Chapter 19 #2
“You look as though you’ve wrestled a bear,” Roderick observed. “And lost.”
“I overslept.”
Roderick’s brows shot up. “You? Overslept?”
James gave him a look.
“Oh,” Roderick said, drawing the word out. “This is not about sleep.”
James pushed open the door to the study. It smelled faintly of old books and smoke, comfortingly familiar. He crossed to the table and unrolled the packet Thomas had ensured reached him before he left.
Roderick’s gaze flicked to it, then back to James’s face. “New information.”
“Yes.”
“About your parents.”
James’s jaw tightened. “Yes.”
They sat. James spread the documents across the desk. The notes, names, dates, a map marked in pencil. Roderick leaned in, all humor gone.
“Tell me,” Roderick said quietly.
James tapped a name near the center. “The carriage account books from the month before the accident. There was a payment made to a driver who was not on my father’s staff.”
Roderick’s eyes narrowed. “You believe him a hired hand?”
“Yes. What else could it be?”
Roderick exhaled slowly. “And you’ve confirmed it was not for something innocent. A repair. A delivery.”
James’s mouth hardened. “The payment was made two days before their journey. The driver vanished afterward.”
Roderick’s gaze sharpened. “Vanished. Or was removed?”
“Either.”
Roderick leaned back, tapping his finger against the table. “And what does that have to do with the man we suspect?”
James slid another paper forward. “The same driver’s name appears in a ledger tied to Harrowby.”
Roderick’s eyes widened slightly. “Harrowby has always been careful.”
“Careful men are the ones worth watching.”
Roderick gave a low whistle. “This is something.”
“It is not enough.”
“It’s closer than you’ve been in years,” Roderick said, then softened his tone. “James… this is closer.”
James stared at the papers. “It means the death was arranged. Not merely permitted. Arranged.”
Roderick’s voice turned quieter. “And the ball?”
James looked up.
“Langford House,” Roderick said. “If Harrowby is connected, he will not miss it. Not if you are presenting your new duchess to society.”
James’s stomach tightened. “He may not come personally.”
“But someone will,” Roderick said. “Someone always does.”
James nodded once. “We will watch.”
Roderick’s grin returned, faint but present. “We will also dance.”
“No.”
Roderick laughed. “Oh, come now –”
“We are not here to discuss dancing.”
“We are,” Roderick said brightly, “if you refuse to dance with your wife.”
James’s eyes narrowed. “Stay out of it.”
Roderick held up a hand in surrender. “Very well. Then let us discuss introductions instead.”
James’s throat tightened.
Roderick leaned forward, delighted at once by whatever he saw cross James’s face. “Have I met her yet?”
“No.”
The answer came too quickly. Too clean.
Roderick’s brows rose. “No.”
James’s mind caught up a heartbeat later, he caught the sound of his own voice, the certainty of it.
He cleared his throat. “Not yet.”
Roderick’s smile widened like a blade being drawn. “Not yet,” he repeated. “That is new.”
James’s jaw tightened. “It is not.”
“It is,” Roderick insisted, leaning back with satisfaction. “Because if you meant ‘no,’ you would have stopped there.”
James’s fingers curled against the arm of the chair. “You are imagining meaning where there is none.”
Roderick’s eyes glittered. “And you are denying it too hard.”
James stood abruptly, crossing to the window. Cold light spilled across the floor. He stared out at a winter field, empty and indifferent.
Roderick’s tone softened, just slightly. “James.”
“I have no intention of parading my wife before you like a prize,” James said.
“A prize,” Roderick echoed, amused. “Is that what she is?”
James didn’t answer.
Roderick continued, gentler now. “I asked because she is part of this now. Whether you like it or not.”
James’s jaw clenched.
“She is a duchess,” Roderick said. “Which means she will stand in rooms with men who smile while they calculate. Men who will use her to get to you.”
James’s hand tightened against the window frame.
“And if you bring her into the Season,” Roderick pressed, “you’d better decide whether you want allies around her.”
James' memory raced again, not of the ball, not of Harrowby or the investigation, but of Eleanor.
Eleanor’s mouth against his skin as she tried not to make a sound.
His name, half-breath, half-prayer, breaking from her anyway when he had brought her to the edge and held her there until she shook.
James’s chest tightened violently.
He had spent the ride forcing his mind toward ledgers and suspects.
It had returned to her regardless.
“I will introduce you,” he said harshly, as though the words were punishment.
Roderick’s smile turned almost tender. “At the ball.”
James stared at the window as though it might offer absolution.
“Why does that trouble you?” Roderick asked, quieter now.
James’s voice was clipped. “Because if she begins to matter, she becomes a weakness.”
“We will have eyes on Harrowby’s men,” James said. “We will listen. We will watch who approaches me. Who approaches her.”
“And if danger comes too close,” Roderick said softly, “what then?”
James did not answer at once, then he forced his voice into steadiness. “Then I will move her away from it.”
Roderick nodded once, satisfied.
“Then it is settled” Roderick said, rising, “you should stop pretending she does not already matter because she obviously does.”
James’s stare could have cut stone as Roderick bent and gathered the papers together. Every muscle in him was taut because he could plan for Harrowby, and for spies and ledgers and knives hidden behind politeness.
But he had no plan for the way his wife had begun to look at him lately as if she might be worth the cost of breaking every single one of his rules.