Page 14 of Season of the Scoundrel (The Bridewell Sisters #3)
“Are you laughing at me, Your Grace?” It bothered her more than it should. She refused to feel shame about her interests or avid curiosity.
“Not at all. I could see you succeeding in such a role. It doesn’t surprise me that it interests you.”
There was a sincerity in his tone that made Ivy feel warm somewhere deep inside her chest.
“I may still pursue that goal one day.” She smiled up at him. “But I won’t confess as much to anyone while I’m pretending to be a future duchess. It wouldn’t be proper for a duchess, would it?”
His smile faded and he turned to face fully forward again as their carriage approached the docks of Wapping. He said nothing more as they rolled toward Penrose’s warehouse.
“We should tell his foreman you’re there by Penrose’s request,” Ivy said as they drew into an area clogged with warehouses. “He did invite you the other night, you said.”
“I thought as much too. We’ll see how far it gets us.”
Ross turned to help her from the carriage, but Ivy arched a brow and he lowered his hand. If anyone was to believe she was a gentleman, all the niceties shown to a young lady wouldn’t do.
Ivy stepped down and they started off toward the Southwell Shipping company’s warehouse. As she’d hoped, there were still a contingent of Penrose’s employees busy at work.
One tall, thin man in a suit stood in the entryway, directing two other men in shirtsleeves and trousers.
“Perhaps the foreman,” Ivy whispered.
“We’ll soon see,” Ross said. “I’d ask that you stay behind me, but I doubt you’d agree.” He shot her an amused smile.
“In this case, I’m content to let you do all the talking.”
“Pardon me,” he said in a deep, commanding tone to the tall man in the entryway.
The man turned and took Ross in—his fine clothes, the silver-topped walking stick he’d brought along, Ivy guessed to add a bit more of a noble air.
“May I help you, my lord?”
“I’m the Duke of Blackbourne. Who are you?” Ross produced a card. The man took it and his eyes widened.
“Your Grace,” he corrected. “I am Walter Harvey. I’m chief foreman at Southwell Shipping. How may I assist you?”
“Lord Penrose has invited me to invest in Southwell Shipping and to have a look at the enterprise. I and my associate, Mr. Smith, would like a tour. Might you accommodate us?”
Ivy watched as the debate played out over Mr. Harvey’s features, but he looked too impressed to be faced with a duke of the realm to refuse Ross.
“Of course, Your Grace,” he finally said, his tone laced with just a bit of wariness. “Work is winding down for the day, but I can give you a brief look at the operation.”
Ivy followed behind Ross as he’d suggested, and she was thrilled when he began to slow Harvey’s quick gait by plying him with a slew of questions about the shipping enterprise.
When Harvey stopped to explain a steam-powered hoist and winch system they used for moving cargo, Ivy slipped away to examine a few of the crates. The company’s name had been stamped on each one, and a few were shedding straw, but she couldn’t determine what was inside the crates.
Ivy glanced over to where Ross still had Mr. Harvey occupied, then ducked down, crouching as she made her way between some of the stacked crates. She looked around for any kind of implement she could use to pull the top off of one, but found nothing.
What she did see, however, was that the opposite side of the crate had a different name stamped across it that was marred and barely visible, as if an attempt had been made to scratch it out.
But it had been a poor effort because the words were simply faded but still quite legible: Merrick and Sons Export Co.
She crouch-walked down the entire row of stacked crates. On many, the name had been fully scratched or sanded off the wood, but she made out one other name, Albion Mercantile, faded but still readable on another crate.
Digging into her pocket, her fingers curled around an object shaped a bit like a pocket watch.
She pulled it out and then opened the face to extend the tiny lens barrel.
Then she stood, making sure no one spotted her and moved back as far as she could from the crate’s faded label.
She snapped a photo of one label and then walked down the row to find and photograph the next.
Ivy prayed she was far enough away and that there was enough light to actually capture an image.
Too close or too dark and the photograph would be blurry.
“Thank you, Mr. Harvey.”
Ivy heard Ross’s voice, louder than his usual tone, as if alerting her. She stood, dusted herself off, shoved her hands into her pockets and strolled out to join him and Mr. Harvey. Together, they continued their circuit around the warehouse.
“Are Penrose or Grainger ever in the office?” Ross asked, still continuing with his barrage of questions.
“On occasion, Your Grace. But I or our office clerk manage the office most days.”
“You’ve been most helpful, Mr. Harvey.”
The foreman seemed pleased by the praise and a little awestruck by Ross, hardly noticing Ivy’s presence at all.
“I’ll be sure to let Lord Penrose know you were accommodating. You’ve all but convinced me to invest, sir.”
With that, Ross shot a look her way that she knew meant he was ready to depart.
They left the warehouse together as the sky darkened from dusk to nightfall, but Ivy still kept her head bent until they found a hired cab and were settled inside.
“He was cagey,” Ross admitted as he removed hat, then his gloves, tucking them inside the well of his top hat.
“Refused to take me anywhere near the office. And I asked dozens of questions, yet most of his replies were maddeningly vague. He even dodged repeated inquiries about what exactly it is that they ship.”
“I think I might know why.” Ivy removed her bowler too and was eager to get all the pins out of her hair.
“Oh?” He turned a look her way.
“I believe they may be stealing cargo from other companies and remarking it as their own.”
“What makes you think so?”
“Crates relabeled.” She lifted her clever photographic device out to him in the flat of her palm. “I took photographs with this. If it works as expected.”
Ross took the small disc-shaped device into his hand and held it up for inspection. “This is a camera?”
“Ingenious, isn’t it? It’s called a waistcoat camera and can be hidden beneath, well, a waistcoat,” she told him with all the enthusiasm she felt when she’d first read of the device.
“For use by detectives, I take it,” he said, looking up at her out of the corner of his eye.
“Or busybodies with an interest in photography.”
He laughed at that, and the sound was low and delicious. She could feel it reverberate in her middle. When he returned the camera, their fingers brushed. At that simple slide of skin against skin, her pulse began dancing in her veins.
From the intense way he looked at her, she suspected he felt something too.
Then he reached up and swept a strand of hair back behind her ear. The graze of his fingers against her cheek sent a shiver cascading down her spine.
“You’re rather remarkable,” he whispered.
“Because I brought a camera?” Ivy whispered back, her throat suddenly dry, her senses fully attuned to his nearness and how much she wanted him closer still.
He smiled in the darkness. “Not the camera. Your fearlessness. Your determination.”
“My recklessness?” She couldn’t help but tease him with his own words to her the day they met.
“I also admitted you were heroic.” One of his dark brows winged up. “Did you forget?”
“I didn’t forget.” She hadn’t. Every interaction between them was seared in her mind. Too often, he invaded her thoughts, but she could hardly admit as much.
His gaze slid down to her lips. She could see in his eyes that he wanted what she did—a real kiss.
Ivy reached up, wrapped her fingers around the lapel of his coat and leaned toward him.
Blackbourne bent his head and brushed his lips against hers. A warm, tentative kiss, much like their first, but then it turned to more. His hand came up to cradle her nape and he took her mouth hungrily, as if she was all he wanted, as if he’d been desperate for a taste of her.
Ivy had never felt such yearning in her life as she did in that moment—desire for this powerful, magnetic man, but also a yearning for more. She clutched at his shoulder, needing him closer somehow, feeling a hunger she’d never known.
Then the carriage slowed as they arrived at Blackbourne House.
Blackbourne broke the kiss, then immediately stroked his fingers down her cheek as if he couldn’t quite bring himself to stop touching her.
When the carriage stilled, he got out first, then reached up to help her down.
They walked in silence to the front door, but Ivy heard her blood rushing in her ears. Her whole body felt flushed. And some brazen part of her wanted to kiss him again the moment they were inside the townhouse.