Free I Spy a Duke by Erica Monroe Page B

any other mission.
    She was a suspect. A possible traitor.
    James passed the nursery, stopping at the next door to the right. Miss Loren’s room. He glanced up and down the hall—no one was coming. He pushed the door open and entered, shutting it quietly behind him. Though Miss Loren was not due back for hours, he did not want to risk that someone else would see him and ask questions. For now, he kept his suspicions to himself. He pretended that his reticence was simply because he wanted to have all the facts before he presented the case to Wickham.
    He knew better.
    He stood back, his gaze darting from one corner of the room to the next. The furniture was sparse. A bed, a desk and chair, a wardrobe, and a bedside table. Abermont House’s various servant quarters were considered spacious in comparison to other estates, but even with that Miss Loren’s room was the size of his dressing room. One hell of a change from the viscountcy where she’d grown up.
    His vision focused in on the jewelry box she’d opened last night and he stalked toward it. The lid stuck when he tried to open it; upon further investigation, a small brass lock clasped the two fasteners together. He took a seat in the chair, propping his foot up on his opposite knee. His top boots had been specially designed by the weapons expert at the Clocktower. A small repository was in the sole of each shoe, just wide enough for a pick and a tension wrench. He selected both, closed the receptacle, and stood.  
    Surveying the lock, he let out a derisive snort. The most inept of child thieves could pick this. If Miss Loren thought this tiny trinket would keep him out of that box, she was even more inexperienced than he’d thought. He selected the thin tension wrench, sliding it into the bottom of the lock and applying pressure. He heard the click as the lock opened. Gathering up his tools, he slid the case back in his pocket and removed the lock from the box.
    “Let’s see what you have hidden.” He popped up the lid.
    Four broaches, two necklaces, and three pairs of earrings lined the upper tray. All were clearly paste. The lock had not been to protect their monetary value. He’d encountered enough seemingly innocuous objects to know not to immediately discount them. He picked up each one, checking for secret caches in the metalwork, or defining marks that did not fit with the rest of the piece. Nothing. These pieces might have held sentimental worth to her, but that was all.
    He removed the top tray and set it on the desk. The bottom cavity was not deep. A pink silk scarf folded twice covered the area, and to the casual onlooker, there appeared to be nothing else in the box. But he’d seen her place foolscap here.
    “She thinks she’s clever, doesn’t she?” He addressed the box as he lifted up the scarf and deposited it on the desk. A handful of folded up parchment scraps littered the space. “But she’s not clever enough.”
    Miss Loren must have affected his senses, if he was talking to a damn box as if it could deliver a response. He ran his hand through hair, frowning down at the notes. A part of him thrilled at doing something active again—though this was a far cry from the usual danger and exotic places of his old field missions—yet he could not crush the dread that welled up with him.  
    “Enough dillydallying,” he muttered. Too much time in the office had made him soft, if the betrayal of one meager governess unhinged him.  
    Drawing out the chair behind the desk, he settled onto it, careful to keep his weight evenly distributed so that the wood wouldn’t groan. He flipped over the first letter, glancing at the postmark. Written to her back when she’d lived in London, almost a year after her brother’s death. Though he was not as good at analyzing handwriting as Elinor, he knew enough to garner a few observations. The large, spidery script ran together, as if the writer both craved attention and crowded those around him. The