“Leave her alone, William.”
“I really wish you would stop interrupting me. It’s irritating.”
“And I’d like for you to trust me on this.”
“I do. If you would let me finish—either you keep an eye on her, or I’ll see that someone else does.” William put his hand up to forestall any possibility of an argument. “I want her protected. I trust your assessment of the situation, but if Loudor is a traitor, she may be in danger by virtue of mere proximity.”
Alex nodded and leaned back in his chair, some of the fight seeming to drain out of him. “You’re right. Of course, you’re right. I’ll watch her, but I want your men called off.”
“You can’t watch her twenty-four hours a day, Rockeforte.”
Alex swore under his breath. “They can watch the house when I’m not there, and trail her when she leaves, but that is all.”
“Agreed.”
Alex narrowed his eyes. “I mean it, William. No rooting through her room, no—”
“You have my word,” William interrupted, more than a little pleased to have had the chance. “Miss Everton seems to have made quite an impression on you.”
“She’s an impressive young woman.”
“I’ve no doubt she is. It’s not like you to—”
“Don’t say it, William.”
Alex sent his carriage back without him. It was only a couple of miles to his town house, and he needed to think— something he had failed to do this morning. Bloody hell, he had all but barreled his way into William’s office. No, scratch that, he had barreled his way into William’s office.
It had seemed like a perfectly sensible thing to do at the time, which, he thought, was a clear indicator of just how little thought he’d given the idea.
Except he had been thinking. Of her. And only her. Miss Sophie Everton. She had occupied his every thought since the moment he had picked her small unconscious form off the street almost two weeks ago. Usually, if he wasn’t reminiscing about some amusing little comment she had made, then he was daydreaming about what she would look like in his bed and how he might arrange matters to get her there. All that rich sable hair spread out across his pillow, all that soft skin flushed pink with desire. And those lips, those marvelous lips, parting— for him. The image had given him more than a couple of sleepless nights.
And every moment he wasn’t in her company, he found his mind repeating the same questions over and over again. Where was she right now? Was she safe? Happy? What was she doing? And who was she with? This last part really irked him.
Finally, it occurred to him that for all his apparent fascination with the girl, not once in the last week had he wondered what she might be hiding. In fact, to Alex, the notion that she might be a spy for France seemed not only absurd but uncomfortably disloyal.
Hence the note he had sent to William (he hadn’t actually bothered waiting for a reply) and ensuing carriage ride. By the time he had gotten halfway there, Alex had started feeling rather guilty for agreeing to spy on Sophie.
By the time he was two-thirds of the way there, he had successfully manipulated matters in his mind to the extent that he was certain Sophie had been grossly insulted by the suspicions leveled against her. And it was all William’s fault. No mean feat in less than two miles, but then Alex had never been particularly fond of feeling guilty.
He was more than happy, however, to play knight-errant. And by the time he had actually arrived at the office he was feeling righteously indignant on his fair maiden’s behalf and determined to clear her name. In short, he had worked himself into an embarrassing lather.
Only once he’d actually gotten inside and settled himself firmly into as eat—the familiarity of which reminded him that he was the Duke of Rockeforte, damn it, not a green boy demanding satisfaction for some imagined slight—had he been able to calm down enough to, at the very least, appear sane.
The meeting had been a success, of sorts. Sophie’s good character had been assured. But the larger issue, namely his ridiculous fixation on the girl, still remained.
He needed to step back for a few days, regain some perspective, and more importantly, some of his common sense. He needed to remember who he was. A peer of the realm. A battle-hardened soldier. An agent of the Crown. He was a man, by God, not some lovesick swain who let every pretty thing in skirts tie his mind and body into knots. He needed to—
Alex paused at the corner of Sophie’s street. If he took the long way home, it would be simple enough to…He swore and turned away, quickening his steps as he made his retreat.
He needed to do something. This wasn’t healthy.