How to Catch a Duke (Rogues to Riches #6) - Grace Burrowes Page 0,98

with her the most primal of joys.

“We vanquished all comers.” He kissed her hand, which reminded him that she yet wore gloves. Those he dispensed with—his and hers—and after he’d kissed her knuckles, he kissed her cheek. “My mood has turned affectionate. This happens when I have a breakthrough with a design. Does solving a case have the same happy result in the inquiry business?”

“Sometimes.”

And apparently, sometimes not. Stephen tucked an arm around Abigail’s shoulders and she subsided against him. Perhaps she too was plagued by a niggling sense of overlooked details, or puzzle pieces that had fallen off the table. As long as the letters were in hand, those puzzle pieces could be picked up later.

“I should have focused on the dates sooner,” he said, stroking her hair. “Should have known that’s what had Stapleton in such a swither. The butler mentioned that the boy’s birthday is next week, and that jostled something in my brainbox. Ned pointed out that Champlain wrote to you every Monday and Thursday, which was also a helpful nudge in the direction of noticing the dates.”

Stephen paused long enough to kiss Abigail’s temple. “By the by,” he went on, “you are soon to be comfortably well off as inquiry agents go. Both Fleming and Stapleton will offer you reparation in the form of bank drafts. I know your pride will tempt you to reject these sums, but I must advise you—advise only, of course—to consider that you are owed every penny.”

He was babbling, mostly for joy, because Abigail’s enemies had been thoroughly routed, but also from a growing sense that something with Abigail was amiss. What had he overlooked about the situation relating to her?

“You aren’t arguing with me. My darling Miss Abbott never misses an opportunity to air her opinions.” His darling Miss Abbott didn’t take that bait, so he blundered on. “Fleming is off for an extended tour of the Continent, or maybe his papa will force him on the diplomatic corps, though he’ll probably start some minor wars, given his dunderheadedness.”

Abigail put her fingers to Stephen’s lips. “Hush. The day did not go as I’d planned. I was sure Fleming had taken the letters.”

Ah, so they were to analyze the battle maneuvers then. “I considered him too, but if he had the letters, why not use them to secure Lady Champlain’s hand in marriage or a return of the gambling markers? Your letters have been missing for months and Fleming took a serious and unnecessary risk interfering with a stagecoach.”

“So he did not have the letters. What made you think of Lady Champlain?”

“She was the logical next choice, having a very great interest in keeping from Stapleton’s grasp anything that imperiled her standing in the household. Perhaps the old boy was growing difficult, perhaps her ladyship had read Champlain’s journals and reached the same conclusion Stapleton did. I hardly care now that the problem is solved.”

Later, when Abigail was smiling and once more on her mettle, Stephen would review the whole matter as he would review a rifle pattern, ensuring every part was labeled accurately and drawn to scale.

Abigail rested her head on Stephen’s shoulder, the gesture weary. “I met Mr. de Beauharnais in the nursery. He’s very attractive. Has all the heroic features.”

Gracious. Was this what troubled her? Stephen most assuredly did not want to talk about Endymion de Beauharnais’s excellent nose.

“If you must know, I think his great good looks are a problem for him. The merry widows plague him ceaselessly and the gay blades want a discreet go at him. All he longs for is to create good art and— Abigail, was that a yawn?”

“Sorry. I haven’t been sleeping well lately.”

“I haven’t been sleeping at all.”

She closed her eyes. “Have you dreamed of me anyway?”

“Yes.”

“I dream of you too.”

What was a fellow to make of that? Stephen let Abigail drift off, or pretend to. Her breathing was regular and slow, but he’d spent a night in her arms and knew the difference between real and feigned sleep. Abigail’s reaction to a case solved and a marquess put in his place was apparently fatigue. Perhaps good spirits would come later.

Perhaps she was due for a nap.

Perhaps something had gone badly awry between her and Harmonia or her and de Beauharnais, in which case, no force on earth would pry confidences from Abigail Abbott until she was ready to share them.

When the coach pulled up before the Wentworth town house, Stephen escorted Abigail inside and sent word to Jane that