“Did the bastard suggest who in my employ was spying against me?” he asked then, knowing it was unlikely, but needing to ask the question all the same.
Duncan eyed him. “Have you hired any new domestics within the last two months?”
By God, Whitley House was crawling with any number of domestics, none of whom he took note of beyond their peripheral presence. It could be any damned one of them. “Not that I am aware of, though admittedly, I leave that sort of thing in the capable hands of my housekeeper.”
“Think carefully, Cris. If you must ask questions, do so with discretion,” Duncan cautioned. “Should it be discovered I provided you with such damning information…”
“You need not say more.” Crispin was grateful to his friend for warning him of the impending storm, and he well understood the reputation of the club was paramount for Duncan. At least he could face what lie ahead of him prepared. He could search the ranks of his domestics, isolate the traitor, and go about building the case for his innocence. “You have my promise no one shall be the wiser. I greatly appreciate the favor you have done me. Your loyalty as a friend is unparalleled.”
Duncan gave a jerky nod. “I know you are innocent, Cris, else I would not have come to you and compromised myself in such a fashion. No man in London is your equal, and any enemy of yours is an enemy of mine.”
His friend’s unshaking belief in him humbled him. “Thank you. Your trust means more to me than you can know.”
Duncan sighed. “You must think. The charges against you are serious, if what Kilross spouted off tonight is to be believed. Given you found planted ciphers in your study, I cannot imagine there is not a legitimate threat against you. If there is a traitor in your midst, you must weed them out. Your reputation could well be used against you, should the rightammunitioncome to light.”
He thought of all the carousing he had done, the endless drinking and whoring. For six solid months, he had been convinced that numbing himself was the only way to survive what he had endured. The only way to quiet the ghosts that would not cease haunting him.
“Ammunition,” he repeated. “Yes, I have created more than my fair share of that since my return to London.”
He had not earned his sobriquet as the Duke of Depravity by living the life of a monk. How easy it would be for an unknown enemy to turn his demons into the noose that would tighten around his neck.
“Cris.” Duncan stood, rounding his desk, his countenance lined with worry. “I hesitate to say this, but I would not be your friend if I did not. You have one new domestic beneath your roof, and you must not forget it.”
Air roared in Crispin’s ears.
Yes, there was one new domestic beneath his roof. But he had fallen so deeply beneath her spell, so helplessly in love with her, he could not see her as a servant any longer. When Duncan had first posed the query, it had never even occurred to him to include her.
Because it could not be her. Not his Cin. He needed her far too much. She had but to look at him with her wide, sherry eyes, and all he could see was warmth and light and everything good. Not to mention redemption. She was his future duchess, damn it all.
Yet, his mind swirled with questions. Was she not the newest addition to Whitley House? And had he not found her in his study?
No.
Damn it all to the devil.
It could not possibly be Jacinda.
No, curse it, no.
Doubt began to swim through him, making him ill all over again.
She had not been forthcoming about her past apart from mentioning a dead soldier. He’d dismissed it as something that did not affect him, a part of her that had come before she had known him just as he had not come to her an innocent either. Their pasts were their pasts, and he had not questioned it. But now, for the first time, he wondered what else she could be hiding from him.
He could not bear to contemplate her duplicity, and yet he needed to, for his good name and possibly even his freedom depended upon his impartial review of everyone in his midst. Even her.
“Cris?” Duncan’s concerned voice shook him from his turbulent thoughts.
He blinked, took another shuddering breath. “Jacinda came highly recommended by the Earl of Aylesbury, and she has worked wonders with Con and Nora.”
She had also asked him about Spain. Had questioned him about Morgan.
Damn it all to hell.
His vision darkened, his reaction to the notion of her betrayal so visceral and raw he did not even know how he would react should it be proved a reality. She had made him feel whole again. He had slept through the night for the first time last night without a nightmare because she was at his side. And yet, the evidence against her was too strong to be ignored.
“Trust no one until we can be more certain of what is at play here,” Duncan advised, his tone harsh. “Suspect everyone. Investigate her to the fullest, Cris. This will not go away. It will come to a head, and I very much fear what shall become of you if you are ill-prepared to defend yourself.”
He tamped down the bile rising in his throat. “Bloody hell, you are right, and if it is indeed her, then I am the worst sort of fucking fool. I will do as you suggest and make a thorough examination of everyone, Jacinda included.”
