He unfolded the paper before she could protest or snatch it away, and she could only watch in abject horror as the smile faded, to be replaced by confusion and then anger. His brows snapped tight, face going hard. Bronwyn knew what he was seeing—the typeface of the British Home Office and his own handwriting.

“What is this? How do you have this?”

Deuce it, why hadn’t she burned that, too? It was just her luck that he, the owner of the document, would be the one to discover it. “I can explain,” she said.

Waving the parchment, he closed the distance between them. “Yes, explain to me why you have a confidential report from the Home Office in your possession, part of a report that I compiled. Did you steal this? Who are you? Where did you get it?”

She bit her lip and took a step back. “Are we still doing a question for a question?”

“I’m not playing games, Bronwyn. Answer me.”

Too soon to joke, clearly, from the furious pull of his mouth, the clipped rage in those last two words, and the fire turning those amber eyes a dark gold. Her stare dipped to the trousers he still held in his other hand and narrowed as if they were at fault. They were! Why couldn’t the dratted things have kept her secret? Snatching the pants from him, Bronwyn yanked them up her legs. If he was going to interrogate her, she wasn’t going to do it half-naked. When she was covered, she met his livid stare.

“You will talk right now, Bronwyn, or so help me.”

The threat hung in the air, and she bristled at his high-handedness, ready to retort that she didn’t have to tell him a damned thing, when a faint shout resonated from outside the folly. It came from some distance away, but much too close for comfort.

“Shit,” he bit out, a muscle flexing in his jaw. “We need to go.”

Panic overtook her irritation. “Is it them? The men from last night.”

“Probably. We shouldn’t stay here to find out.”

As much as she was grateful for the reprieve, he wouldn’t forget. Bronwyn exhaled and reached for her waistcoat and stockings, putting them on as quickly as she could. They were cold to the touch but had thankfully dried overnight. She bit her lip. Despite the discomfort of the ground, she had slept soundly enough, and the duke’s body heat had been enough to keep her from shivering. She was certain that she’d either cuddled him or he’d cuddled her. Their legs had been intertwined at some point, too. It was a small mercy she hadn’t woken up to that.

The duke grasped her arm at the door, his eyes promising the retribution that was still forthcoming. “This isn’t over.”

Her jaw clenched. “Let me go.”