Page 13 of The Duke and Lady Scandal
Ransome gave him a once-over, flicking his gaze across Drake’s rumpled clothes and no doubt wildly mussed hair, then ducked back out the door.
Drake yawned and scratched a hand across his jaw. The lady, whoever she was, would have to take him as she found him.
At the sound of footsteps marching toward his office, he straightened his suit coat, took a deep breath, and—
A whirlwind burst through his office door. A petite, flower-scented whirlwind.
He registered the purple of her dress, the glossy chestnut shade of her hair, and the scent of sweet flowers and fresh rain-clean air, and then she was talking so fast and animatedly that his exhausted brain couldn’t assemble the words into any sort of sense. Something about a theft and jewels and a suspicious gang of men.
“Slow down, miss, and take a seat.”
“I don’t think I can sit still.” But she did fall silent and planted her hands on her hips, dipping her head and breathing deeply as if she needed a moment. When she lifted her gaze to his again, she seemed less agitated. “Forgive me, Inspector. Traffic was a tangle, and this matter felt more urgent the longer it took. I suppose it is urgent if the men I heard were in earnest.”
He’d honed the skill of memorizing faces, cataloging details that distinguished one from another. The lady had a birthmark near her left temple that drew one’s attention there, and her eyes flared atthe edges with a little upward tilt. An inch-long faded scar marked the skin above her mouth, but it only served to emphasize the curved peaks of her upper lip.
Indeed, her lips were so enticing, he found himself staring. Then he inwardly chastised himself. Fatigue was addling his brain, chipping at his self-control.
The lady possessed a face of interesting and memorable details, but simply describing them wouldn’t capture what intrigued him most. She vibrated with energy.
“Let’s start again. Tell me your name.”
“My name?” She looked at him as if he’d confounded her. “Did you hear what I just said?”
“Frankly, not a great deal of it.” He pointed to the chair in front of his desk. “Sit. And let’s start from the beginning, Miss...?” He prompted for her name again.
“Alexandra Prince.” She took a step closer, and the gaslight on the wall behind him revealed the unique color of her eyes.
They were a cool, muted blue, almost lavender, and shadowed by thick lashes. She ran her gaze down him in one scraping assessment, and his unshaven, unpressed state didn’t seem to stand him well in her estimation. Her forehead scrunched in a frown.
“You have blood on your cuff, sir, and bruises on your hand.”
Drake glanced down, surprised at the spots ofblood. He’d changed at his flat before meeting Haverstock.
“It was a long night,” he admitted.
Such proofs of violence must have shocked her. As they should.
Miss Prince was well-dressed, her voice cultured, her gleaming hair tucked neatly into pins. She seemed a lady of quality, and her assessing gaze unsettled him. Being studied by her felt like sitting for an exam he wished he’d been better prepared for.
“Shall I start at the beginning again?” she asked, perching on the chair in front of his desk. She sat reluctantly, shifting the moment she did. Indeed, her whole body hummed. Her eyes held a spark of it, a kind of determination that he recognized in himself. It called to the part of him that needed to solve every mystery. Fix every problem.
“Tell me what brought you here this morning.”
“I overheard something suspicious not an hour ago,” she started as she settled into her chair. “There were three men in a coffeehouse next to my family’s shop. I was waiting for coffee and scones, you see. Hidden in a nook where most of the shop’s patrons couldn’t see me. Certainly not this trio. They were intent on their conversation.”
“Where’s the shop?”
Her brows, a darker shade than her hair, knitted in confusion. “Yes, of course. They might return. Is that what you’re thinking? It’s in Moulton Street. Hawlston’s Coffeehouse. But the most important part is what I heard the men say.” She tapped one neatly tapered finger on his desktop to emphasize her point, somehow unerringly finding the single spot that was clear of files and papers.
“And what did they say, Miss Prince?”
She flicked her gaze to where he’d crossed his hands and settled them on his desktop.
“Don’t you wish to take notes or make a report?”
“I’d like to hear the story first.”
She shot him a dubious look but continued.
