Page 54 of The Duke’s Suspicion

He wasn’t probing. He hadn’t even asked a question. And yet there was something about his calm demeanor, his ability to understand what she couldn’t say, that made her want to tell him everything.

But she didn’t. “Me, a duchess?” She laughed, a shade too brightly. “In any case, he holds out some hope of returning to—”

“The army?” he supplied when she hesitated. Her eyes widened with surprise. “I can spot an officer a mile away—even without his red coat.”

She mustered a weak smile. “It is not, I suppose, the choice most men in his position would make,” she said, hoping to temper what sounded like Remy’s annoyance.

He had lifted his cup halfway to his lips, but at her words, the cup paused in midair. “Oh, I understand his decision. I’m an old military man myself.”

A military man? Suddenly, any number of things snapped into place. Arthur Remington’s erect posture, the carefulness with which he always acted, the extraordinary trust Lord Ashborough placed in the man. And in the back of her mind, a plan began to form…

He spoke before she could put it into words. “But I begin to think he might have a few things to learn yet.” Pausing to take a drink, he grimaced and reached for the sugar bowl. After stirring vigorously, he tapped the spoon on the side of his cup and let it clatter into the saucer. Every noise jangled against Erica’s frayed nerves and made her jump. “You didn’t exactly answer my question about why you’re in such a hurry to leave,” he pointed out, eyeing her once more. “One sunny morning won’t shrink a swollen river or mend a road that’s washed away. You know that.”

She weighed her answer. Because he had it entirely wrong, of course. She didn’t want to run away. She wanted to run to Tristan with every fiber in her being.

“I suppose you’re right,” she agreed, mustering what she hoped was a look of disappointment. “And since we’re stuck here, mightn’t you go to him and see what assistance you could offer? One military man to another.”

“The duke doesn’t strike me as the kind of man who welcomes interference,” Remington said with a sharp shake of his head. “And if it’s help he wants, why not turn to Captain Whitby?”

“I believe the captain has lost his confidence.” She clenched her teeth against the memory of her encounter with the man. “He has certainly lost mine.”

Remington frowned. “I see.” With one hand he pushed away from the sideboard. “Well, I suppose I might just speak with him about one thing and another.” As he moved toward the door, she rose to follow him. “And just where do you think you’re going?”

“With you.”

“Oh, I think not. Stay and drink your coffee,” he insisted, gesturing toward her abandoned cup with a jerk of his chin.

She feigned a shudder of distaste. “Doubtless it’s passed tepid and moved on to cold.”

“A book from the library, perhaps? Some flower to sketch?”

She shook her head. “Come, Remy. Did you really expect me to sit here waiting with my hands folded in my lap like a lady?”

Remington laughed, but crossed his arms over his chest all the same, making it clear that he did not intend to budge. “If anything happens to you, Lady Ashborough will have my head.”

“Oh, you needn’t have any fear on that score,” she replied airily. “It really only hurts the first time she takes it off.”

He frowned. “Miss Erica, you’re—”

Words tumbled through her mind, all the usual cruelties and criticisms. Shatterbrained, careless, selfish… She batted them away like a swarm of gnats while she plowed ahead, seeking something truer. “Brave,” she finished for him.

Brave enough to master her fears. And brave enough to take what she wanted, just as she’d done last night.

To her shock, he didn’t disagree.

“Remy.” Her voice dropped to a whisper then. How to make him understand that the only real danger here was the danger to her heart? “Please.”

With one foot poised on the threshold, he turned and gave her a sidelong, assessing look. “All right, Miss Erica,” he relented with a sigh. “Come along.”

Chapter 17

“It’s a generous offer.” Tristan crossed his hands behind his back and walked from one window of his private sitting room to the next. The view showed him nothing of the devastation the rain must have brought to Hawesdale: flooded fields and cottages, drowned animals, even people. From this vantage point, it would be easy enough for the Duke of Raynham simply to bask in the sun’s warmth as it spread from the eastern horizon and ignore the rest. “But I cannot accept it.”

When a footman had woken him to deliver the message that Miss Burke wished to speak with him in private, he’d hardly dared to let himself wonder what she had to say. The hurried moments he had spared to dress—he hadn’t taken time to shave or even tie back his hair—had nevertheless been sufficient to leave room for speculation.

He had been unprepared for Mr. Remington’s addition to the meeting, however. Even less prepared for the man’s offer to assist him in catching the spy at Hawesdale Chase.

“Why not?” Even tired, Erica sounded ready to fight if she had to. “I assure you, Remington is up to the challenge.”