Page 9 of The Duke and Lady Scandal (Princes of London #1)

At Gibson’s words, Drake felt the tug of intuition that Miss Prince had spoken about. A twisting in his gut that demanded a response.

He moved past the older man and strode into the shop, taking care to remain behind a high row of shelves lining the main counter. A scan of the shops across from Princes revealed working-class Londoners moving past and one couple who lingered in heated conversation outside the stationer’s located one shop down.

No sign of anyone watching Princes.

But then a cloud of smoke came into view, and the answer to that tug in his middle emerged from the haze.

A figure stood receded in the mouth of the alley where he’d met with Fitz. The short, barrel-chested man took another draw on his pipe as Drake observed him. Recognized him. A moment later, another gray cloud wafted up, and when it had cleared, he had no doubts.

The well-known thief’s presence here, watching Princes when Holcroft should have appeared, did not bode well.

“Do you see him?”

Miss Prince had emerged from the back room and came to stand behind him.

“I do, and I know who he is.”

“You do?”

She gripped his arm in her eagerness and then began to push forward as if she yearned for a look herself. He reached out to keep her back.

She made a huffing sound of protest but remained concealed.

He turned, took her hand, and led her to a corner of the shop completely out of sight of the front windows.

When they’d stopped, she made no move to withdraw her hand. He found himself enjoying that simple point of contact too much and released her.

“He’s a known thief called Jack Demming. Usually to be found around the docks or across the river in Southwark, so it’s odd that he’d be here.”

Her eyes widened and excitement all but rose off her like the smoke from Demming’s pipe. “Maybe it’s one of the other men I saw. I need to get a look.”

She moved quickly, and he reached out to stop her, but she’d already crept up toward the window. Cleverly, she kept to the side wall and then finally approached a large tapestry that mostly hid her from view. Peeking around, she let out a thoughtful hmm.

“He could be one of them. The right stature and size.”

“Come away from the window, Miss Prince.”

The frown she shot back at him was full of irritation.

“Why is the man here, Detective Inspector?”

Gibson had resumed his spot behind the main counter and stared at Ben expectantly.

“That’s a very good question. And believe me, I intend to ask him.”

Ben offered Gibson a nod and then turned to Miss Prince. “If you’ll excuse me.”

He meant it as a sufficient leave-taking and immediately made his way to the Princes’ back room, heading for a door that he assumed led into the alley behind the shop.

Behind him, he heard the firm, rapid footsteps of the lady he suspected wouldn’t let him depart without further explanation. Unfortunately, he didn’t have the time to provide one.

“Inspector, the thief is out front. Why are you back here?”

Shooting a glance over his shoulder, he told her bluntly, “If I approach the man, he’ll bolt.”

“Oh yes. He’d recognize you, wouldn’t he? You must sneak up on him. I quite like that plan.”

He chuckled despite his sense of urgency. “Finally, you appreciate my methods, Miss Prince.”

He’d pitched his voice low without meaning to, and her cheeks flushed the loveliest shade of pink. He liked sparking that reaction in her, liked the way her eyes locked on his, then flicked down to his lips.

Twisting the doorknob, he turned and allowed himself one last look at her. “Stay here, Miss Prince. Let me handle this. Demming isn’t a man to be trifled with. I need to determine why he’s here and your lordling isn’t.”

“Of course.”

The innocent look she returned didn’t truly reassure him, because her eyes glinted with far too much curiosity for him to believe she’d contentedly remain in the shop.

“I insist you remain here.”

“Do you indeed?”

Her arched auburn brow was an enticing challenge. She was a quite untamable lady.

He worried about his ability to keep her safe. But the way she had taken up root in his thoughts and the way his body responded every time she looked his way meant he was the one in grave danger where she was concerned.

“Wait for my return.”

The door spilled out into a narrow alley, but there was no obliging passage between buildings. Ben had to go a ways to find a passage out onto Moulton Street. Which was probably a good thing. He was far enough down that Demming didn’t see him as he sprinted across the street and then continued even farther to find a way around the row of buildings so that he could come up behind the thief.

There were no other passages that broke through the line of buildings, so he sprinted toward the cross street and then cut into the mouth of the alley.

Carts, boxes, and other detritus blocked his way in spots, and a recent rain had filled every depression in the muddy throughway with a pond of muck. He was forced to proceed slowly and feared Demming might abscond before he could question the man.

Allie nibbled at the edge of her nail as she stood in the shadows along Princes’ far wall and watched the man who watched her shop.

“If he sees you observing him,”

Mr. Gibson said in a quiet, steady tone, “the man might hie off before the inspector gets to him, Miss Prince.”

“I don’t think he can see me.”

As soon as the words were out, several of their clocks on display chimed once to mark the half hour. “Holcroft is either late or he’s not coming at all.”

“The whole matter of Holcroft and this watcher is odd.”

Admitting as much seemed to cost Mr. Gibson a bit of his usual equanimity. “Do these men intend to steal from the shop, do you think?”

“I don’t know, but I don’t think they do.”

The very idea of anyone invading Princes for nefarious purposes made her feel as determined as she had ever been in her life.

Princes wasn’t just a shop. The rooms upstairs had once been her home. Her grandfather had built the shop’s shelves with his own hands. Her mother had chosen the wallpaper and curtains and every modern fixture.

Stealing the Crown Jewels might offend her sensibilities as an Englishwoman and antiquarian who appreciated the regalia’s history, but the notion that these men might bring harm to her family’s shop filled her with a fierce need to thwart them. However she could.

“I think there’s a great deal more going on,”

she whispered as much to herself as to Mr. Gibson.

The nobleman’s visit was sharp in her mind. The pomposity in his voice. His very unique calling card.

Inspector Drake still hadn’t appeared, and the thief in the alleyway had begun looking bored, gazing around the street, his notice drawn by a shapely lady walking a regal-looking hound.

An idea struck and she made her way to the back room, searching the shelf that contained dozens of shop ledgers and several reference books for their thick-spined copy of Debrett’s. She flipped the pages quickly, searching for Lord Holcroft’s entry.

She found a viscount by the name of George Holcroft, but among the brothers, uncles, and sons, she couldn’t find a single Thomas listed. If the black beard and dark glasses had been a disguise, perhaps the presentation as a haughty aristocrat had been too.

She rushed back into the shop to tell Mr. Gibson and immediately noticed that their watcher was gone.

“Where is he?”

Mr. Gibson scanned the opposite street and pointed. “He seems to be departing.”

Without hesitation, as if some inner force propelled her, Allie strode out onto the street. Mr. Demming hadn’t gotten far and twisted his head when the bell above their door sounded.

Spotting her, his eyes bulged under the low brim of his hat. He stopped and looked increasingly confused as Allie strode toward him.

“I wish to speak to you, sir,”

she said as she pushed past other pedestrians on the busy London street.

As quick as a flash, Demming turned his back on her, tucked his head, and rushed away at a pavement-eating stride.

Allie picked up her pace and wished she wasn’t hampered by the length of her skirt and the weight of her petticoats.

At the corner, the thief cut right and disappeared from view.

An omnibus had just dislodged passengers, and a sea of people started down the pavement toward Allie, stalling her progress.

“To hell and rot.”

Her brother’s favorite curse came out unbidden and an elderly lady nearby gasped.

Allie ignored the woman’s outrage because she’d spotted an opening. Like Demming had done, she tucked her arms in and pushed past the gaggle of new pedestrians. A moment later, she rounded the corner and found the cross street even busier, clogged with carriages and those making their way to and from shops along the busy thoroughfare.

Demming had disappeared into the crowd, and she couldn’t distinguish one burly dark-coated man from another.

Except for the one man who she couldn’t fail to notice.

Drake emerged at the end of the alley, and she felt a rush of relief to see him. His long cloak arced out behind him as he ate up the distance between them in his approach. His color was high, his dark hair wild. He looked breathless and frustrated, and when he spotted her, his expression transformed to ire.

“You vowed to wait for me, Miss Prince.”

“I didn’t vow anything. You insisted and I . . . changed my mind.”

“Of course you did.”

“You hadn’t appeared, and then Mr. Demming departed, so I pursued him.”

He scanned the street one way and then the other.

“Unsuccessfully,”

Allie added, as if the fact wasn’t obvious. “I’m sorry.”

Drake closed his eyes, ran a hand through his hair, mussing it further and in a way that set a few curls free.

Allie felt a wildly inappropriate urge to stroke her fingers through them. Why could she think of nothing but touching the man?

“I lost him too. You’ve nothing to apologize for.”

His voice had gone deeper, warm, almost reassuring. Then he shocked her by releasing a half smile. “Except, perhaps, for doing precisely the opposite of what I asked you to.”

“I was trying to be helpful.”

“I know. That’s why I cannot fault you.”

“And I did discover something.”

“What’s that?”

“I checked Debrett’s. Lord Thomas Holcroft isn’t listed. The copy is only three years old. I suspect he may not be a true nobleman.”

He began nodding before she’d finished speaking. “I suspected as much when he didn’t turn up.”

“Why do you think he came to the shop posing as a customer?”

Drake worked his jaw, his gaze locked on hers, holding back whatever suspicions were percolating in his mind.

“Please tell me what you’re thinking.”

He had no reason to divulge all the workings of his detecting mind to her, but this was about her shop now, and she needed to know as much as he’d reveal.

“I have a few hypotheses but not enough information for any conclusions.”

He glanced around them again, still scanning for Demming.

“What shall we do next?”

“I’ll escort you back to Princes and urge you, once again, to—”

“Let me handle this,”

she said in an overly gruff imitation of his voice.

What sounded very much like laughter rumbled in his chest as if trying to burst free. Then he cleared his throat and gave her a rueful glance. “You find me repetitive, do you?”

“A bit. I know you think I do not listen, but I do. It’s just that—”

“Please, Alexandra.”

He reached for her, just a hand against her upper arm, but the weight and warmth of it slid through the sleeve of her dress and spread all the way to her toes. Though his voice had dipped low, pleading, there was nothing soft in his gaze. His green eyes had gone hard, his jaw set.

If he’d wished to shock her into silence, he’d succeeded. The use of her name had set her pulse racing, and whatever she’d meant to say drifted off in the cool autumn breeze.

“Forgive me for the liberty, but I am asking you to step away from this for your own safety. I want to keep you out of danger. And in this case, I know the man and his methods well.”

She understood that it was his job, his duty even, to protect her as he would any citizen of London, but he spoke with such warm sincerity in his voice. Such yearning in his gaze. He wanted to protect her. Given her family’s tendencies, that should have rankled. But somehow it didn’t feel at all like her family’s usual brand of overprotectiveness.

Drake had never once made her feel foolish or even chastised her for the impulse to help.

“I will find Demming before the night is out. I promise you that. I know the man’s haunts. Give him a few hours, and he’ll be tucked up at his favorite pub near the Southwark bridge. And I’ll be waiting.”

Allie believed him, trusting that he had methods for persuading the man to talk. She could even concede, if she allowed logic to have the last word, that her presence would add nothing to the evening’s pursuit.

“Very well,”

she finally said. “You’ll send word if you learn anything from him?”

“Of course.”

He raised his head and glanced back in the direction of Princes. “And I’ll put a man on Princes. A constable who can see you home at the end of the night.”

“I don’t think that’s necessary.”

But as soon as he heard her tone of protest, one sharp inhale told her that she wouldn’t win this one either.

“Demming was watching your shop for a reason. I intend to find out why.”

His tone had turned ominous, and she couldn’t help wondering if he’d add new abrasions to those knuckles of his tonight.

She almost felt sorry for Mr. Demming. Almost.

“I need to return to the Yard, so let’s get you back. Gibson will be off his head with worry.”

He slid the hand at her arm around to the small of her back as Allie turned to make the trip back to Princes.

Once they’d set off, he stopped touching her, and she decided instantly that she far preferred it when he did.

As night fell and they began preparations to close Princes for the evening, Allie noted a new wariness in Mr. Gibson. After decades of association with her family, he’d seen her father and siblings go off on voyages and expeditions that many might consider dangerous, and had barely blinked an eye.

But after the visit of the man calling himself Lord Holcroft and the ominous observer, Mr. Demming, he perceived a threat to the shop itself. And she knew that he cared for it as if it was his own.

She’d decided she had to take him into her confidence.

He’d taken her explanation about what she’d overheard at Hawlston’s in his usual stoic stride. Much like Inspector Drake, he seemed dubious that an actual plot to steal the Crown’s regalia was afoot. But a threat to Princes? That seemed to gnaw at him as the day wore on.

“Shall we see about a man to serve as night watch until all this business is done, Miss Prince?”

“We could.”

Though Drake had sent for a constable as promised, the young man had grown bored after an hour and dozed off in one of their chairs near the front window not half an hour ago.

His presence hadn’t made her feel any safer, only that his time standing guard in their less than busy shop had bored him to tears.

“I’ll look into it if you approve.”

“I do.”

If it put Mr. Gibson’s mind at ease, it would be worth the expense.

She suspected Drake would uncover and thwart this plot in short order, judging by how bumbling the main participants seemed to be.

“Very good.”

Mr. Gibson breathed a little easier.

“Constable Walker is to see me home, so I’ll leave now if you don’t mind. I can put him out of his misery and let the poor man go on his way.”

She smiled and Mr. Gibson turned a withering look toward the young constable.

“I shall be seeking a guard who doesn’t nod off, I assure you.”

“I know you will. Good night.”

“And to you, Miss Prince.”

“I live close by, Constable, so I usually walk if that suits you.”

“Of course, miss.”

The young uniformed officer scrambled to his feet when she approached.

Once they’d set off, Allie felt the pointlessness of putting the young man to such trouble.

“What did Inspector Drake say to you about why you were sent to my shop?”

“That I should stand watch and see you home.”

“But did he tell you why?”

The young man looked at her oddly. “The inspector needn’t explain any more than he needs to and rarely does. Tight-lipped is that one.”

As soon as that judgement was out, he cleared his throat and set his jaw in an attempt to strike the same unaffected mien Drake sometimes wore. Perhaps policemen practiced it.

“Is he good at what he does?”

Allie side-eyed the young man as they walked.

He chuckled at her question. “I’ve never seen anyone better. Some say he’s fearless, relentless when he’s on a lead. And they say Duke’s never failed to solve a case.”

“Goodness, that is impressive.”

She swallowed hard at the thought of Drake’s relentlessness. “But why did you call him Duke?”

Constable Walker shrugged. “A nickname. That’s all I know.”

He shot her a sheepish look. “I’ve only been a constable for half a year, miss. I’ve a lot to learn.”

“Then I’m sure you will.”

When they reached her family home in Manchester Square, the constable insisted on waiting until she was safely inside, despite her hope she could part from him near the corner.

Once inside, their housemaid, Lottie, greeted her eagerly, her eyes alight with curiosity.“Good evening, miss.”

“Evening, Lottie.”

Allie allowed the girl to help her with her coat and gloves. “Before you ask, no, I’m not courting a constable. May I count on you not to tell the rest of the household about my escort tonight?”

Their housekeeper, Mrs. Taunton, had seen a great deal over her decades as manager of the Prince household, but they’d rarely had a policeman at their front door. And their elderly butler, Conroy, loathed any kind of disruption to their usual routine.

“Of course, miss, but . . .”

She drew closer, Allie’s coat still clutched in her arms. “You’re not in any sort of trouble, are you, Miss Prince?”

Allie had come to adore Lottie, but the girl loved nothing as much as gossip.

“Not a single bit of trouble. I promise.”

In her head, she debated whether preoccupation with an imposing, relentless detective counted, but of course, he was determined to keep her out of trouble. “I do think I’ll take supper in my room. Could you send up a tray?”

Once Lottie had gone, Allie headed up to her room and paced the floor in front of the unlit fireplace. Normally, she’d be eager to remove her day dress and slip into something cozy, but she didn’t tonight. She felt unsettled, full of a strange compelling energy. As if there was something she needed to do, though none of her usual evening activities held any appeal.

Tonight, all her thoughts were on Southwark—on Benedict Drake—and she had the wild impulse to go there herself.

She imagined his reaction to her doing so and shuddered.

Still, she couldn’t shake the oddest sensation. A ridiculous notion, really.

That, somehow, Benedict Drake needed her, and if she went to Southwark, she could help him.