Page 42 of Every Rogue Has His Charm

Fitz nodded reassuringly. “Sore, of course. Tired. But an ox like that is far more difficult to kill than you might imagine.” He took up her other hand and began to rub it. “What were you and the duchess talking about for so long before that?”

She withdrew her fingers from Fitz’s grasp, though they were still cold, and braced for his disapproval. “We opened the crate.”

His arms fell to his sides. “The crate I brought back from London? Hartwell’s private papers?” She nodded. “Why?”

“The duchess was…curious. And I suppose I was too. A little.”

Fitz set his mouth in a hard line. “Don’t you suppose that if General Scott wanted the contents of that crate inspected, it would’ve been done already?” Her heart began to pound. “Good God. What were you thinking?”

What the devil have you done?

His words echoed the duke’s accusatory question. She couldn’t meet Fitz’s suddenly steely eyes. “The duchess hoped to discover what might have been the cause of her husband’s falling-out with his grandfather.”

He paused to consider her answer. “And did she?”

She curled her hands into fists and thrust them behind her back. She would not let herself pine for his touch. “I think so, yes.”

He nodded curtly, once. “Well, what’s done is done. Did you happen to notice anything else, while you were at it? Anything useful to the mission?”

“I’m not certain.” What ought she to have been looking for? “Hartwell is as rich as Croesus now. I should think he would be very difficult to bribe.” Her mind raced. “You don’t—you don’t suppose he’ll kill her for prying, do you?”

An incredulous laugh huffed from his chest, and he ran his hand through his bright hair, making it stand on end. He hadn’t worn his footman’s wig since the morning Caro had collapsed on the beach. He really looked nothing like a servant.

“For all those months you’ve spent in the Underground, you still don’t know much about men, do you?” he asked with an exaggerated sigh. “All the standing around I’ve been doing since we arrived has given me an opportunity to observe some things where the duke and duchess are concerned. Hartwell doesn’t want to kill his wife. He wants to kiss her.”

“What?” Fanny shook her head, unwilling or unable to give such a ridiculous notion any space in her mind. “He sounded furious with her.…”

“Oh, yes,” he agreed. “Ironically, I’ve never met a secret agent who takes kindly to others’ snooping.”

“And yet, you think he—? But he abandoned her, all those years ago,” she reminded him. “Besides, I’ve done some observing of my own. I saw his face when he first set eyes on her in Brighton. He clearly intended to frighten her with that surprise arrival, to hurt her all over again. And I—” She bit her lip, almost afraid to speak her fear aloud. “I don’t believe for a moment that she had dyspepsia. Someone gave her something—”

“You said before that you thought he poisoned her.” He still sounded skeptical.

Fanny lifted her chin the slightest possible degree. “You can’t deny, he’s a dangerous man.”

“Hartwell is dangerous,” he conceded. “Dangerous enough that if he wanted his wife dead, she would be.” Fanny gasped, but he seemed not to hear her. He began to pace, crossing the room in half a dozen long strides before stopping at the table. “And also dangerous enough that…” He grabbed one of the ladder-back chairs but neither offered it to her, nor sat down himself. His fingers drummed absently against the top rail. “When I was in London, Scott hinted that there were others who would want the information Hartwell has.”

“Something in that crate?”

“Possibly. But it’s more likely to be something he knows.” He paused his drumming to raise one long finger and tap it against his temple. “And if someone doesn’t want him to pass that information along, they would do whatever was necessary to keep him quiet.”

“Are you suggesting…?”

“That it’s possible the duchess ate or drank something meant for her husband? Or that this morning’s boating accident might not have been so accidental?” He nodded grimly. “Yes, I suppose I am.”

“Fitz!” Fanny reached for the door. “If they’re in danger, we’ve got to warn them.”

“Not yet.” She turned back to face him. “For one thing, he knows who we are and why we were sent here. He’s already suspicious. I’m not sure he’d believe us without proof. For another, we stand a far better chance of finding out who’s after him if that person still believes no one suspects.”

All perfectly logical points.

But Fanny was not in a mood for logic where her friend’s safety was concerned.

“General Scott sent me here to make sure Caro was safe.”

“And he sent me along to make sure you were. Listen,” he went on, before she could protest his protectiveness, “partners take care of one another. That’s how it’s supposed to work.”

Partners?