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He nodded and retrieved them both, giving the shirt a good shake before holding it out to her. His eyes fell to her front and something dilated in his gaze before he flushed and averted his head. Following his gaze, Bronwyn looked down and squawked in dismay. Now that her hair was up, her nipples were at proud attention in the cool morning air, the darker areolas of her breasts visible against the transparent fabric. She grabbed the shirt and wrenched it over her head.
The duke shook out her trousers next, and something tumbled from the pocket. What it was didn’t quite register until much too late when she was poking her head through the neckline of her shirt. “No, wait,” she blurted out as he bent to retrieve the item. “That’s private.”
A slow, aggravating smile that made her panic curved one side of his mouth. “I believe you said this love letter was to me. Doesn’t that make it mine?”
“That’s something else!”
He unfolded the paper before she could protest or snatch it away, and she could only watch in abject horror as the smile faded, to be replaced by confusion and then anger. His brows snapped tight, face going hard. Bronwyn knew what he was seeing—the typeface of the British Home Office and his own handwriting.
“What is this? How do you have this?”
Deuce it, why hadn’t she burned that, too? It was just her luck thathe, the owner of the document, would be the one to discover it. “I can explain,” she said.
Waving the parchment, he closed the distance between them. “Yes, explain to me why you have a confidential report from the Home Office in your possession, part of a report that I compiled. Did you steal this? Who are you? Where did you get it?”
She bit her lip and took a step back. “Are we still doing a question for a question?”
“I’m not playing games, Bronwyn. Answer me.”
Too soon to joke, clearly, from the furious pull of his mouth, the clipped rage in those last two words, and the fire turning those amber eyes a dark gold. Her stare dipped to the trousers he still held in his other hand and narrowed as if they were at fault. They were! Why couldn’t the dratted things have kept her secret? Snatching the pants from him, Bronwyn yanked them up her legs. If he was going to interrogate her, she wasn’t going to do it half-naked. When she was covered, she met his livid stare.
“You will talk right now, Bronwyn, or so help me.”
The threat hung in the air, and she bristled at his high-handedness, ready to retort that she didn’t have to tell him a damned thing, when a faint shout resonated from outside the folly. It came from some distance away, but much too close for comfort.
“Shit,” he bit out, a muscle flexing in his jaw. “We need to go.”
Panic overtook her irritation. “Is it them? The men from last night.”
“Probably. We shouldn’t stay here to find out.”
As much as she was grateful for the reprieve, he wouldn’t forget. Bronwyn exhaled and reached for her waistcoat and stockings, putting them on as quickly as she could. They were cold to the touch but had thankfully dried overnight. She bit her lip. Despite the discomfort of the ground, she had slept soundly enough, and the duke’s body heat had been enough to keep her from shivering. She was certain that she’d either cuddled him or he’d cuddled her. Their legs had been intertwined at some point, too. It was a small mercy she hadn’t woken up tothat.
The duke grasped her arm at the door, his eyes promising the retribution that was still forthcoming. “This isn’t over.”
Her jaw clenched. “Let me go.”
He did so, and then set about kicking the cold ash of the dead fire into a dark corner. The char on the ground could not be hidden, but it was only visible if someone looked closely. The duke picked up the coat that they had slept on and shook it out as well, beating the dirt off with one hand. With a grim scowl, he put it over her shoulders and she frowned at the unexpected caring gesture. “It’s still cold.”
The small act of compassion, despite his ire, warmed her. “Thank you.”
As if he could read her thoughts, his mouth flattened. “Don’t read anything into it, my dear, or mistake my kindness for weakness. Treason is treason, even in the form of beautiful young ladies.”
Treason?Bronwyn blinked and then felt a boulder of pure ice form in the pit of her stomach. She was in possession of a document from a confidential government report. How had Wentworth gotten his hands on it? Had he stolen it? “It’s not what you think, I swear.”
“Save it,” he growled. “You can tell it to the Metropolitan Police when we get back to England.”
She let out a hollow laugh, despite her dread. “How quickly we have gone from marriage to prison! I suppose they equate to the same kind of cage for a man like you.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” he growled, seething. “You have confidential Crown documents in your possession. One ofmyprivate reports. Are you working with the Kestrel? Who is he? Did you get this from him onboard your brother’s ship?”
Bronwyn blinked, her mind whirling. She almost laughed in his face but didn’t want to push her luck. The man looked like he was on the verge of coming apart at the seams, and she needed his help and knowledge of the city to get back to theValor. She would figure out a means of escape once she was safely on her way back to England.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
The look he gave her was fulminating. If she were a man, Bronwyn had no doubt she would not be standing right then. “You’ll give up all those pretty secrets soon, love. I swear it.”
The endearment was spat with such loathing that she almost shuddered but lifted her chin. “You can try.”
