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“Well, at least he did not put me in the dungeons.”
She wrinkled her forehead, trying to think. “Does this manorhavedungeons?”
Her words, although uttered aloud, were absorbed by the walls. Any screaming she would do in this room would not be heard outside of it. For a moment she wondered if the Duke meant to torture her.
“He wouldn’t.” Despite her warm cloak, she shivered.
Sliding down the wall, she took a seat on the floor and focused on her breathing, trying to arrange in her mind what she would tell him, how she would act, how much she would give away. She was still a French spy, and still had a job to do. Nothing in her assignment indicated that she should stand by and watch a man get murdered and so she would warn him, but she reminded herself that her superiors were still waiting for intelligence.
“Maybe I should have left when I had the chance.”
Before she could think further on that, the door opened, startling her with the sudden light. Silhouetted in the doorway was the tall form of the Duke. He stood still, looking like an avenging angel, the slightly shorter form of the uniformed footman a step behind him.
“Miss Strange. Jenson tells me he apprehended you in the kitchen. What made you return here?”
Letty furrowed her brow. “Return? From where, Your Grace?”
He pursed his lips angrily. “Do not pretend innocence! I am so fed up with your lies,” he growled. She was hard put not to flinch. Slowly, she got to her feet.
“Your Grace, is it possible that we might speak in the morning? It’s late and you’re tired—”
“Donottell me what I am.”
Letty drew in a deep and shaky breath, wondering if she should try and burst into tears. “What do you want from me?”
He took one step closer. “The truth. How many times do I have to tell you?”
She blinked at him, trying to decide what to say. “Very well, then. I shall tell you the truth. After we…” she trailed off, eyes darting to the footman, “after you kissed me…”
The Duke turned to the footman, “Jenson, leave us.”
“Yes, Your Grace.” The man bowed and left. Letty heaved a sigh of relief. She didn’t know who she could trust and for all she knew, Jenson was the footman who would add the poison to the Duke’s food.
Once they were alone again, she took a step closer so that he could see her eyes. “Your life is in danger.”
His brow furrowed and he reared back, surprised. “Are you threatening me?”
“No! Of course not. I mean, I was…walking in the garden earlier, just trying to compose myself after we…” she inclined her head to indicate their steamy encounter. His eyes darted away, the skin of his cheeks becoming rosy before he looked back at her.
“Well, I was walking and I heard voices. You know how sound travels at night, especially in the hills. So I paused, not knowing if perhaps you and your guests had the same idea. But…the voices were coming from the next house.”
He quirked an eyebrow as if impatient for her to get to the point.
“Well, I paused to listen—”
“You mean you eavesdropped.”
“Yes, if you insist, I eavesdropped. What I heard, chilled me to the bone.”
“I suppose this is where you tell me that they were speaking of me.”
“They were. They were planning your demise.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes! Itisso. You have to believe me. Your life is in danger and so is George’s.”
“And this has nothing to do with the batch of letters I found on my desk? The letters you had no business reading?”
