Page 6 of The Duke and Lady Scandal (Princes of London #1)

Princes of London sparkled on the tidy London street where it sat. Not only were its windows clean enough to gleam in the glow of autumn sunlight, but the bits and bobs on the other side shone in gold and silver and the rainbow glint of faceted gems. The shop had a charm about it. Its two front windows bowed out slightly, beckoning passersby to stop and stare at the treasures within, and in the few minutes Drake had been standing across the street, hidden under the awning of a bookshop a few doors down, several had paused to behold the gewgaws beyond the glass.

He didn’t give a damn about antiquities, but he could appreciate the shop’s appeal. And he told himself it had nothing to do with the lovely young woman he’d likely find inside if he ventured in.

But, of course, he wouldn’t enter the shop or seek out Miss Prince. That’s not why he’d come. Her visit to headquarters had prompted this one, but he didn’t need to see her again. In fact, he knew he should avoid her. He’d replayed her visit to the office and that moment when he’d touched her often enough to recognize that the lady was a distraction he needed to get out of his head. Even if curiosity made him wish to solve the mystery of whatever the hell green amber meant.

His goal was to get a look at Hawlston’s Coffeehouse, though he knew the odds of encountering the same men she had with a single visit was unlikely. Which was precisely why he’d decided to employ another set of eyes and ears to spend a few days in the place.

Though, currently, his hired eyes and ears was running late.

Ben stepped through the alleyway between the buildings opposite of Princes and slid his watch out to check the time. As he returned it to his waistcoat pocket, a familiar figure ambled toward him, hat brim pulled low and collar stood up against the biting breeze.

“Your punctuality has suffered since leaving the force, Fitz.”

“Couldn’t be helped, Duke. A messy case delayed me. I’m sure you can sympathize.”

His grin was wide and more confident than Ben remembered. “Haverstock have you under a pile of them as usual?”

Arthur Fitzroy had only been a constable for three years before deciding to leave the Metropolitan Police and apprentice himself to a private agent of inquiry. Two years later, he’d split from that gentleman and started his own business as an inquiry agent.

His ambition was as keen as Ben’s own and every bit as impatient.

“The old dragon keeps me busy.”

“Aye, I’ll bet. Knows what he’s found in you, he does.”

Fitz leaned in. “Though I tell you, Duke, there is coin to be made working for oneself. And no fire-breathing Haverstock to wield power over you.”

Ben allowed himself a half smile, though he didn’t meet Fitzroy’s gaze. It wasn’t that he hadn’t considered breaking off on his own. He had, especially as he bristled under Haverstock’s hold. But more than a path to quick income, he longed for power and position. Respect and achievement. To his thinking, that could only be found within the police force.

“I’ll stay where I am for now.”

“And take Haverstock’s throne one day, you will.”

Fitz assessed the shops along Moulton Street, his nose twitching and eyes narrowing as he chafed his hands together. “What is it you have for me?”

“How do you feel about becoming a regular at that coffeehouse across the street for a week or two?”

Fitz quirked his brow and moved to the mouth of the alley, squinting at the cafe as if expecting to detect something nefarious from its reddish-brown brick facade and chalkboards listing the day’s offerings.

“I can do that, but what for?”

“Observation and the reporting of anything suspicious. This is to be quietly done. Not a word to anyone.”

“I do understand discretion, Duke,”

Fitz drawled, clearly offended by the reminder.

“Good.”

Ben strode through the gap between buildings again to get a better look at Hawlston’s.

“We’ve had a tip that a group of men were heard discussing a plan to steal—”

Ben’s brain stalled when he caught sight of her. Chestnut hair, flushed cheeks, hands moving as she talked.

Miss Alexandra Prince stood inside her family’s shop and leaned into the front display, moving items aside to place an elaborately decorated vase in a prime spot nearest the window. Whether she was singing to herself or speaking to someone, he couldn’t be certain. But in between dusting, she talked and gestured with her hands.

“Steal?”

Fitz prompted from behind him.

“Something the Crown would not like to be parted from.”

Ben thought it best to keep the details to himself.

Fitz whistled. “Stealing from the Crown would require some sizable bollocks.”

“Or a taste for risk and an oversized ego.”

Ben glanced back at his former colleague. “We’ve both known thieves who overestimated their skill.”

“Mmm,”

Fitz murmured in agreement. “And gadded about as if they had a cat’s nine lives.”

“We’d like to cut this one off at the planning stages, if there is a plan. You’d simply be testing the validity of the tip.”

“And you don’t care to handle this officially?”

“The moment I know the tip is sound, I will.”

“Got it.”

Fitzroy clasped his hands and stretched his fingers, as if he was about to begin an activity that required dexterity. “Who should I be on the watch for?”

Ben winced. “I have nothing terribly concrete to offer on that score, I’m afraid. Three men in dark clothing. One is tall, dark bearded, and wears darkened lenses.”

Fitz jerked back and frowned. “Not a great deal to latch onto there.”

“Agreed, but you’ll be listening for any talk of theft or jewels.”

Ben glanced at him. “While blending in seamlessly.”

“Jewels?”

Fitz’s eyes widened. “Stealing jewels from the royals would be wildly audacious. I’m assuming you’ve taken a look at known jewel thieves.”

Ben had reviewed the files of a few and asked Ransome to find others. None that had ever been taken into custody were notably tall.

Fitz stepped forward and darted his gaze around at the various shops lining the street. “I can say I’m a new employee at one of these shops, eager to warm my cold hands around a cuppa.”

When Fitz started across the street, Ben tapped his arm to hold him back.

“Let me have a look first.”

As he spoke the words, he kept his gaze locked on Miss Prince, who still arranged items and then reached out to dust a few. The lady remained in near constant motion, just as she had the morning before. He’d expected she’d soon step back farther into the shop’s interior and there’d be less chance of her spotting him.

“What are you waiting for, Duke?”

“The right moment.”

Ben wasn’t certain why tension tightened his gut at the thought of catching Miss Prince’s notice. Perhaps because the woman lingered too stubbornly in his thoughts already, and she was the sort of distraction he couldn’t afford.

He felt Fitz’s gaze on him and sensed the man’s impatience, and Miss Prince had finally retreated so far into the shop that he couldn’t see her through the glass.

This delaying to avoid her was ridiculous.

“Wait here until I return,”

he told Fitz and then strode toward Hawlston’s, keeping his focus on the coffeehouse’s front door.

Inside, dense, warm coffee-scented air enveloped him and he took in the groupings of men gathered around tables. A few seemed like they might be tall in stature, though it was hard to tell when a man was hunched over a cup. None wore the dark glasses Miss Prince had mentioned. Aside from lining up the lot of them along the wall, he couldn’t get a good look at most of the men’s faces.

Ben entered the queue waiting to order items from the bakery case, and he watched as the proprietress’s expression changed when she recognized a customer and when she did not.

“Good afternoon, sir.”

The lady was sharp-eyed, and he received the same inspection she’d subjected a few other customers to.

“May I speak to you a moment, madam? In private.”

There were others queueing behind him, and Ben didn’t wish to betray his position to anyone who might overhear the questions he intended to ask.

The woman’s brows arched high, and he could see her debating, but after a moment she nodded and called to another young woman to take her place at the counter.

“This way, sir.”

The lady led him to a nook just inside the door of the coffeehouse’s kitchen. Ben suspected it was the nook that Miss Prince had described and then illustrated in diorama form on his desk.

“This can’t take long. I’ve customers to see to. I’m Mrs. Cline and I manage Hawlston’s. Is there a problem, sir?”

“I have no complaints about the shop, Mrs. Cline. My name is Drake,”

he told her, omitting his official position. He’d handled none of this as an official inquiry thus far and didn’t intend to until he knew a real threat existed. “I’m looking for a man who may frequent this coffeehouse.”

The proprietress reached up and fussed with the collar of her high-necked gown. “I can’t recall everyone who walks through the front door. We’re right busy most days.”

“Understood. But this man is distinctive. Quite tall and he wears dark glasses.”

She frowned and shook her head slowly. “I can’t say I know anyone with dark glasses, though we have tall patrons on occasion. Yourself included, Mr. Drake.”

“May I leave my card?”

He pulled one of his personal calling cards from his pocket that listed his home address. “If you see such a man, could you send word to me?”

With a tentative expression, she reached for the card he’d extended. She examined the rectangle of paper he’d given her, and she flicked her gaze up to him with one brow raised.

She pitched her voice low. “Has this gentleman done something dreadful?”

“Not that I’m aware of,”

Drake assured her, “but I’d like to speak to him if he happens to show up again.”

“Very well.”

“Thank you.”

He followed her back out into the main seating area of the coffeehouse, casting his gaze around to ensure the man hadn’t entered while they talked. But the collection of patrons looked much the same as when he’d walked in.

“Would you care for a coffee or anything from the case while you’re here, Mr. Drake?”

He was a tea man through and through and had never yearned for a cup of coffee in his life. But he’d asked the woman for a favor a moment after entering her shop. The least he could do was purchase a cup of her brew.

Fitz still lingered near the shop across the street, darting curious glances at the coffeehouse. He’d make this quick, but it was worth taking the time to build a bit of rapport with Mrs. Cline.

“Coffee sounds just the thing.”

Allie had resisted her usual morning trip to Hawlston’s. The scents wafting from the shop were just as enticing, but the whole matter of the men and the plot and her encounter with one tall, green-eyed detective had unsettled her completely.

She compulsively retraced the men’s conversation in her mind, trying to mine for details. Though there was precious little to unearth. Her two glances at the trio inside the coffeehouse hadn’t provided her with a clear view of any of them. The brief encounter in the alley seemed haziest of all. Her gaze had locked on the gentleman’s dark spectacles and every other detail of his face blurred in her memory.

Such ruminations had kept her up much of the night, and even now, as she unboxed a set of heavy seventeenth-century Florentine candlesticks, all she could think about was whether those three men were next door, hunched over the same table again.

Perhaps they’d enlisted more confederates and composed an entire gang now.

Stop. She was letting her imagination run riot, and doing so rarely got her anywhere. And the truth was that she did not relish the prospect of seeing the ominous tall man again, despite how much she yearned for proof of what she’d heard.

But one tantalizing thought whispered in her mind. What if she could find a real thread to follow?

She could take those details to Inspector Drake, and that prospect made her face heat and her heartbeat jump. Goodness, she’d been so taken with the unique shade of the detective’s eyes that she’d babbled like a fool, but if she could gather real evidence that there was a plot to steal the Crown Jewels, she’d overcome any personal mortification to help prevent it.

Even playing a small role in thwarting such a plot would earn her a bit of the esteem that seemed to come so naturally to other Princes. And Dom and Eve couldn’t argue with her rushing in on this occasion. Not when their own father was best known for retrieving a royal gem.

Perhaps a quick trip over to Hawlston’s was in order.

She glanced at the covered coffee mug Mrs. Cline allowed her to take away and return with to refill with their smokiest coffee. From the rear of the shop, Mr. Gibson whistled contentedly while he worked.

Before heading back to ask him if he wanted anything, the bell above the shop’s door rang and Jo strode in, bringing the scent of crushed autumn leaves and a gust of cool air with her.

Allie smiled when she noticed the book clutched in her friend’s hand.

“Ah, you’ve come to make up for yesterday’s missed book club meeting?”

The shop had been quiet all morning, and she’d happily take her lunch while talking about novels with Jo.

“That’s what I told Mama, of course,”

Jo said as she drew close, keeping her voice low. “But the truth is I must know what happened yesterday with Sir Felix. What did he say?”

Allie came out from behind the counter and led her friend to the two chairs in the corner where they usually convened.

“I didn’t see Sir Felix,”

she admitted. “He wasn’t there, or so I was told, but I was directed to a Detective Inspector Benedict Drake.”

Even saying the man’s name put an odd hitch in her voice. Everything about him was sharp in her mind—his cheekbones, the depth of his voice, the width of his shoulders, and those rare green amber eyes.

Jo’s blue eyes widened. “I’ve heard of him.”

“Have you?”

“I’m certain that Lavinia Haverstock has mentioned that name. He’s a protégé of her father’s. She says Sir Felix is attempting to engineer a match between them, but I can’t tell if she favors it.”

Jo frowned. “The girl is as inscrutable as her father.”

A protégé? Inspector Drake didn’t seem like a protégé. He exuded confidence and control. She imagined he could run all of Scotland Yard one day if his ambition took him that far.

“So did this Inspector Drake take a report about what you overheard?”

“He did listen and asked questions.”

Allie shrugged. “But what could he do? As you pointed out, I can’t identify any of the men.”

Jo stared at the far wall of Princes as if she could see through to the coffeehouse on the other side.

“I was thinking of making a trip over.”

Allie arched a brow at her friend. “Would you like to join me?”

Jo tapped her gloved fingers against the book in her lap. “If I do, you mustn’t tell Mama. She’d never allow me to go into such a place unchaperoned.”

Allie chuckled. “Your mother and I are hardly confidantes.”

She stood and offered her hand to Jo. “Besides, I can serve as your chaperone.”

Jo laughed too. “Oh, if only Mama would allow you to take Mrs. Benning’s place. Every social event I attended would be much more enjoyable.”

Allie pressed her lips together. This was not the time to point out that the countess did not care for her. Lady Wellingdon thought her too untamed. Too independent. And Allie thought Jo’s mother kept her daughter too tightly reined.

“Very well. I shall join you.”

Jo stood too.

“Let me just tell Mr. Gibson.”

Allie headed to the back room and rapped on the door frame of his workshop.

“So you’re finally going over.”

He glanced at the clock on the wall. “You resisted a good long while.”

“I did. I considered the matter before deciding, just as Dominic would have wanted.”

He turned and winked at her in reply.

“May I bring you anything?”

“I’m content with my tea, but do have a care, Miss Prince.”

He tipped his chin and looked at her over his magnifying pince-nez. “Yesterday’s encounter seems to have unsettled you.”

“Which is precisely why I must go back and break its spell. Nothing can be allowed to separate me from Hawlston’s coffee.”

She offered him a smile, hoping it would suffice to reassure him. “I promise to take care and return as quickly as I can.”

“Take your time. I heard Lady Josephine’s voice. Sit and enjoy yourselves.”

“Thank you.”

Allie patted Grendel, who was curled up on a chair in the back room, and slipped her scarf off its hook on the wall before heading out to meet Jo.

“Ready?”

Jo’s only response was a fretful look.

“What if that fearful man you saw is there?”

She laid a hand on Allie’s arm as if to keep her from rushing out the front door. “Surely, he’d recognize you.”

“We don’t even know if he is there. I have a strong feeling he won’t be.”

The more she considered the man, the more Allie suspected he did not frequent Hawlston’s. He wasn’t typical of its customers. He was better dressed than most gentlemen who frequented the coffeehouse, the majority of whom were employed in shops and offices nearby.

“Besides, he doesn’t know I overheard him,”

she pointed out. “Only that I stepped into the alley.”

“That is a good point,”

Jo acknowledged, though she still made no move toward the front door.

“Don’t fret, Jo. I could go on my own.”

Allie gestured toward their favorite stuffed chairs. “Sit and read, and I’ll make it a quick trip over and back.”

“No.”

Jo shook her head firmly and the feathers on her pretty violet hat emphasized the movement. “What sort of friend would I be if I let you go alone?”

Allie laughed. “I go alone to Hawlston’s nearly every day.”

“Not since you may have encountered a band of dangerous criminals.”

“They mostly sounded like a danger to the royal regalia.”

“I suspect men who would undertake such a daring theft could be dangerous.”

Jo reached for Allie’s arm and wrapped it around her own. “But no matter. Let us go.”

“You’re certain?”

“I am.”

They walked arm in arm for the short trip along the pavement to Hawlston’s. As usual, the cafe was busy, though not as chaotic as it was in the mornings.

When Allie reached for the door, Jo gave her arm a tug.

“What’s the plan if by chance we do find them there?”

This had been a consideration much of the morning. “We remain calm, observe them surreptitiously, and get a message to Inspector Drake.”

When they stepped through the front door, Allie drew in a long breath. The yeasty smell of fresh-baked bread and the sharp scent of roasted coffee made her smile. Thank goodness she’d overcome her reluctance and returned to a place that usually brought her nothing but deliciousness.

She looked round, scanning for any gathering that resembled the men from the previous day. There wasn’t a single table claimed by three men in the entire coffeehouse. Mostly, customers were grouped by two or four, and a few sat alone.

Jo took everything in with her usual voracious curiosity.

One table near the front window sat empty and Allie pointed to it. “Shall we sit there?”

“Yes, but . . .”

Jo darted glances around the cafe and then leaned in. “Do you see them?”

Allie gave a slight shake of her head, and Jo let out what sounded like a sigh of relief. That same sense of relief made Allie a bit lighter. Hawlston’s felt like the same cozy spot she visited each day.

Until she stepped toward the counter and spotted the man standing beside Mrs. Cline.

Her mouth went dry, and some part of her brain tried to conjure embarrassment for the way they’d parted, but she was too pleased to let it trouble her now.

He was here.

Detective Inspector Drake may not have written up a report about what she’d told him, at least not while she’d been in his office. But he must have believed her, because he was here.

It was so odd to see him in this setting, his tall, broad-shouldered frame tucked behind the blue counter that was Mrs. Cline’s domain. Something about him seemed less unyielding in this setting.

Or at least that was Allie’s thought until his back straightened as if he sensed her studying him. A moment later, he turned.

When their eyes met, she gulped.

He didn’t look at all pleased to see her.