Page 25 of The Duke and Lady Scandal
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 notwhile 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.
Chapter Six
The entire time he’d been on Moulton Street, Drake had been aware of Miss Prince’s nearness, that he could stride straight into her family’s charming little antique shop if wished. And, very logically, he’d listened to the inner voice that warned him not to risk another encounter with the spark of a woman.
So it was a shock to see her standing in the middle of Hawlston’s Coffeehouse. To see her in daylight, with the windows at her back, showing him that her hair, which had seemed chestnut brown yesterday, was in fact auburn. Streaked through with sparks of red, not readily apparent unless the light struck them just right. That suited her entirely. As did the buttery glow of the shop’s overhead gas lamps.
It wasn’t that the dim light in his office had hidden her appeal, only that this illumination brightened her eyes and highlighted the most shocking bit of all.
Miss Prince wore a decidedly pleased look on her face.
The sort of look one gives someone they haven’tseen in far too long. She was pleased to seehim. Which caused an odd flicker of awareness in him. He had the urge to reach for her. Which was nonsensical. They were all but strangers.
Yet it was ridiculously appealing—that gentle curve of her lips. So much so that his breath hitched for a moment in his chest, and all the chatter and busyness of the coffeehouse fell away.
Seconds ticked by until his addled brain dredged up a bit of cool logic.
She wasn’t pleased to seehim. His presence proved that he’d listened to her, that he gave her story merit. Enough to venture out and make inquiries. That’s what she’d wanted most when she visited his office. He’d sensed her fear that she would not be believed or that he might tell her she was overreacting.
There was still a possibility she’d heard nothing more than idle bluster, some ne’er-do-wells’ musings. But if he ignored her story entirely and someonedidmake an attempt on the Crown Jewels? He’d be derelict in his duty, and he could never forgive himself. Not to mention that Haverstock would never give him a bloody promotion.
He glanced at Mrs. Cline to bid her good day, but she was already halfway down the counter speaking to another customer. When he turned back, Miss Prince was striding toward him, and her expression had bloomed into an outright smile.
“You came,” she said as she approached.
Drake thought it best they didn’t have this or any conversation about the matter in the coffeehouse, so rather than respond to her comment, he strode toward her and then brushed past.
Cinnamon and lavender and the smell of beeswax polish assaulted his senses as he passed her.
“Out front,” he told her quietly, hoping she’d take his meaning and follow.
He ignored Fitz, and strode toward her shop, out of view of the coffeehouse windows.
