“I don’t know for certain that I’m correct.”
“I’d lay strong odds on it, and it’s something you noted from the start. You never thought laying the blame for this threat on the workers made sense.”
Lucy looked up at the dark ceiling. “You’re right. I did question it. Once we intercept the people involved, we’ll have so much more information.”
“And I have little doubt your theories will prove correct.” He turned, and her gaze shifted from the ceiling to him. “You said earlier you felt sometimes that you weren’t good enough to be an agent. I’d argue that you don’t give yourself enough credit.”
“I’ll take credit if it’s due, but we still don’t—”
Duncan crossed the room in two steps and knelt beside the cot. “Stop demurring. Most other agents would be puffed up with pride right now at their skills of deduction. You’re still doubting yourself.”
“It’s a theory. It would be premature to puff up with pride until it’s proven.”
“That may be, but it’s beside the point.”
She shoved up to her elbows, so she was level with him. He was large, and his body blocked out what little light came through the window. She couldn’t make out his features at all, but she could feel his warmth. And she could smell the scent of the soap used to clean his livery mixed with boot black and something else underneath. She realized it was her own scent, still clinging to him from earlier. “And what is the point?” she asked, trying not to remember how it had felt to kiss him, be held by him.Focus on the mission, she told herself. “That most agents are arrogant and self-aggrandizing?”
“No, Lucy. That’s not the point. True as it may be.”
She liked the way he said her name. Most people said it in a clean, crisp manner. He drew it out slightly.
“The point is that you are brilliant. You are as skilled as any other agent, and you need to give yourself more credit.” He rose. “Now get some rest. You’re not brilliant enough that I won’t wake you in three hours.”
“It’s probably two and a half now,” she said.
“Stop thinking and sleep.”
Lucy closed her eyes, trying to do as she was bidden, but one thought had taken hold and repeated itself in a sort of mantra:you are brilliant.
Duncan thought she was brilliant.
And for the first time, she almost believed it.
***
DUNCAN VOWED, FOR PERHAPSthe fiftieth time since arriving at Pembroke Lodge, that he would never take a footman for granted again. He’d never imagined how thankless and exhausting the work of a manservant was. It was even more so when he’d had precious little sleep the night before.
As much as he wanted to be a gentleman and allow Lucy to sleep all night, especially after she’d fallen asleep, all curled in a ball with her fist under her chin, he had woken her last night and taken his turn in the cot. If he fell asleep while on watch and didn’t see something, it might jeopardize the mission. He had to be an agent first and a gentleman second.
That was not easy when he’d then tried to settle in the spot Lucy had left warm on the cot. The lingering scent of cinnamon andherplagued him for the first quarter hour. Of course, that fragrance might have come from his own skin. He’d had his hands and lips quite intimately upon her.
He’d wasted no time this morning washing her scent away, but the water didn’t scrub away the memories of her body and her reactions when he’d touched her.
Now, as he waited to move a couch for Molly, who was cleaning a parlor, he wondered how it was that even after he’d had a taste of Lucy, he wanted her more? He used to want to kiss her so badly that his hands cramped for clenching them together to resist the urge. He’d thought if he could just kiss her once, just have a hint of her, he’d be satisfied. His need would be assuaged, and his desire lessened.
But he wanted her more now than ever before.
Unfortunate that because, clearly, she didn’t want him. Why had he imagined that just because he gave her pleasure she’d begin to feel something more than friendship for him? At least he could honestly claim they were friends now. He knew her better than he ever had, and they’d shared confidences, as friends do. He supposed he’d have to be content with—
“Smith! Smith, are you listening?”
Duncan blinked and focused on Molly, standing in the center of the parlor, one hand on her hip and the other brandishing a feather duster.
“I’m listening. Should I move the couch back?”
“Yes, please.”
He bent and lifted one side then moved to do the same for the other. He could feel her eyes on him and looked up to find her smiling. “You moved that couch as though it weighed nothing.”
