Page 5 of The Duke and Lady Scandal (Princes of London #1)

The detective inspector was gruff and hard-edged, as if all the features of his handsome face had been sculpted by a sharp chisel. He had a maddening stillness about him, and she suspected it would take a great deal to ruffle the man. As troubled as she’d been by what she heard, his reaction had been . . . lacking.

It certainly hadn’t generated enough concern to read it in his expression, though she’d searched for some sign of disquiet.

And then she’d got lost in studying him—the long angle of his jaw, the contrast of such full lips, and the cleft in his square chin—which troubled her even more. He was distractingly appealing and didn’t even seem to know it.

He stood from behind his desk, and Allie braced herself for the same sort of admonitions she’d heard from her brother. Warnings about acting on impulse. Or worse, Inspector Drake might be the kind of gentleman who assumed ladies were given to hysteria and overreaction by their very nature.

She was struck again by his height and the breadth of him. Wide shoulders stretched the fabric of his suit coat, and whatever muscles hid under his shirtfront, they were substantial enough to cause the fabric around his buttons to pull taut whenever he shifted.

Every time they did, her gaze riveted on the spot, wondering if one might give way. And then what? She had a scandalous curiosity about what might lie beneath the starched fabric. But every time the thought struck, she’d gather her wits and look up to find him watching her with a hard stare.

Inspector Drake could intimidate by brawniness alone, and she wondered at the fresh abrasions on his knuckles and the drops of blood on his shirt. She wouldn’t favor any criminal’s odds when faced with this man’s wrath.

He was precisely the opposite of what she’d expected. If Haverstock was Lord Wellingdon’s friend, she’d expected a man of a similar age. Wizened and yet dignified. Somehow, she couldn’t imagine Inspector Drake answering to such a man. To anyone. There was a sort of controlled power about him. He struck her as a man who followed society’s rules but didn’t much like to.

“Miss Prince . . .”

Allie clenched her jaw and steeled herself.

“I haven’t known you an hour and yet I cannot imagine you as anyone’s fool.”

“Oh.”

He paused as if he wished to let his assessment sink in.

“I have no doubt you heard the conversation exactly as you described, and I can understand the impulse . . .”

“It wasn’t simply impulse—”

“Allow me to finish.”

He held up a hand. “I think,”

he continued, “that you truly wished to do the right thing. And you couldn’t ignore that impulse.”

For a moment, Allie stood speechless. Stunned. He stated so simply what she struggled to make her siblings understand. Nothing about the inspector led her to believe he might understand her in the slightest. Indeed, he possessed a coldness she’d expect of a man with blood on his hands. And his jaw was rigid whenever she spoke, as if he was biting his tongue to repress the urge to toss her from his office.

“I appreciate that you don’t think me foolish,”

she finally managed when her shock began to wane. “But is there anything that can be done?”

He’d just pointed out that she wasn’t a fool, and she quite agreed, so she already knew the answer to her question. She’d given him very little to go on and could not identify any of the men. Inspector Drake seemed to imply that the tallest man may have been purposely obscuring his appearance.

“Never mind,”

she put in before he could answer. “I’ve given you no thread to chase, have I?”

“I can’t imagine the men you overheard will make a habit of discussing such a plot in the same coffeehouse.”

“No. In fact, two of the men didn’t want to discuss the matter at all.”

Drake nodded slowly, as if pondering that fact. “Then perhaps what you witnessed was a proposed plot falling apart. Such a venture would be the greatest of risks and only the most committed of confederates could carry it off.”

“Yes, that makes sense.”

Allie felt a bit of relief and an odd flare of luck that she’d been directed to Inspector Drake rather than Sir Felix.

“I’m glad you think me sensible,”

he said with utter seriousness.

“Detectives must be, mustn’t they?”

“Ideally, yes.”

His square jaw shifted and for a moment Allie thought he might smile.

She was breathless for it to happen. What might this imposing force of a man look like with a smile softening his features?

But the moment dissipated like smoke from a doused candle flame, and he tightened all his hard edges, squaring his jaw, rising impossibly taller, and hardening those eyes that were so dark in the low light that she couldn’t discern their shade.

“I have a good deal to be getting on with, Miss Prince.”

Allie couldn’t resist a glance at his injured hand and her imagination conjured wild possibilities of what Inspector Drake’s workday might entail.

“I won’t take up any more of your time.”

Allie offered the man a nod. “Good day, Inspector. I hope those cuts don’t sting too much.”

He shot a look down at his hand, almost as if he’d forgotten the appendage was attached to his brawny arm.

She turned on her heel, headed to the door, and felt an odd sense of disappointment. Just as Dom claimed she had a terrible propensity to do, she’d rushed in. Logically speaking, she had no real cause to involve the police when the trio might have merely been chattering with no real intent beyond their bluster.

And yet something in her gut told her otherwise. She sensed that somewhere in London, a plot was unfolding. If not involving all three men, then at least the tall one. The menace she’d felt when he’d stared at her in the alleyway made her shiver even now.

“Miss Prince.”

Drake had followed her out into the hallway.

“Yes?”

When Allie turned, he loomed just beyond the frame of his office door, and a sconce lit all the features of his face. She swallowed hard because she could tell now. His eyes. They were moss green but laced with streaks of amber.

“I must warn you—”

“Green amber,”

she heard herself say.

Out loud.

Good heavens, she’d blurted the words, and of course he hadn’t a clue what she meant. Actually, it was probably less mortifying if he didn’t know that his eye color had inspired her outburst.

He glowered and tilted his head a fraction in confusion. “I beg your pardon.”

“It’s very rare,”

was all she could manage before her cheeks lit on fire and she spun and rushed away from him as fast as her legs could carry her.

She exited the building and kept walking, rushing so quickly she inspired a few shocked looks from passersby.

Across the street and around a corner, she finally stopped to catch her breath. To lean against the chilled stone of the building at her back and will her cheeks to cool.

She closed her eyes and wished for the thousandth time that her tongue didn’t occasionally mumble whatever popped into her head.

Green amber.

Allie let out a huff of exasperation. The man had been kind enough to tell her she wasn’t a fool. She was absolutely certain her little outburst had changed that assessment.

Of course, what she’d said was true. Green amber was rare. They’d taken in a vase made of it once, a thousand-year-old beauty crafted in South America, and she’d been heartbroken when her father sold it soon after to a collector.

None of that explained why she’d been possessed with an urge to destroy whatever meager goodwill the detective had for her.

Luckily, they’d never cross paths again, and she was done with blurting and rushing in and making mountains out of molehills.

She set off toward Princes, thankful for the mile-and-a-half walk to put distance between herself and the gruff police detective with injured hands and lovely eyes.

When she reached Trafalgar Square, she got distracted by a cart selling roasted chestnuts and the minute she slowed her pace, a thought popped into her head.

Inspector Drake had tried to warn her about something, and she’d cut him off.

Warn her about what?

“You look a great deal worse for wear, Benedict.”

Drake looked up to find his sister standing over the wingback he’d dropped into as soon as he got home. He hadn’t even heard her come into the townhouse they shared.

“I must have dozed off.”

Hours ago, he’d stoked the fire in the grate and slumped into his favorite chair and hadn’t moved since. The dog he’d rescued from M’s townhouse hadn’t moved from where he’d settled near Drake’s chair either.

He reached down to scratch the dog between the ears. Helen suggested they call him Cerberus after the guardian dog of Greek myth. Drake had taken to calling him Bedford after the square where he’d found him.

“I suppose I should be glad you got some rest. I’ve hardly seen you the last few evenings.”

Helen worked long hours too, yet she always managed to look entirely put together and ready to take on the next task. Even now, she examined him with a bright, assessing gaze, the way she might a prospective patient at the clinic she practically ran.

“Is that your blood on your clothes or someone else’s?”

She bent for a closer look. “Someone clipped the edge of your jaw, didn’t they? There’s the merest hint of a bruise. Those abrasions on your knuckles need to be cleaned properly.”

“Anything else, Doctor Drake?”

“Don’t tease me on that score today.”

Sniffing in irritation, she strode to a side table where their chessboard sat. Alma, an elderly cat Helen had rescued months ago, sat in a perfect rounded loaf beside it.

He and Helen played each other at a leisurely pace, but it had been days since either had made a move. Helen selected a pawn as if to move it, but seemed to think better of it and set it down again. Instead, she stroked Alma’s orange-striped fur.

“Dr. Porter reminded me today that I am not a doctor and have no say when it comes to treatment for our patients.”

“Bloody pompous fool. You could be an asset to him if he’d allow it.”

Drake sat forward in his chair. “We’ve saved enough between us, Helen. You should apply to medical school—”

“Oh, I fully intend to.”

She gestured across the hall to the small room she’d claimed as a study. “I’ve begun working on my application materials, but there will always be those like Porter who believe men should retain the highest rungs of power, whether in medicine or politics or industry.”

He had never met a more capable woman than his sister, but he knew she was right. He also knew society was changing as the new century approached, and he welcomed that change, especially if it meant increased opportunities for many rather than privilege for a very few.

“If we’re lucky, progress will steamroll right over such men.”

She scooped up another of her rescue cats, a kitten she called Milly, and shot him a dubious look as she settled into the chair next to his and gestured toward him. “Are there more injuries I can’t see?”

“Nothing to fuss about.”

His sister made a little grumbling noise as she always did when he deflected one of her questions. “I know you won’t divulge details of your cases, but can you at least tell me if the one that caused you so many sleepless nights the past weeks is at an end?”

“It is.”

For the most part. He couldn’t tell her, or anyone, about M, but the conundrum of how to catch the man was ever on his mind.

“Thank goodness for that.”

The relieved sigh his sister let out echoed in Drake’s chest too. He wanted done with any matter involving royals and the sins of the heir to the throne. It cleared the way for other cases.

“And what does Haverstock say about advancement?”

Drake worked his jaw and fought the biting response uppermost in his mind. “He said not yet but ‘soon.’?”

Helen frowned. “Well, that’s utter bollocks.”

He chuckled. “My sentiments exactly.”

“I’m sorry, Ben. But what you do still matters a great deal. Many of your cases have stopped men from doing further harm and achieved a measure of peace for their victims.”

“Yes, but forever answering to Haverstock or another superior isn’t my goal. I can do more from the top than from the middle.”

“You’ll get there.”

She inhaled and smiled. “I smell stew. Did Mrs. Pratt get any of it down you yet?”

They could only afford a staff of two and were blessed with a housekeeper who was also a fine cook.

“Not yet. I suspect she left me to sleep until you came home.”

“Indeed, I did, Mr. Drake.”

The tall, steel-haired woman who managed their household with the same efficiency with which Helen ran her clinic appeared in the drawing room doorway as if she’d been waiting for mention of her name. “Everything’s been laid out in the dining room. Unless you’d prefer trays in here.”

Taking supper together in front of the fire was a habit built in childhood when meals were irregular and they didn’t know when their next might come. Now they both put in long hours, and meals were catch-as-catch-can. It was rare for them to gather to eat together in front of a fire as they had so many years ago before they’d fled their mother’s lodgings.

“Dining in here sounds nice,”

Helen told Mrs. Pratt, who returned soon after with two prepared trays.

“Were there many cases waiting for you when this one was done?”

Helen asked after her first bite of stew.

Ben shot her a look and she returned a soft smile.

“I suppose the better question is how many are you juggling at once?”

“Plenty. As are you.”

Ben swallowed a swig of tea and shifted to study his sister. “You look a bit put out yourself. Is it Mrs. Dowd?”

Among her many patients, one had found a special place in his sister’s heart.

“Actually, she’s been sent home.”

Helen’s voice cracked and she sipped tea to cover it.

“Is she well enough to be on her own?”

“Of course not, but I’m not the consulting doctor and the argument was made that we need the space for other patients.”

“You know as much as that bloody doctor, if not more, particularly about Mrs. Dowd.”

“Mmm.”

She stared into the fire as if giving the whole matter thought, though he knew she wouldn’t push as he would. She wouldn’t demand that Dr. Porter give her the respect she deserved. It wasn’t his sister’s way.

They were different. Helen preferred to work quietly, her head down, helping as many as she could and did not worry overly about being recognized for any of it. She knew her worth.

Her conscience wasn’t burdened like his was.

“We could take turns visiting Mrs. Dowd,”

he offered quietly.

His sister turned a surprised look his way. “You really wish to add something more to your load?”

“You do charity work, your nursing duties, your studies, and yet I’m sure you’ve already made plans to visit her. I can stop by and visit from time to time too.”

She pressed her lips together—usually a sign that she wished to decline but struggled with a polite way to do so. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea, Ben.”

“Why not?”

In this respect, he found his sister maddening. Not asking for help and not accepting it when it was offered were quite different, and she was stubbornly independent to the extreme.

“She’s a fragile older woman and, frankly, has a nervous constitution. You can be rather . . . gruff. And a strange man at her door might frighten her.”

“A strange, gruff man,”

he grumbled teasingly.

Helen waved at hand at him. “Stop being difficult. You know what I mean.”

Then she seemed to soften. “I know you are capable of great kindness, enormous care.”

She glanced down at Bedford as if seeking proof. “And I know most of all that you always try to do the right thing. Believe me, I know that.”

Ben swallowed hard. “Let’s not talk about the past tonight.”

By mentioning the right thing he knew that his sister couldn’t fail to recall the time he did precisely the wrong thing with regard to their younger brother, George. He’d been too high-handed, and yet also oblivious to how lost their brother had become. As the eldest, he should have protected him, guided him, better. He’d failed George, and the consequences haunted him still.

“I didn’t intend to bring any of that up.”

More quietly, Helen added, “But I forgive you, and one day you must forgive yourself.”

Ben took a long draw of tea, not meeting her gaze. “Let us solve it this way. You ask Mrs. Dowd if I may visit, and I’ll go if I’m wanted.”

She winced. “I shall try, but the poor dear may not recall our conversation by the time you arrive.”

She shook her head and tears welled in her eyes. “I feel for her so. Loss of memory must be terrifying, especially when you’re alone.”

“Yes.”

Though there were memories Ben would far rather forget, the sharpness of his mind was his main tool. One he planned to use to find M and, one day, reach Haverstock’s position. And higher.

“Well, I’ll await word from you, but I will visit if it would help.”

“Thank you. It’s good of you to offer.”

Helen pushed her stew bowl away and clasped her hands around her teacup. As soon as she settled back in her chair, Milly resumed her napping spot on Helen’s lap. His sister studied him until the back of his neck began to itch from the intense assessment.

“What?”

he finally asked.

“I don’t know. You seem . . . different.”

Ben swallowed down a bite of stew. “Perhaps it’s the case. It took a bit out of me.”

“No, no, I didn’t mean it in a bad way. You asking to visit Mrs. Dowd.”

She shrugged. “You’re usually so focused on your work that you’d never consider giving time to anything else.”

Ben tensed, fearing where this conversation may lead.

“You don’t even take time for friends or other engagements.”

She shot him a speaking look. “Perhaps you should. There is more to life than work.”

He laughed at that, the sound bursting out of him. “Have you met yourself, Miss Drake?”

Her brows dipped and her mouth set in the stubborn way he’d known since childhood. “I do have friends, brother. I have friends I see when I do charity work, when I attend my ladies’ clubs.”

There was no denying that she had one of the busiest calendars of anyone he’d ever known. No one could do as much with a twenty-four-hour day.

Contemplating him a moment longer, she finally approached the point she often did. “One day, you’ll want more than work.”

Ben let out a groan. “Please, Helen, not tonight. No mention of wedlock.”

She crossed her arms. A sure sign that she’d not yet finished haranguing him. “Very well. I won’t say the word, especially as I appreciate you not mentioning it to me. Many older brothers would to their spinster sisters.”

“Thank you.”

He eased back in his chair. Bedford settled down too, stretching out in front of the hearth and emitting a contented sigh. They all seemed to relish the fire’s warmth.

But Helen was musing. He could all but hear her mind whirring. “What about Lavinia Haverstock? Is she what’s caused the change I see in you tonight?”

He pinched the bridge of his nose and wished he’d never mentioned Haverstock’s preoccupation with pairing Ben with his daughter.

“It is not Miss Haverstock, I assure you.”

Helen busied herself selecting a biscuit from the plate of treats Mrs. Pratt had provided for dessert. “Is it another lady, then?”

Ben glanced at her and then forced his gaze back to the dregs of his tea.

In that single look, she’d seen something, because her face lit with a mischievous smile. “It is,”

she said in whispered wonder. “I knew something had gotten under your skin.”

“There is nothing under my skin, thank you very much. And it’s not a lady in the way you think.”

“Then how is it?”

“A young woman came to my office today.”

Mentioning her allowed him to fully recall the details of the encounter, thoughts of which he’d been pushing away all day. “She was surprising. Memorable.”

“Pretty?”

Helen asked, still smiling.

“Very pretty,”

he told her honestly. “She had a spark about her.”

“Good heavens, now you’re smiling.”

“I’m not.”

Ben tried to wipe away all emotion as he did at work.

“So why did this lady call on you? Do members of the public often come up to those offices?”

“They don’t. The whole encounter was out of the ordinary.”

“And memorable.”

She lifted the teapot and poured him more when he nodded, then filled her own cup.

“She had something to report that she thought the police should know.”

Helen scrutinized him, waiting for more. “If you won’t tell me what she said, tell me why she made such an impression? Other than being very pretty, of course.”

“Something she blurted as she left.”

He looked at his sister, feeling as befuddled as he had in that moment. “Green amber. Have you ever heard of such a thing?”

Helen pondered and then shook her head. “I can’t say I have. I’ve always thought amber was gold or umber in color.”

“She mentioned that too.”

He leaned forward in his chair. “She said it’s rare.”

“As she must be to have so preoccupied your prodigious mind,”

Helen said thoughtfully with not a little glee in her tone.

Ben ignored the provocation, but Miss Prince was there, vivid and full of life in his mind. He’d rarely met someone who exuded such vibrancy. And he liked that there was no pretense about her, no fussiness about etiquette and propriety. He recalled how she’d initially refused to sit and told him plainly that she was too agitated to remain still.

Some feared him upon sight. He was aware that his size and dislike for pleasantries could be off-putting. Gruff, as Helen pointed out. But Miss Prince showed no fear.

If only things hadn’t ended so awkwardly, he might have—

“So, when will you see this rare spark of a young woman again?”

Helen asked quietly.

“I doubt I will.”

Saying as much aloud irked him, though he knew it was logical and for the best.

To his surprise, Helen chuckled a moment later.

“What?”

“Benedict Drake, you’re one of the most trustworthy men I know, and yet I doubt the veracity of that pronouncement.”

She sipped her tea while watching him over the rim, trying to read his reaction. “And I think you do too.”