Page 25 of Duke of Treason (Rogues from War 3)

Darn the man! How would she make word reach London?

Without giving her time to reply, he turned to the door where only now did she see his men of affairs. “Search the room.” He commanded.

Eyes bulging on the men invading her space, rage took over her. “You have no limits!” She hissed as he treated her with a scornful raised eyebrow.

But they were already tearing at her things. Drawers pulled, clothes flown over, armoire thrown open, everything upside down.

“The mattress.” He barked low and dark, is murky attention digging suspicious on her.

They ripped that off the bed and it dropped halfway on the carpet, tilting from the bed frame. The men looked under that

His watchdogs would find nothing. She had been careful not to leave any trace of her mission scattered anywhere.

Then Miller and his henchmen found her small clothes. And she lost control. Catching the Duke unawares, she bunched his shirt in her fists and crashed him against the wall, his hair bouncing on his face. “Tell them to stop!” She breathed hot. Their glares clashed for long seconds in a battle of wills neither intended to drop.

“Leave us.” He conceded, but the predatory stance remained in her.

Miller and the others walked out, closing the door in silence.

Romulus closed his fingers on the hands that clutched his collar and tore them from him. “Explain the letter, Anabel.” He said, deep and menacing.

“I have to explain nothing.” Indignant, she would not cede ground. “You must do the explaining.” She said emphatic.

He chuckled a derogatory sound. “Me, in my own lands?”

“Yes, you!” She pointed a vehement finger at him. “You are a traitor to king and country.”

“I never knew you had a delusional trait in you.” He boasted a controlled, unyielding expression.

“So you deny you and your cronies are plotting to free Napoleon from that island?” Certainty and self-righteousness all over her.

A fleeting flick of surprise flashed in his murky eyes, wiped out in a blink. “Who are you working for?”

“You do not get to question me.” She fisted her hands beside her. “You are the criminal.”

“I see what you are doing.” Deep voice, he leaned on the wall, crossing one ankle over the other, his sleek hair falling on the sides of his rugged face. “You accuse me of a crime so that, in your head, you can justify your betrayal of me.”

How on this blasted world did he twist their conversation so he pointed a finger at her?

The wrath she kept in check up to this minute exploded like a long due volcano. “You died!” She shouted at the top of her lungs.

Her allegation hit him like a blow from the most experienced wrestler. “What are you saying?”

Romulus possessed no doubts she had been up to something, but to go as far as mention Saint Helena? Whoever sent her here acquired high secret information. He did not want to confront her on this matter. The less she knew, the safer she would be.

He must clear what she just said though.

“We heard people in London saying you perished in battle. They did not even find your corpse!” Her face scarlet, her torso rigid, her eyes flaming.

Of the things she could have thrown at him, this listed as the most unexpected. “Who did you get it from?”

“There were rumours, and after those, I got no news, nothing from you.” Her liquid stare locked on his, indisputable.

He skipped social life. As soon as he witnessed her married, he rushed back to the front, bitter and uncaring. And there he stayed until his brother’s demise. Unlikely he would be aware of any rumour.

“To send letters to and from the camp became difficult at times.” His conciliatory tone did not reach her.

“I mourned for months.” Peremptory now. “I waited for something, anything that would show me they were wrong.” Her hand rubbed over her brow, she paced restless. “I was a wreck! I did not eat, I did not sleep, I locked myself in my chamber.” As she stanched, she turned to him, shooting daggers. “My mother was worried sick. I had to tell her everything and show her your scarce letters, so she would not deem me crazy.”

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