Deceiving The Duke (Scandals and Spies Book 2)

by Dobbs, Leighann

  “You really believe that?”

  She slipped between him and the desk, her body brushing against his as she reached up to cup his face. “Of course I do. I love that brilliant mind of yours. I can’t wait to see you in action.” Her voice dropped to a purr. “It’s very attractive.”

  “Is it?” His smile grew. He leaned forward to whisper in her ear. “Shall I start writing you love letters in code?”

  “Only if you leave them in our bed.” She threaded her fingers through his hair.

  Our bed. The word tingled through him like a touch. He melded his mouth to hers, not caring that they were in enemy territory. She wanted him. When this was all over, they would have a life together, and he’d get to see her and touch her for many years to come. Decades, even.

  God, he loved her. His chest ached.

  He ended the kiss entirely too soon for his liking. In his passion, he’d leaned her back against the desk. She turned, noticing the splotched words on the missive that she’d sat on.

  “Bollocks,” she said, rubbing at her rear. “I’ve ruined it.”

  He chuckled. “It was worth it. I’ll copy it again.”

  She left him to it, continuing to search the room while he copied down the few missives in the new code. Her enthusiasm filled him and he couldn’t wait to return home to see what he could make of them.

  In the end, unless it was contained in one of the letters he couldn’t decipher, they found no indication of blackmail. Indeed, no mention of Jared’s name at all. As they ended in Lady Whitewood’s bedroom, Morgan sighed. He patted his pocket. “I’ll get started on these right away. With luck, I’ll be able to decipher them within a week and we’ll know what she has against Jared.” If, indeed, the letters mentioned the blackmail at all.

  Morgan refused to meet Phil’s gaze. Even if she didn’t, he knew a week was too long. Strickland wouldn’t wait that long to learn the truth behind Morgan’s hunch, and Morgan couldn’t offer him Lady Whitewood. If he did, she might lead Strickland back to Jared. As a small player, Jared was expendable—meaning that Strickland could opt to bring him in for questioning or even execution.

  He couldn’t let that happen. His and Phil’s future was on the line.

  Dimly, from deep in the manor, he heard a door slam shut. His heartbeat quickened. He met Phil’s fearful gaze. “What was that?”

  He rushed to the window even as she whispered the words. A carriage turned onto the street, the seats empty. It was the same that had delivered Lady Whitewood from the premises. How long ago had that been? He hadn’t expected her return for hours.

  “We have to get out of here,” he said, his voice terse.

  “How?” Phil’s expression was tense. Her gaze snapped to the door as they heard footsteps up the stairs.

  “The window.”

  “We’re three stories up!”

  It didn’t matter. The window was their only way out. “Do you have anything in that bag of yours that will help?”

  She frowned. “I don’t think—”

  He yanked the sheet off the bed.

  Phil gasped. “Morgan, she’ll know we—”

  “She’ll know we were here if she catches us, too.” He whipped the sheet, turning it into a makeshift rope as she unlatched and opened the window. He tied the end to the leg of the vanity, situated beside the window. One tug proved that the table was solid. It would hold Phil’s weight, for sure. He tossed the end out the window. “Go,” he ordered.

  “What about you?”

  “I’ll be right behind you. We’ll meet at the carriage. Now, go.” He helped as she started to climb onto the sill, lifting her rump until she dangled out the side. “Hurry,” he hissed.

  He kept an eye on the closed door. The footsteps were louder, now. She must be in the corridor. Was she armed? He was not sure what he would encounter here, but he didn’t want to kill anyone, least of all a woman. Killing a French spy was what had gotten him into this mess to begin with.

  He glanced out the window. The sheet didn’t reach the bottom of the house. The strain on the makeshift rope let up as she released it, dropping to the ground. Her silhouette jumped upright a moment later. He let out a breath. She must not have hurt herself.

  He climbed onto the sill just as Lady Whitewood entered the room. For a moment, they stared mute at each other. Then she fiddled in her reticule. Morgan jumped out the window. The rope sheet burned against his palms as he slid down its length. He caught himself on the end, slowing his progression before he let go, falling the last story to the ground. He landed heavily, jolting his knees.

  He glanced up in time to see Lady Whitewood stick her head out the window. He dashed into the night before she wasted her shot or worse, hit him dead on. His heartbeat didn’t slow even after he reached the carriage and Phil. She’d already stowed her bag in the boot again.

  He wrapped her in his arms, holding her to his chest as his heartbeat quivered. Her arms encircled his back and she clutched him just as fiercely.

  She didn’t know. Lady Whitewood had seen his face. She knew now that he was a spy. Even a fool could deduce that he was her enemy. Now that she knew he worked for the Crown, she would retaliate against him. If she did that, Phil would be in danger, collateral damage.

  Every minute during his service, he’d longed to be out in the field. Not anymore. Now, he wished he’d never come out from behind his desk. If he hadn’t, the woman he loved wouldn’t be put in even greater danger.

  One way or another, he had to fix this, and soon.

  22

  Morgan’s hand on the small of Phil’s back burned her even through her clothes as he herded her up the steps to the Tenwick townhouse. He hadn’t stopped touching her since the moment they’d reunited by the carriage. His hand on her arm, on her knee, on her back—he’d made certain she couldn’t forget that he was nearby. He hadn’t said a word about their close call, but evidently it was making him a touch overprotective. For the moment, she didn’t mind.

  The butler opened the door and Morgan ushered her into the house. He’d insisted on returning to his home in order to decipher the letters he’d copied. The moment she stepped past the butler and into the house, she stopped short. Morgan bumped into her. He shifted his hands to her shoulders.

  Jared stood in the middle of the entry way. His collar was askew, his cravat nowhere to be found, and his hair stuck up at all ends. His eyes were wild, his expression livid, as he rounded on them.

  “Phil, where the devil have you been? I returned home to find you gone, and no one had the faintest clue where you’d run off to except that you’d left with him.” With the last word, Jared leveled a vicious glare at the duke.

  Phil felt Morgan’s chest and abdomen stiffen behind her. He tightened his hands on her shoulders. “I beg your pardon?” His voice was as cold as a winter gale.

  Stepping another foot inside so the butler could shut the door, Phil risked a glance at Morgan’s face. The candlelight illuminating the entryway cast hard shadows across his chiseled face and clean-shaven jaw. She returned her gaze to Jared, keeping herself between him and the duke as her brother stepped forward, one fist balled and the other hand jabbing through the air in accusation.

  “You heard me. Release her this instant. We don’t have need of your services.”

  If anything, the cutting demand only made Morgan hold onto her tighter. He ran one hand down her arm to thread their fingers together. Something indescribable filled Phil’s chest. He didn’t act like he wanted to hide her and keep her from breaking like she was a glass figurine. He acted as though she was his partner, and he garnered strength from her presence and support. She squeezed his hand, giving him everything he asked and more. The lump in her throat prevented her from speaking.

  Morgan’s voice was calm, concise, but far from warm as he answered her brother. “Considering the predicament you’ve gotten yourself into, I wouldn’t be so hasty to eschew my support, if I were you.”

  Jared sneered. “So
you’re a duke, what can you do?”

  “I am a British spy and right now I am the only thing keeping you from dangling at the end of a noose outside Newgate.”

  Phil flinched. She reflexively clenched Morgan’s hand as she screwed her eyes shut to avoid the image. It wouldn’t happen. They would stop it. They were working together now—they had a chance.

  In a softer voice, Morgan added, “We made progress on that tonight when we searched Lady Whitewood’s home. I have some letters to decode, if you wouldn’t mind moving.”

  Jared stubbornly continued to block Morgan’s path. His jaw was set. His eyes snapped. “You put her in danger? I don’t care if you’re Prinny himself, I’m not going to stand idly by and let you use my sister and make free with her safety!”

  She flew her colors at the accusation. She’d already told Jared that Morgan wasn’t using her. That he would confront the duke with such a claim…

  Morgan’s hold on her didn’t alter. He rubbed his thumb across her skin. “Your sister is a strong, capable woman able to make her own decisions. In any case, she wasn’t the one caught—I was.”

  A chill traveled down Phil’s spine. When Morgan had met up with her, safe and whole, she had assumed they’d both managed to elude Lady Whitewood. She twisted in his arms to look at his face. His jaw was clenched as he met Jared’s gaze.

  She pressed her lips together to keep from voicing her fears. Morgan was a grown man, and a spy. He had undoubtedly been in dangerous situations before. But couldn’t he contribute to the spy effort without being in the thick of danger? He had a gift with the way he was able to decode those messages. He would be a valuable asset from the sidelines, out of harm’s way. She lowered her gaze to their joined hands. Was it wrong of her that she wanted to keep him safe with her, at home?

  She cleared her throat and informed her brother, “We didn’t find whatever she is using to blackmail you tonight. At least, not that we know of. Morgan did copy a few letters to decode and whatever it is might be in there. If you would tell us what we are looking for, it would be most helpful.”

  Jared held his rigid stance a moment more before his strength flagged. He deflated. He stared at the floor as he admitted, “You won’t find it, Phil. I told you that already.”

  She thrust her shoulders back and opened her mouth to reassure her brother that she would, no matter the cost. Lady Whitewood couldn’t be allowed to continue.

  To her surprise, Morgan dropped his hand from her shoulder and extricated himself from her hold. He stepped around her, tentatively reaching out to pat Jared’s shoulder. “Why don’t you come into the parlor to sit down while you tell us why we just wasted an evening?”

  Morgan’s voice was kind, but Jared flinched all the same. His mouth set into a sullen line, but he heeded the duke’s suggestion. Phil trailed behind as they entered the sitting room.

  The room was dark, swathed in shadow, but the butler followed them and solved the situation by lighting a branch of candles for them. He lingered over the task, as if waiting to hear the story himself. Jared slumped in an armchair. Morgan sat near him on the corner of a settee. Feeling odd and secluded, Phil trudged after him and sat.

  The butler finished his task, throwing light into the room. He stepped closer to the men. “Would you care for a stiff drink, sir?”

  Jared hesitated, then nodded. Morgan did the same. The butler retreated to the sideboard to procure the drinks. Silence reigned all around, growing uncomfortably tight. After the butler returned with two tumblers of amber whiskey, he turned to Phil. “And you, miss?”

  “I’ll have the same.”

  The butler didn’t bat an eyelash. He turned to follow her edict. Likely, he relished the excuse to remain in the room. Come to think of it, he hadn’t reacted to her attire, either. She still wore men’s clothes. Her estimation of the man rose.

  Morgan waited for the butler to bring her drink before he said another word. When the old man lingered near the doorway, that word was directed to his staff. The duke raised an eyebrow. “You may leave.”

  “I’ll hear it somewhere else, sir.”

  “Shut the door behind you. This is a family matter.”

  Phil’s stomach warmed as he said family. It was as though he was already accepting Jared as his brother—and her as his wife. She sent her brother a look that said, See?

  Jared rolled his eyes. If the duke noticed, he didn’t make any response. He trained his gaze on the butler until the man bowed and left.

  Morgan turned to her brother. “Don’t mind him. He’s also a spy, as are a good number of my staff. I’d advise you not to speak freely in front of them until I can point out which are trustworthy.”

  Instead of replying, Jared sipped on his drink. He didn’t meet Morgan’s gaze or Phil’s.

  After a moment, Morgan prodded, “You seem dreadfully certain that we won’t find the blackmail being used against you. Why is that?”

  Jared sighed. He drained his tumbler and set it on the table haphazardly. It clinked as it made contact and wobbled, nearly falling over. Her brother stared into his hands for a moment before he confessed. “There is no item being held against me. It is a person.”

  Phil’s stomach tightened. She shifted on the settee, holding her drink on her lap. “What do you mean?” Surely Lady Whitewood couldn’t be threatening a member of their family…threatening her, could she? Jared would be just fool enough to think he could keep her safe.

  He ran his fingers through his hair and admitted, “I do have a lover. At least, I did.”

  Although he hadn’t finished with his drink, Morgan set the glass neatly on the table next to Jared’s. “Perhaps you should start at the beginning.”

  Jared let out a gusty breath, but he nodded. He stared across the room, as though reliving the past. “Her name is Claire. Her family had a falling out that ended with her father shut up in debtor’s prison. I met her…” He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter where I met her. We fell in love.”

  Phil tightened her hands on the tumbler in her lap. Why hadn’t Jared told her this? She was his sister. If there was someone important in his life, she wanted to know. How long had this been going on for?

  “The night she confessed that she was with child—my child—Lady Whitewood approached me. She knew about the affair, the child, everything. She told me if I didn’t aid her, she would not only expose Claire, but she alluded that she had people watching her. People who could hurt her.” Jared swallowed audibly. “Claire was reduced, you see. Living in a bad part of London without protection. Now that she was with child, she’d finally accepted my proposal. I was on my way home to talk to Phil, but…” He thrust himself back in the chair, blinking rapidly.

  Was he crying? Phil hadn’t seen him cry since he was a child. Her stomach twisted in knots.

  She spoke around the lump in her throat, her voice hoarse. “You could have come to me. If you love her…then so would I.”

  “It didn’t matter,” Jared said, his voice sharp. He flicked his forelock out of his eyes. “The moment Lady Whitewood approached me, I knew we couldn’t be together. I got up all the money I could in a morning and told her to change her name and leave England. Go anywhere, overseas, to the continent, as long as she didn’t tell me where.”

  Phil opened her mouth but didn’t know what to say.

  Morgan spoke instead, his voice soft. “So you wouldn’t be able to give away her location if you were tortured. Smart. I assume you instructed her never to contact you?”

  Jared nodded. “I did. I tried not to look for her, but I couldn’t help myself. I didn’t look hard, but I couldn’t find her when I tried, so it must have worked. And now…I’ve been giving her time to get as far away as possible, pretending that Lady Whitewood has a hold on me.”

  Phil licked her lips. “But she doesn’t. I mean, Claire is safe, isn’t she? That means that you don’t have to do what Lady Whitewood says anymore.”

  Neither of the men looked her in the eye. Mo
rgan ran his finger along the white streak in his hair, by his temple. “It isn’t that simple,” he said after a tense silence. “No doubt Lady Whitewood has proof that he has been spying for her, which even if it was done to protect another is still treason.” He shook his head. “No, we’ll have to get to the root of the problem. We must discover how many others know about this. If it is only Lady Whitewood and whatever men she assigned to watch Claire, then we may have a chance of putting this to rest.”

  “How?” Phil asked, her voice small.

  “We’ll take her out of the game. We’ll need—”

  A rap sounded on the door. Morgan fell silent at once, sitting straighter as the butler opened the door to reveal a stocky, balding man with a bit of a paunch. He looked harmless enough.

  Turning as white as the streak in his hair, Morgan jumped to his feet. “Strickland.”

  Phil’s stomach dropped into the soles of her shoes as she pinned her gaze on the newcomer once more. On Britain’s spymaster.

  * * *

  Morgan swallowed around a painful lump in his throat as he entered the study behind Strickland. He dismissed his butler as the man set down a branch of candles to light the room.

  Strickland wasted no time with small talk. His eyebrows inched down over his eyes as he turned, his expression hard. “Someone saw you jump out of Lady Whitewood’s window tonight.”

  His words stabbed their way down Morgan’s back like cat’s claws. For Strickland to have heard such a rumor so quickly, it could only have been a Crown spy who had seen him. “Are you assigning men to watch me or Lady Whitewood?”

  Strickland dropped into the chair in front of Morgan’s desk, leaning his elbow against the arm in a deceptively casual pose. He couldn’t be so calm, not if he was accusing Morgan of keeping secrets from him. Morgan clasped his hands behind his back. His hands tightened to the point that pins and needles poked the tips of his fingers. If Strickland had a man on Morgan that he hadn’t realized, then he might already know…everything. The duke clenched his teeth, trying not to betray his anxiety.