but she was about to find out that in a house of spies nothing remained unknown for long.  

    The following morning, James reviewed the notes he’d received from the housekeeper on Miss Loren’s schedule. Mrs. Engle was one of the few servants who knew the family’s secret—she’d grown up in service at Abermont House, as her mother had been their cook until her death. James had not given Mrs. Engle a reason for his enquiry, and the housekeeper had not asked.
    James appreciated that about her. Mrs. Engle understood the importance of “need to know” far more than his sisters ever had.
    He reviewed the note one last time as he stood in the hall outside of the nursery. From down the hall, he heard the clock chime eight times. Miss Loren awoke with the sun. At six, she would prepare herself for the day ahead. From the hours of seven to eight in the morning, she breakfasted with Thomas in the nursery. From eight until teatime, she was in the schoolroom with him as well. Then she’d go on a walk with Thomas, and eat dinner with him.  
      Outside of Thomas, he doubted Miss Loren had regular communication with anyone. Mrs. Engle had informed him the servants did not like her, for they considered her too highbred to be one of them.  
    What a lonely existence. Here in Kent, she had no family, no friends, no one who would understand her grief.  
    He understood her pain. Too well.
    He scowled down at the paper. Damnation, he would not feel sympathy for Miss Loren, not until he knew exactly why she’d poked through his library the night prior. The knife sheathed at his side, and the other secured in his boot, reminded him that he needed to treat this like