Page 52 of The Duke's Forbidden Bride
No, they’d want to keep an eye on the men in the city first. The lower-downs.
Spencer’s eyes went back to the driver. They had to watch the Jack Renshaws of the city.
“Him,” he muttered quietly. “That is who will know more than the others.”
“How do you know?”
“The captain and overseer will leave London. The driver will not. He is the go-between, the bridge between people coming in for the business from overseas and the final destination—backandforth. He will see more names, more captains, more overseers, than anybody. That is who we will question first.”
Theodore nodded, and Spencer gestured for him to follow as they left the dockyard. Once again, they melted into the crowd.
Spencer was acutely aware of eyes watching him, but he shook off the paranoia. Everybody always stared. He had a hideous scar running from his temple to his jaw—why would they not stare?
Eleanor does not.
But he swore he did not care about her opinion.
No. No, he had to focus. He had borne enough humiliation for not being able to stand up for himself at Lord Heswall’s dinner party the other night.
“When you return to Everdawn, I will look into the Renshaws discreetly,” Theodore said as they rounded a corner. “See just how big their reach is through the city and if they dabble in any specific transportation.”
“Good,” Spencer muttered, but then frowned. “Who said I am returning to Everdawn?”
“I did. Your wife must miss you.”
Spencer pointedly ignored him and continued walking.
Theodore caught up to him quickly. “You know I am right,” he insisted.
“I can assure you that my wife does not even notice my absence,” Spencer countered. “She will be—” He broke off before he mentioned her love of gardening and baking. He shook his head. “She is fine. I will stay in London.”
“You will return to your home and have breakfast with her tomorrow morning,” Theodore declared, raising an eyebrow.
Spencer glared at him.
“I am not afraid to order you about. You are my friend before you are a duke, and friends can do this. Go home, Spencer. You did not marry the woman just to leave her alone in that very big house of yours.”
Spencer sighed. Theodore was right, and he hated to admit it. And, if he was being honest with himself, he missed Eleanor. He missed how he would never know from one day to the next if she would be humming as she labored in a way a duchess should not, or if she would unleash a temper that cut into him as much as his did her.
“Fine,” he relented. “But let’s meet up here in three days to talk to Mr. Renshaw. He is bound to have some information for us.”
Theodore nodded sharply. “In the meantime, will you?—”
“No more questions about her,” Spencer all but growled, stalking off to the sound of his friend’s laughter.
Theodore always knew how to get under his skin.
“Do you truly not know where my husband goes off to?” Eleanor asked, trying to keep a whine out of her tone as she paced her bedroom.
It had been three days since the Duke had kissed her in the drawing room. Three days since she had slipped into the greenhouse and let herself give in to… well, give in tohim.
The Duke.
Spencer.
And now he was avoiding her, disappearing for hours upon hours, sometimes even a night at a time. Her thoughts morphed into worry, her stomach twisting and turning.
Frances watched her, looking somewhat confused and worried. Perhaps she thought her mistress would snap at her.
