For the Duke's Eyes Only (School for Dukes #2)

by Lenora Bell

  “It’s nothing. Come, we must leave before one of these fine fellows wakes up.” He strode toward the horses and began unhitching one of them from the carriage.

  Something tugged at Indy’s mind. The way he’d fought. The way those huge men had sailed through the air as if they’d sprouted wings.

  Of course! Why hadn’t she realized it before? He was a spy. It explained everything. And not only that . . . he was the man who’d rescued her in that alleyway in Whitechapel.

  “Indy, watch out!”

  She heard Raven shout but she didn’t have time to react. The man who had been lying behind her must have recovered.

  The blow caught her in the back of the head and knocked her to the ground.

  Bollocks, she had time to think, before darkness descended.

  Raven made swift work of Indy’s attacker, cracking him alongside the head with the pistol. He should shoot the man for wounding Indy, but he never killed unnecessarily.

  Indy lay sprawled on the cold ground, her body twisted at an unnatural angle.

  His worst nightmare come to life and it was his fault. He should have known this was a trap.

  He should never have allowed her to come to Paris in the first place.

  Raven dropped to his knees and took her pulse. It was weak but it was there. Not her blood, on his hands, thank God. Mostly his. He had a scratch where a bullet had grazed his shoulder, nothing more.

  He must bring her to safety before any of the other men regained consciousness.

  He lifted her gingerly into his arms. Her head flopped down and hit his arm.

  Tears stung his eyes and mingled with the blood from the cuts on his forehead.

  With a severe blow to the head, she needed to be kept warm and jostled as little as possible, but what choice did he have? He must convey her to safety and there was only one way to do that, since the lad had stolen one of the horses.

  He hoisted her onto the horse and climbed up behind her. He’d ride for Lady Catherine’s house. They were close, he’d kept track of where the carriage was going. It would be faster than returning to Paris.

  He wouldn’t allow himself to think about Indy suffering permanent harm.

  She’d wake up soon and first she’d insult him, and call him a pain in her arse, and then she’d kiss him.

  Everything would go back to the way it had been only a few hours ago.

  Indy kissing him in the carriage. Whispering in his ear . . .

  To be continued.

  That’s what he had to believe with all his heart.

  That she had a future. That they could have a future.

  Together.

  Chapter 22

  Lady Catherine’s brooding gothic beast of a chateau crouched in darkness. Indy was still slumped in front of him when Raven arrived at the house. She hadn’t stirred.

  He lifted her off the horse, handed the reins to a sleepy groom, and carried her up the walkway. No one answered the knocker. He knocked again more loudly.

  Finally the door creaked open. “Do you know what time it is?” asked the elderly manservant at the door.

  “I’ve no time for conversation. I’m the Duke of Ravenwood. This is Lady India Rochester, a personal friend of Lady Catherine’s. Lady India is injured. I require a comfortable bedchamber, hot water, and fresh towels.”

  “What’s all this then?” asked Lady Catherine, appearing behind her servant. “Your Grace, is that you? What’s happened to Indy?”

  Raven carried Indy through the door. “She’s had a bad blow to the head. She needs rest.”

  Lady Catherine took one look at Indy and didn’t ask any more questions. “This way,” she said. The servant followed, holding a lantern aloft.

  “Just to clarify something,” Raven said. “You didn’t send her a note this evening, did you?”

  “No.”

  “I didn’t think so. It was all a ruse. She received a note purportedly from you saying that you were ill and she should come right away. We climbed into a carriage and were set upon by thieves when we were nearly here. They stole the Wish Diamond.”

  “Heavens,” said Lady Catherine as she led the way into a spacious bedchamber. “How dreadful.”

  Raven laid Indy down on the bed and began removing her clothing.

  “Will she live?” asked Lady Catherine anxiously, wringing her hands over Indy’s bedside.

  “It was a forceful blow,” said Raven. “The good news is that he hit the back of her head on the thickest part of her skull.”

  “Should I send for Dr. Lowe?” asked Lady Catherine. “Or another physician?”

  “There’s nothing any doctor can tell us. All we can do is wait now.”

  “There are cases where a person recovers but the memory does not,” said Lady Catherine. “I had a friend once who developed amnesia after a blow to the head.”

  “Those cares are rare, I believe.”

  “I can’t believe they used my name to lure her into a strange carriage,” said Lady Catherine.

  She was very pale and her lips had a bluish tinge to them. Perhaps it was the candlelight, but Raven knew Indy had been worried about her friend’s health.

  “Why don’t you get some rest, Lady Catherine? I’ll keep watch over her.”

  “I do feel a little tired. I don’t know if Indy told you, or not, but I suffer from vertigo.”

  “Please have a good night’s rest. I’m sure Indy will be back to herself by morning.”

  She took her leave and Raven closed the door behind her. His entire body ached from the punishment he’d received. When a servant brought hot water and towels, he washed the blood away from his face. The bruises would be there for a long time.

  He bathed Indy’s face with hot water. She stirred in her sleep. A good sign.

  He removed his coat and boots and climbed into bed next to her.

  “If you wake up, Indy, I swear I will never tell you another lie as long as I live.”

  There was no response. She slept, her chest rising and falling in a regular rhythm. Her profile was so heartbreakingly beautiful.

  He never cried, so of course that wasn’t a tear sliding down his cheek. Must be sweat.

  “If you wake up, Indy,” he whispered, “I’ll lay my heart at your feet. I’ll beg you for forgiveness.”

  He loved her. He’d always loved her. What a bloody fool he’d been to give her up, to make decisions on her behalf without giving her any choice in the matter.

  He’d been too young to make that kind of decision.

  “Please wake up,” he said.

  No answer.

  He curled his body around hers, as if his warmth might communicate directly to her body, while her mind slept.

  He wouldn’t sleep. Not until he knew she was out of danger.

  He rested his head on her shoulder.

  “Raven?”

  His eyes flew open. He must have fallen asleep.

  “Indy. You’re awake.”

  Hope filtered through his heart like sunlight through a diamond.

  She tried to sit up and he placed gentle hands on her shoulders. “Don’t try to move yet.”

  “Raven,” she whispered. “It was you. In Whitechapel. You’re the one who saved me.”

  He smiled. “Yes.”

  All of his secrets would be revealed now. He didn’t care anymore about the consequences. He could no longer lie to her.

  “You had a blow to the head,” he explained. He left the bed and fetched a glass of water.

  “Drink some water.” He lifted her head and helped her take a sip.

  “Where are we?” she asked.

  “Lady Catherine’s house. She was here by your side and then she went to bed.” He held up three fingers in front of her face. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

  “Three.”

  “What’s your name?”

  She rolled her eyes. “You don’t have to interrogate me. I feel quite normal. I don’t need to be coddled.” She tried to rise a
gain and he held her down.

  “Stop restraining me,” she said indignantly. “There’s a throbbing pain in my head but you’re becoming a worse sort of pain in my arse.”

  He laughed. “You don’t know how good it is to hear you insult me. Seriously, Indy, please lie still awhile longer. You were hit in the back of the head.”

  “I remember,” she said ruefully. She rubbed her skull. “Ouch. That smarts.”

  “Do you want something to eat? I’ll ring for a servant.”

  “I’m all right. Stop fussing. I don’t like being the damsel in distress. I want to leave this bed.”

  She was so tough and brave, his Indy. “Everyone is still sleeping.”

  “Then climb into bed with me,” she said. “It’s the only way you’ll make me behave.”

  That he could do.

  She watched him from the bed, the light from the bedside candelabra shifting across her face and over her long, unbound hair.

  His heart hurt to look at her. “Indy, you’re so beautiful. Have I told you that?”

  “Not in so many words. But you did say I was a formidable weapon.”

  “You are that. You know that you saved me from being beaten to a bloody mess? You charged right up with my pistol. That giant didn’t think you’d fire but I knew better.”

  She laughed. “Blasted him right in the kneecap.”

  “He won’t underestimate you or any other woman again.” He climbed back into bed. “And neither will I.”

  “Now that Le Triton has the necklace, you’ve lost your bargaining chip,” she said.

  “Sir Malcolm has a team in place to storm Le Triton’s stronghold.”

  “Sir Malcolm? A team?”

  He was getting ahead of himself. He slid beneath the covers and fit his body around hers. She felt so right in his arms. He wanted to sleep curled around her for the rest of his life. “Indy, you might not want me in this bed with you after I explain myself to you.”

  “Here’s what I know already. You were the one who saved me in Whitechapel. And you definitely don’t need lessons in how to defend yourself. And you probably run around saving the world, and such. because you’re a secret agent for the crown.”

  “And you’re too clever by half.”

  “I should have realized it earlier. You stopped responding to my letters because you embarked on another life. One that didn’t include me.”

  “I’m so sorry. I went about it all wrong, I see that now.” He filled his lungs and exhaled slowly. “My father was a spy as well as a diplomat. Before he died, he wrote in his journal that he wanted me to become a spy. He had planned to induct me into the knowledge of my heritage in espionage when I turned fifteen. Sir Malcolm gave me the journal. He knew it would make me want to become a spy.”

  She turned her head. “Sir Malcolm is . . . also an agent?”

  He nodded. “You talk about me being detached from my emotions and that’s because I was trained in the art of detachment. The school I attended in Scotland was no ordinary school. I can’t divulge details, I can’t go that far, but I can tell you that it shaped me in profound ways. Brutal ways.”

  She laid her hand on top of his arm where it curved around her waist.

  “I was searching for some meaning to it all. My father had been accused of treason. I thought that if I became what he had been I would be able to prove his innocence. I did it for my family, Indy. So that Colin would have something to inherit. So that my mother wouldn’t have to live with the taint of being a traitor’s widow.”

  “I’m beginning to understand now.”

  “My father’s death hurt so much, it was this cataclysmic event that shaped me and I became defined by it. The espionage business thrives on boys with wounded hearts and voids to fill. You were right when you accused me of living selfishly. I was trying to make sense of why I was left fatherless and alone, and I hurt you and that makes me hate myself.”

  “You were so young when your father died. You had to become the duke. I understand what a burden that must have been. And then to discover he’d been a spy, and wanted you to become one as well. That’s why you stopped writing to me.”

  “After I graduated from the secret training program, Sir Malcolm gave me a talk. He told me the truth about his wife and daughter’s death. They hadn’t died in a carriage accident, as was the official story. They’d been poisoned by his enemies. The poison had been meant for Sir Malcolm.”

  “How awful. Those poor innocents.”

  “He told me never to marry. Told him that my profession could only bring suffering to those I loved.”

  “And so you shut yourself off from me, and from your family. You pushed us away.” She turned in his arms so that she faced him. “And that night at my coming-out ball . . .”

  “I planned the whole thing, Indy. I planned to have you discover me there in the garden, kissing Mrs. Cavinder. I hated myself for hurting you. Gods, how I hated myself.”

  “How I hated you.”

  “I’ve never forgotten the sight of your ashen face . . . your eyes hazing like lavender fields viewed through a mist of rain. Betrayal settling like a veil over your face. The memory has haunted me forever.”

  “Why did you do it? Why didn’t you just make up some story about another woman and ask me to end our engagement?”

  “I thought if I made you angry, you would jilt me. You could be the injured party and maintain your reputation. If I jilted you, there would have been whispers about your virtue. I fully expected you to formally end our engagement. I expected you to marry another.”

  “I told myself that I never brought suit to break our marriage contract because I never would marry and so what was the point? But I think the truth is that I wanted to keep the connection to you. The attachment.”

  He stroked her cheek. “I felt the same way, though I wouldn’t admit it to myself.”

  “I told you I would uncover your secrets eventually,” she said with a tremulous laugh.

  “Actually . . .” He touched her face. “I had already resolved to tell you. I was going to confess everything in the carriage on the way here. I couldn’t live one more day without telling you the truth, even if it meant breaking my code of silence. I’m a brick wall, a blunt instrument. I do my duty. The trajectory of my life was predetermined by the choices I made when I was young.”

  She squeezed his bicep. “You are a brick wall, aren’t you?”

  “You don’t have to make a joke. I know the pain I caused you. I’m the biggest numbskull known to man.”

  “That’s my line.”

  “Then say it. Say something. Tell me that you hate me, or that you can forgive me, or that you . . .” He paused. The words wouldn’t come. The words he wanted to say. Had to say.

  He’d lived so much of his life denying that those words even existed.

  He only spoke those three words in his dreams. When she sat next to him by a fireplace.

  And there were two children playing with alphabet blocks. The girl forming a word with her blocks that started with L and ended with E.

  He knew when and why he’d driven away the possibility of everything those four letters contained.

  What he didn’t know was how he could find his way back, and whether Indy could ever forgive him for pushing her way.

  “Can you forgive me, Indy?” he asked.

  “First, I heartily approve of your clandestine activities. All that single-minded pursuit of justice and that unerring sense of duty is actually quite attractive. And I’ve always wondered why a man who is supposed to lead such an indolent, intemperate existence has a body that is sculpted from marble.”

  That certainly wasn’t the response he’d been expecting. But then Indy always surprised him.

  “Espionage isn’t a glamorous profession, Indy. Violence begets violence. War begets war. I’ve seen terrible things. I’ve seen men treat each other like animals. Men thinking of other men as less than human, as other. But we all bleed, Indy. We all bleed
the same red blood. Inside we’re all the same. I’m not trying to excuse the way I treated you. I know it was wrong for me to push you away, to make you hate me. I only thought . . . I thought I was doing it for your protection.”

  “Second,” she continued. “I had a realization today. I thought it might be the result of looking at you through vodka-colored spectacles, but now I know what I felt was true. Everyone wants to be loved, Raven. I want to be loved. I don’t want to be hurt. But I can’t have one without the possibility of the other. I’m strong enough to admit that I love you with no requirement that you say the words back to me.”

  “Indy.” He clasped her against his chest. “Why?”

  “Why do I love you? Because you trust me. Because we make a good team. You make me laugh. You love your family and made sacrifices so that they could have a better life. I love you because you rescued me from that madman with a knife.”

  She lifted her head and stared into his eyes. “I love you because you laugh at my jokes, but you never laugh at my ambitions. And I love you because . . . I always have. And I always will. Now kiss me, you big dolt of a duke. And don’t worry about my head, I have a thick skull. Must have, if I love you.”

  He was hers to command.

  His heart overflowing, he kissed her tenderly, memorizing the shape of her lips, the sweetness of her words.

  She loved him.

  And he loved her. He just had to find a way to say the words, and to make her believe them.

  A part of her wanted, needed, him to say he loved her. It had been sheer theatricality, saying she didn’t need to hear the words.

  But for now it was enough to kiss, to be kissed. To be adored by his body, his tongue, his hands.

  Her emotions had been ungloved. She opened her heart, giving herself permission to be fully present with him for the first time. Maybe she’d be hurt again.

  But right now she was going to revel in this closeness, this warmth and tenderness between them. Her body alive with pleasure from the crown of her head to her toes.

  She wore only her chemise. He must have undressed her earlier. Eager to feel his skin, she fumbled with the buttons on his breeches.