Page 22 of The Duke’s Suspicion

In another moment, a maid appeared with a heavily laden tray and his sister busied herself pouring chocolate and distributing triangles of toast. “I think you must be the only guest in this house who’s awake at this hour, Miss Burke.”

“I have always been an early riser, Lady Viviane. And I”—the topaz gleam of her eyes flashed his way, then back to the plate Vivi had placed before her—“did not stay late at dinner.”

In the nick of time, he disguised the twitch of his lips as an attempt to cool the steaming cup his sister handed him.

“But whatever could have brought you to the schoolroom?”

Erica’s expression looked vaguely apologetic. She must know that houseguests did not typically wander hither and yon and turn up in inappropriate places. Her plot to escape the company last night had proved only partially successful. Had she hoped to make up for lost time this morning, to explore the house before anyone but the servants was awake?

Slowly, she eased her journal away from her chest and returned it to the table, followed by several other items he had not realized she was holding: a small corked bottle of black liquid, pencils, and a couple of rather bedraggled looking quills. “I needed pen and ink, and it seemed a likely place to find them…”

“You might have rung, Miss Burke,” he told her. “The servants will procure whatever you need.”

Her chin rose a notch higher. “I’m used to doing things for myself.”

“You are our guest,” Vivi declared with an airy wave of her marmalade-smeared toast. “You must let us do what we can for your comfort.”

“I hope I shall not be an inconvenience to you for long, Lady Viviane.” She sent another quick, questioning glance his way. “Your Grace.”

Belatedly, he realized he was still holding his cup to his mouth. He choked down a sip of the grainy chocolate, wishing all the while it were coffee.

“I suppose they serve better in France?” Vivi asked, catching his grimace.

France? How did Vivi know where he’d been stationed? Had her father let it slip? Or Guin? Careful not to let his consternation show on his face, he returned his cup to its saucer. “How should I know, Viv?” Turning to Miss Burke, trying to gauge her reaction to his sister’s revelation, he said, “I’m sorry to report that Mr. Davies sent a less-than-encouraging message late last evening.” Erica’s jerk of alarm at the news made all the china on the table rattle. “It would appear that sometime after Lord and Lady Ashborough’s coach crossed the Kent, the nearest bridge was washed away, cutting off all communication between here and the Lakes.”

“You are—you are certain she was not—” Erica’s freckles stood out dark against alarmingly pale skin. Even Vivi’s eyes were wide with worry.

“There was no report of any injuries or accidents,” he reassured them. “But it will be some days before we can expect to reunite you with your sister.”

“Oh. I—” Erica’s fingers played restlessly over the silver, the pens, the cork of the ink bottle before settling on the cover of her journal. “Of course.” With a frown of concentration, she picked up a pencil, opened her journal, and began to scratch something onto its weathered pages.

It was agony to be so near to the prize he sought, yet unable simply to snatch it up and discover the truth. But he knew from long experience that recklessness was not his friend in such an endeavor. He pretended to busy himself with his breakfast, all the while mulling over a plausible excuse to get close enough to see what she wrote.

“What’s that you’re doing, Miss Burke?” Vivi, suffering from no such compunction, stretched out her neck to peer across the table.

At first, Erica did not seem to hear the question. The pencil continued its rapid movements across the page. Only when its scritch-scritch fell silent did she seem to realize anyone had spoken. She glanced rapidly between the two of them, a wary blankness in her expression. “Did you—? Oh. I—” The pencil listed, nearly slipping from her fingers. “I’m dreadfully sorry. My—my thoughts have a tendency to scatter. It helps if I write down what I…” Her gaze dropped to the page, then she turned the book toward them, though with obvious reluctance. Tristan held his breath. No spy would offer up her secrets so readily.

Unless by doing so, she hoped to persuade them she had nothing to hide.

“Why, it’s a picture of Hawesdale,” Vivi exclaimed, drawing the book closer to her. “Look, Tris. However did you manage to make it so quickly?”

With every ounce of apparent indifference he could muster, he scanned the spread of pages held up to his gaze. Hastily done, yes, but unquestionably his home. Here and there, illegible squiggles suggested a system of signs he did not immediately recognize.

“Please forgive me.” Erica’s cheeks were still pale. “I suddenly realized that if I am to stay for several days, I really ought to have some notion of how to get around.”

“Oh, it’s a map! How clever. But Miss Burke—you’ve mislabeled. This is the east wing.” Vivi pointed at the right side of the drawing, and he realized the illegible marks were simply sloppily written letters intended to denote the cardinal directions. “You’d be lost in no time if you followed that. The schoolroom is just here,” she explained, tracing her fingertip across the paper as she spoke, “and your room somewhere along here, I suppose.”

As quick as that, she’d gained an insider’s knowledge of her target’s environment. Brilliant.

“Thank you, Lady Viviane.” Erica closed the journal around the pencil after making the suggested corrections. “I hope you can forgive my rudeness. I can be rather…shatterbrained, as my mama is fond of saying.”

“As can I,” Vivi confessed eagerly. “At least, according to my governess. We must think of something amusing, Tris,” she added in a whisper, leaning closer to him, her mother’s kindness gleaming in her eyes, though Viviane’s were darkest brown. “A real distraction. The library?”

The library had been his father’s preserve, the last room in the house in which he would want to be trapped. Still, the walls of bookshelves would keep Erica occupied for the better part of the day, if she did not throw up her hands and flit back to her chamber or wander off in another direction. The longer he kept her in his sight and in his company, the better chance he stood of determining who she was and what she really wanted.

“An excellent idea, Vivi—if Miss Burke is amenable, that is.” Erica gave a wary nod. “And I suspect our guest is not the only one who would welcome a diversion,” he continued, turning back toward his sister. “What would you say to a break from your regular lessons for as long as the storm lasts?”

Vivi loosed a most improper squeal. Then her shoulders sagged. “Miss Chatham will never allow it.”