Page 16 of The Duke and Lady Scandal (Princes of London #1)

After questioning the night watchman at the jeweler’s, Ben felt a bit of sympathy for the man.

Mr. Boscombe readily admitted to drifting off and carried an enormous weight of guilt for the thieves getting as far as they had, even if they’d been unable to crack the safe and abscond with the jewels.

But he’d not seen either of the men’s faces and insisted that they hadn’t spoken a single word. At least in the few moments of him waking up to the horror of the break-in and being thrashed on the skull until he lost consciousness.

Ben had taken time to examine the area of broken glass and the scratches and dents made on the safe. Though it had, unfortunately, all been tidied, he’d looked for any clue that might have been overlooked—a bit of torn fabric, something one of the thieves unwittingly dropped, or even more of the damned newspaper clippings.

But he’d found nothing.

The only notable aspect of his visit was his examination of the safe. The scratches and dents could all be explained by something as simple as a crowbar, but, oddly, they weren’t near the safe’s lock mechanism. The thieves had simply gone at the door with brute force, as if they thought they could tear into the metal and didn’t bother with the lock itself. That made no sense.

He had two detective constables checking in with known thieves who might dare a theft of the Crown Jewels. Though he’d already had a few of his regular informants making such inquiries since Alexandra’s first visit to Scotland Yard. Thieves did like to boast, so it stood to reason that word of such an audacious attempt would have already spread.

So far, they’d come up with nothing.

But one man knew something, or at least he’d been close to someone who did, and as much as Ben didn’t fancy risking another beating from his brutes, he had to speak to Jack Demming again.

He made his way to Southwark and visited the man’s haunts with no success. Then he recalled that Howe’s mother lived in Southwark. Ben had memorized everything in the file about the man whose death still weighed on his conscience. And now, from Demming himself, he knew that lady who lived not far from St. George’s Cathedral was Demming’s mother too.

Ben waited at a park within sight of the woman’s address for nearly an hour and was on the verge of simply knocking when he was finally rewarded. Demming strode out the front door, lifted his collar against the nip in the air, and headed north.

He kept expecting the man to hail a cab, but Demming walked like a man possessed by a purpose. Within a quarter of an hour, Ben was warmed from the walk and recognized that Demming was heading toward Waterloo Station.

It was easy to blend in among the crowd filling the busy station, but easier still to lose sight of Demming too. The man didn’t go to the main ticket counter, he approached a special station—the Necropolis station.

Ben’s gut clenched when he spied the station’s familiar sign. He knew the place where Demming was leading him.

The special terminus allowed travelers to board trains set aside to convey them to Brookwood Cemetery. It was one of the largest cemeteries near London, designed to help diminish the overcrowding of London’s older cemeteries. The land for Brookwood was spacious enough for thousands of plots, and Ben knew Amos Howe had been laid to rest in its grounds.

George had been too. Helen had been impressed with the philosophy behind its design and the fact that it had not been set aside exclusively for the rich or the poor.

After Demming’s train departed, Ben bought a ticket for the next.

He knew where he’d find him. He’d been to Howe’s grave once before to pay his own respects.

Though as the train wound its way toward Surrey, guilt gnawed at him. He crossed his arms, then loosened the knot of his tie, but nothing would ease the tension. He’d not visited George’s grave since the burial, all in an attempt to avoid the guilt that assailed him now.

But emotions couldn’t be willed away. Meeting Alexandra had shown him that. He couldn’t deny what she evoked in him no matter how hard he tried, and he had no desire to try.

Even if he told himself he’d mastered stoicism at work, it was an illusion. He cared deeply about the victims he encountered in his work, about finding answers, solving cases.

And he couldn’t bury the guilt he felt over George’s death deep enough to save himself from facing it.

The irony wasn’t lost on him that Jack Demming was leading him toward that reckoning because he was a faithful brother.

Exiting the train, he took in deep lungfuls of fresh air and rolled his shoulders. He could face this place again. And once this case was resolved, he’d face George again too.

Demming stood silently at his brother’s grave, head bowed, his broad shoulders hunched.

The thief had come alone, and that was a boon for Ben, since he still had healing bruises from their last encounter. Still, he approached slowly, and the grass did an excellent job of masking his footsteps.

“Didn’t think you’d follow me this far,”

Demming said when Ben was only a few steps away.

“When did you know?”

Demming turned back, a bemused look on his face. “Not as subtle as you think you are, Detective.”

Ben glanced around, wondering if he’d walked straight into some snare the thief had set. But there were no men lurking behind the cemetery’s trees.

“What do you want with me, Drake?”

Demming rocked on his heels and cast another glance Ben’s way. “Or did you come to pay your respects to my brother too?”

Ben approached until they were shoulder to shoulder, both staring down at Howe’s modest marker.

“Do you know the man who killed your brother?”

Demming scoffed, gesturing at the ground. “Amos didn’t even give you the man’s name and look where ’e is.”

“Don’t you yearn to see him caught? For Amos’s sake?”

Demming glared at him. “Not that simple. As you well know.”

“You fear M that much?”

“I ain’t a fool, whatever you think. Got minions everywhere, he does. And riches to spare. Bastard can buy anyone. Manipulate anyone. Want to know the maddest part?”

“I want to know his name.”

Ben resisted the urge to haul Demming back with him, throw him in a cell, and let him sweat awhile before doing his damnedest to get the name out of him.

“Devil of a man. Doesn’t care if ’e succeeds. Blackmail. Theft. Corruption. It’s all a game for ’im.”

“So he wants us chasing our tails.”

Demming grunted, but a smile began to inch up the edges of his mouth. “It’s working, ain’t it?”

Ben clenched his teeth and shot a glance over his shoulder. George’s plot wasn’t far away, and guilt warred with frustration inside his chest.

“Someone back there?”

Demming didn’t turn, but Ben sensed the tension in his stance.

“No, no one. I have family here too.”

For the first time, Demming looked at him with something other than loathing and distrust.

“My brother,”

Ben said quietly.

“So you’ve been ’ere.”

“Not in a long while.”

He looked at Demming directly. “Too long.”

Demming dipped his head, considering.

Ben willed him to relent, to give him something. Anything.

“You’ve probably already met ’im.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Likes disguises, he does. Might ’ave already left you something that will tell you ’is name too.”

Demming turned, took a step closer. “A game, Drake,”

he whispered gruffly. “Never forget the rotter’s playing a game.” He raised a fist and Ben clenched his own hands, ready to defend himself.

Instead, Demming raised the fist to his mouth and seemed to be overcome. “Amos. Me. You. We’re all just pieces for ’im to move about.”

“Then help me stop him. Lead me to him. Give me anything.”

The thief’s eyes were bleak and glassy, as if the grief had come back sharp. “The devil’s already circling. Sooner or later, ’e’ll come to you.”

The boy came into Princes a quarter of an hour before Allie would usually begin turning down the gaslights. Mr. Gibson was already busy with the day’s-end tidying of his workshop.

“Are you Miss Prince, then?”

the lad asked, his forehead bunched in concentration as if he’d had to search a crowd for her in the empty shop.

“I am indeed.”

Allie strode toward the boy, who rocked and shifted as he stood before her. He exuded a palpable energy, like a bird alighting for a moment but eager to take flight once again.

As soon as she drew near, the boy shoved a folded and sealed square of paper at her.

“Message from Detective Inspector Drake, miss.”

Allie’s pulse ticked up as she retrieved the folded paper. Was Ben hurt or in trouble?

The boy watched her with fierce intensity, and she realized he intended to wait until she’d read the note.

Allie unsealed the wax and found a short message that immediately put her mind at ease and brought a smile to her face.

Could you call around at Hanson Street this evening?

—Ben

“Any reply, miss?”

At the boy’s expectant look, she dug into the pocket of her skirt and pulled out a coin.

“No reply, but please take this for your trouble.”

“Thank you, miss.”

He polished the coin on his lapel and slipped it into his pocket.

Allie expected him to run out the door to expend some of his pent-up energy, but he shocked her by lingering.

“Least it made you smile,”

he said, gesturing to the note. “Duke’s messages often don’t.”

“Oh?”

She’d have to ask Ben about his nickname. The sergeant at Scotland Yard had used it too. “Is the inspector very fierce?”

The boy immediately shook his head. “Not unless you’ve crossed the law, so see that ya don’t.”

He gave her a cheeky wink and lifted his cap. “Good day to you, Miss Prince.”

“And to you, good sir.”

This time, he did fly. He was through the door and out of sight before she drew her next breath.

“Anything amiss?”

Mr. Gibson had donned his coat and hat and approached the main store counter.

“Not at all.”

Allie closed her hand around Ben’s message.

“A message from Inspector Drake?”

He asked the question lightly, as if he wasn’t sure of the answer, but she knew as well as he did that conversations in the front of the shop carried to the back.

“I’m going to visit him this evening.”

Allie watched for the older man’s reaction.

In true Mr. Gibson style, he gave nothing away.

“I suppose you think me scandalous.”

“How could I?”

He took a few steps closer. “I was in love myself once, you know.”

“We haven’t declared—”

He lifted a hand to stop her, though Allie already felt heat seeping into her cheeks.

“I’m pleased for you, Miss Prince.”

He tutted and dipped his chin. “You know your own mind.”

“It hasn’t always felt that way.”

She’d been waiting for so long. Waiting to be included in her family’s adventures. Waiting for her moment to shine.

“I believe it’s always been true.”

He assessed her, but his gaze held warmth and kindness. “You need not live up to anything, you know. You’re clever and spirited and must carve your own path.”

Such a summation from a man who usually avoided emotion felt a bit like receiving an unexpected gift.

“Thank you, Mr. Gibson.”

“Of course.”

He smiled and tipped his hat at her. “Now, I must be off. Good evening to you, Miss Prince.”

He headed for the front door in his usual clipped gait, but he stopped at the threshold and turned back to her.

“Lord Holcroft’s diamond will be finished on time. He asked for it to be delivered Monday. The chips alone will make for fine jewelry pieces.”

“Wonderful.”

“I’m glad to know he wasn’t some ne’er-do-well.”

Allie chuckled. “I’m very relieved too.”

He nodded and then headed out into the chilly autumn evening. After dousing all the lights and checking that all the shop’s most valuable items were locked away, Allie did the same.

She wanted to rush over to see Ben immediately, but she headed home first to wash and change into something finer than the serviceable black skirt and white shirt she’d worn to work.

A little over half an hour after leaving Princes, she stood on his doorstep.

She only knocked once before he opened the door and reached for her.

He took her hand and led her to the drawing room, and she was on the verge of asking if his sister was at home when he closed the door and wrapped her in his arms.

The kiss was the sweetest welcome she’d ever had in her life. His lips were warm and eager, and she clutched at his shirtfront, every bit as hungry for him.

He threaded his fingers in the hair at her nape, and a pin slipped free.

“Forgive me.”

He whispered the words against her lips and then bent to retrieve the fallen pin.

“Don’t ever apologize for that sort of welcome.”

She opened her hand, and he laid the escaped pin in her palm. “I could get used to being greeted in that manner.”

He smiled at that and watched her as she replaced the pin, his gaze roving over the features of her face as if he was memorizing the sight of her.

“I take it you’re pleased to see me.”

No one had ever looked at her the way Ben did, as if she was as fascinating as a gem with endless facets.

“I am always pleased to see you, but I didn’t even give you a chance to take off your coat.”

He moved behind her as he spoke, then reached around for the lapels of her coat.

Allie grasped his hands, savoring the feel of having his arms around her.

“Are you all right?”

He tilted his head to look at her.

“Just enjoying the moment.”

She shrugged out of her coat and spun to face him. “Was your day as interesting as mine?”

His warm, welcoming smile didn’t match the two carved lines between his brows.

“Oh. Something’s troubling you.”

Allie reached up to stroke her finger across the lines. “What is it?”

“It’s rather terrifying how easily you read me now.”

He cupped her cheek. “There’s something I must do before I tell you about my day.”

“What is it?”

He swept his thumb across her lower lip. “This.”

As soon as the word was out, his lips met hers, and she clutched at his shoulder. The heat of his breath sent a warm trickle of pleasure all the way to her toes.

He took his time kissing her tonight, as if he was tasting, savoring. As if she were delicious, and he couldn’t get enough. No one had ever touched her so intimately, so tenderly.

In his arms, she felt safe, wanted. Their connection wasn’t something she’d been seeking, but it felt as if it was precisely what she needed.

“Tell me what’s troubling you,”

she urged when he lifted his head and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Then I’ll tell you my news.”

He drew her over to a chair by the fire. Then he lifted another cushioned chair to bring over, and she frowned.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Do we need two chairs?”

He grinned and set the second chair down. After sitting in the one by the fire, he lifted his hand to her. She took it and settled onto his lap.

“Much better,”

she said with a satisfied smile.

He chuckled.

Images came into her mind of a lifetime of evenings seated before the fire on his lap, both of them recounting the events of their day.

Though marriage hadn’t been anything she’d ever yearned for, she quite liked the idea of such a future with him.

“Tell me what’s causing these this evening.”

She ran her fingertip gently along the ridges between his brows again.

Ben took a breath. “There was an attempt on the Crown Jewels.”

She gripped his shoulder hard. “And we didn’t stop it.”

The guilt she felt shocked her. As if she’d failed in some way.

“No, sweetheart.”

He stroked a hand down her back. “There was only an attempt. Nothing was stolen. They weren’t successful.”

“And were they caught?”

Ben worked his jaw, and that was all the answer she needed.

“They were not. But I promise you they will be.”

Before M, he’d had a perfect record of solving every case assigned to him. He was determined to retain that record. M wouldn’t elude him forever, and these would-be thieves would be caught too.

“I know you’ll find them.”

She gripped his shoulder again. This time more tenderly.

He appreciated her faith in him, though he’d done little since they’d met to impress her with his record as a detective.

“Tell me your news,”

he urged her.

“Well, it’s not unrelated, I suppose.”

“Oh?”

“Lord Holcroft came into the shop again. This time I spoke to him.”

She looked pensive, as if recalling the exchange. “I no longer think he is the man I saw at Hawlston’s. He came in to deliver his uncut diamond, and he was . . .”

“He was what?”

“Different than when he came before. Jovial and talkative. Kind. The more I spoke to him, the more I knew he was not the other man.”

“Who we can now suspect may have been involved in an attempt on the Crown Jewels.”

She clenched her fist where it lay against his chest. “I wish I could remember something to help you identify him. Or any of the other men who were with him.”

“Fitz, the man I hired to monitor Hawlston’s, will remain on the job for a few more days. Perhaps they’ll return.”

Allie thought it unlikely, and she suspected Ben did too.

“This is an official investigation now. We’ll question all of the coffeehouse staff.”

“Mrs. Cline won’t be happy with that.”

“Mmm.”

He grinned. “What I’m trying to say is that your lead may still prove crucial.”

Allie would like the men in the shop to be found and questioned, at the very least, but most important was finding those responsible for the attempt on the Crown Jewels.

“Are you hungry?”

Ben pulled her in a bit closer. “Mrs. Pratt will have dinner waiting.”

She didn’t want to leave this spot. Her hunger was for him. Nothing else. “Must we leave this room to eat?”

“No. We can have trays sent in.”

She was being selfish. Perhaps he was hungry for something more substantial than snuggling by the fire.

“Not yet,”

she told him. “Kiss me first.”

Ben trailed his fingers along the curve of her cheek, then slid his hand along the line of her throat. That touch melted her insides, and she considered whether they could make love right there in the chair.

“If I kiss you,”

he murmured, his eyes locked on hers, “I won’t ever want to stop.”

“Not ever?”

He bent and caught her lower lip between his teeth, then soothed the bite with a flick of his tongue.

“Not ever.”