Page 14 of The Duke and Lady Scandal
“The men were speaking heatedly, though it was clear they were trying to keep their voices down. I only heard them because I was sitting so near, you see? Though they couldn’t see me. I was in the—”
“The nook, yes. Go on.”
That earned him the merest jump of one brow. He suspected he’d won a sliver of trust from her by proving he was listening. But he’d still heard nothing that would merit completing a report or taking any action.
“One man, the only one I truly saw, told the others that they were pathetic because they weren’t keen on what he’d proposed.”
Now it was Drake’s turn to lift a brow.
She leaned forward, locked her blue eyes on him, and whispered, “They plan to steal the Crown Jewels.”
His lungs deflated and all the tiredness he’d barely kept at bay swept over him. Something else rushed in too. The frustration he usually felt whendealing with a member of the public who believed their neighbor was plotting treason, or the local butcher was secretly a murderer, or that a dream they’d had portended danger for the queen.
Over the years, there had been more than a few hysterical citizens bringing him fanciful stories. Though none, he had to admit, as pretty as this one.
He leaned forward to match her, close enough to notice the sprinkle of freckles across her nose and cheeks, to notice that her lips were flushed, and that the sparks in her eyes were like threads of silver hidden in pale violet.
She held herself tensely, almost defiantly, as if she expected his reaction.
Even as tired as he was, he could appreciate her loveliness, her vividness. She made the gas sconces in the room blaze brighter.
He almost regretted how thoroughly he intended to disappoint her.
“Miss Prince...” he started slowly. Delicacy and taking care not to offend weren’t his strong suit. “If there were truly a group of thieves planning to steal the Crown Jewels—”
“Please—” She interrupted him, as if to stave off what he intended to say next. And that one word, the desperation with which she said it, made him hold his tongue for a moment.
But only for a moment.
“Allow me to finish?” he asked when he rarely asked anyone for permission for anything.
She seamed her lips together.
“The possibility that thieves would seriouslydiscuss such a plan openly in a crowded coffeehouse where others could hear seems very unlikely. I’m certain that many dream of such a feat, or even boast of it. But it’s never been successfully accomplished, nor truly attempted except—”
“Yes, Thomas Blood in 1670. I know the story. Perhaps they do too. Look.” She shocked him by rising from her chair and picking up his inkwell.
“Do you mind?” He didn’t like it when people touched his things or mussed up his desk. Some might see the piles as chaos but they made perfect sense to him.
“I’m just borrowing it,” she declared as she moved it to the edge of the desk, then she had the audacity to pluck up a bottle of glue. When she reached for the polished river stone paperweight his sister had once given to him as a gift, he lifted his hand to stop her. But her fingers were already curving around the edges of the rock, and he found his own fingers clashing with hers.
Something jolted in his chest at the contact. Her skin was warm and deliciously soft and he quite liked the feel of her fingers next to his.
When she sucked in a shocked breath, his wits returned to him and he pulled his hand away, relinquishing the stone to her.
He knew he should apologize. Fully intended to, in fact. But when he looked up into her wide eyes, the silver threads among the violet seemed to shimmer. He searched her face for offense, shock. The lady simply looked as befuddled as he suddenly felt.
But she gathered herself and shot her gaze down to the rock, then positioned it catty-corner to the inkwell.
“You see? I was sitting here.” She pointed to the inkwell, her voice a bit breathier than before. “This is a wall that separates the kitchen from where the customers sit.” With her index finger, she tapped the flat river stone. “And this is where the trio were hunched.” She indicated the glue bottle. “They didn’t know they were sitting close enough for someone to hear.”
“What was the plan they unfolded?” Even attempting such a brazen theft would take months of planning, and more importantly, gaining the trust of at least one confederate on the inside. Probably more.Thatseemed impossible since the Tower Yeomen were a notoriously staunch and loyal bunch.
She wilted a bit, her shoulders dropping an inch. “There were no details about the plan.” With one swift pivot away from his desk, she began pacing again. “But one gentleman was angry. Another was worried, I’d say. It must have been something they’d seriously discussed.”
“You said you got a look at one of them.”
“Yes, the angry one.”
