Page 15 of The Duke and Lady Scandal
Drake pulled a slip of paper toward him and reached for his pencil. “Describe him if you would.”
She approached again and lifted a hand to tap a finger against her lips. “Tall. Dark coat. And a black derby hat. He had a dark beard and mustache, and he wore glasses with smoky lenses.”
Drake stilled his pencil and arched a brow. “So you didn’t truly see him at all. It sounds as if most of his face was obscured. This description is vague enough to fit half of the men on any London street.”
“The glasses were unusual,” she said defensively. “An odd square shape.”
“And they served to further hide his features.” Drake set the piece of paper aside.
She’d come because she thought she’d heard men conspiring to commit a crime, and for that he admired her. Londoners had plenty of cause for apathy and many would hear such an exchange and think nothing more of it.
But if she couldn’t identify any of the men, Drake had virtually nothing to proceed with unless he wished to haunt Hawlston’s Coffeehouse, hoping the trio might reconvene and repeat themselves. He’d alert those at the Tower and inquire about whether there’d been any word of a plot afoot, but there wasn’t much more he could do.
“Unfortunately, even if I showed you photographs of known London thieves, he’s not a man you could identify.”
Miss Prince let out a sigh so full of frustration that he had the urge to comfort her, but she recovered almost instantly, crossing her arms and tapping one foot against the floor.
“Are you saying I’m a fool to have come?”
He didn’t think that. She was obviously a spirited young woman. One who acted independently, which was intriguing considering her age and thelack of a wedding band on her finger. Impetuous, perhaps, but intelligent and with every good intention.
Drake frowned. He usually didn’t assume the best of anyone. His mistakes and his work had made him jaded. But apparently, this vibrant beauty had unearthed a shred of optimism he still possessed.
That fascinated and unsettled him in equal measure.
Chapter Four
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 thebreadth 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.”
