“I will see to Miss Montgomery’s safety,” he added hastily, lest Winchelsea add further logic to bolster his position.
“I can see to my own safety,” Hazel interjected, scowling at him, as of course she would.
Yes, he and Winchelsea were fighting over her as if she were a prized painting which needed preservation and an armed guard to stave off thieves, rather than a woman with a reputation a mile long as one of the best damned agents in America.
“Of course you can, Miss Montgomery,” he reassured her apologetically. The apology was for the delivery, though not the sentiment. He still intended to look after her, whether she liked it or not. And whether she needed it or not.
“Perhaps I will stay at a hotel,” she said, frowning and crossing her arms over her middle in a protective gesture.
The bomb hidden beneath her bed had affected her. He could not blame her, for it had done the same to him. The notion one of the villains who had bombed the railway and brutalized Hazel had infiltrated his home with the intent to murder her was enough to make him want to tear the plaster from the framework of his study with his bare hands, until no trappings of civility remained. Nothing but sticks of wooden framework.
“You will do nothing of the sort,” he snapped at her. “I forbid it.”
Her eyes flashed, heralding the return of the fiery woman he had come to know and admire. “Youforbidme, Arden?”
“Yes,” he bit out. “You will not be safe on your own.”
“You do not have the right to forbid me to do anything, Your Grace,” she told him with the icy aplomb of a queen.
He would be damned if he was going to allow her to put herself in danger to assuage her pride. “I beg to differ,” he told her, forgetting they had an audience for a moment. He settled for conveying the rest of what he had been about to say with his gaze.
Her chin went up. “You may beg to differ all you like, Arden. I alone am responsible for myself.”
Her tone remained cool. Her independence was important to her. But her safety was equally important to him. He would make certain no one could get near enough to her to cause her harm again.
“We did not bring you to England to aid in our investigations so that you would become the target of attacks yourself, Miss Montgomery,” Winchelsea interjected then, eyes traveling between Lucien and Hazel in a manner which suggested he suspected there was something simmering beneath the surface of their dispute. “I must insist you defer to reason. The Home Office is responsible for your well-being, and I hold the duty in the highest regard.”
“I would argue the Special League is responsible for Miss Montgomery’s safety,” he said to Winchelsea.
This, here, was where he drew the line. He would not reveal the nature of his relationship with Hazel. But neither would he allow the duke to sweep her away. She had nearly been killed on his watch, and he would stop at nothing to protect her. Winchelsea was a statesman. Lucien was a warrior. The difference was distinct.
“And again, I would argue that I am responsible for myself,” Hazel interrupted. “The two of you can speak about me as if I am not present in the room all you like; it will not change the way I feel on the matter.”
The colonel, who had stood silent for the bulk of the discourse, chose that moment to intervene. “Wherever you choose to go, Miss Montgomery, you must be vigilant. The nature of the device hidden in your chamber leaves no question that someone wants you dead.”
But Hazel did not shrink from a challenge. She was no wilting flower beneath the heat of a summer sun. She was more like a rattlesnake, prone to striking when riled. Her shoulders were stiff, color blazing on her cheekbones, and she was ready to fight. Lucien was grateful the shock of the discovery of the device beneath her bed had dimmed, and she had returned to herself, but he was not going to allow her obstinacy to determine the outcome of this argument.
“A word alone with Miss Montgomery,” he said suddenly, “Winchelsea and Colonel Olden, if you please.”
Olden inclined his head. “I must see to the testing of the explosives in the device. The sooner we are apprised of the quality and type, the better for our investigations. I suspect it is American in origin, but time will tell.”
Winchelsea’s lips compressed into a fine line as he cast Lucien a disapproving glare. “I do not see the necessity, Arden.”
“I do,” he returned smoothly. “A moment, if you please. That is all I require—the opportunity to speak with my partner alone. You will grant me that, will you not, Winchelsea?”
Winchelsea’s jaw clenched. He certainly looked as if he wanted to argue, but in the end, he did not. Lucien watched with satisfaction as the other two men left his study. He waited until the door was firmly closed at their backs to descend upon Hazel.
He reached her in three strides. And though he had intended to be gentle and coaxing, to persuade her with logic and reason, now she was within his reach at last, he could not keep himself from touching her. His hands were on her waist, hauling her against him, and then, he was embracing her.
Burying his face in her dark, sweet-scented hair. Holding her to him as if he feared she would be wrenched away at any moment. Perhaps that was part of the emotion squeezing his chest. Perhaps it was the reason for his shaking hands stroking over her back, up her spine.
That old fear, the one that had nearly swallowed him whole when he had been a young lad, searching for his mother’s lifeless body on the shores.
“Lucien,” she said on a sigh, but her arms tightened around him too, and for a beat, they simply held each other.
“Hazel.” He kissed the crown of her head, unable to help himself. If something had happened to her tonight… “I want to look after you. Will you not allow it?”
“I look after myself, Lucien,” she said. “You know that. Nor can I thank you for the manner in which you and Winchelsea were all but growling at each other over me, as if you were dogs in competition for a bone.”
