Page 29 of The Duke and Lady Scandal
Chapter Seven
By six in the evening, Drake had completed much of the paperwork he’d ignored during the blackmail case and set two detectives to make further inquiries regarding M—a challenge when he could tell the men virtually nothing about the high-discretion blackmail case. There were few clues to follow, but the empty townhouse in Bedford Square was a start. He’d begun working on two new cases in earnest too, questioning suspects and visiting the site of a young man’s murder.
But even with a day of busyness, the demands of his job did not wholly occupy his mind.
His thoughts strayed again and again to one petite, talkative antique shop owner. He retraced the memory of her smile, the way pleasure had brightened her eyes and echoed in his own chest when he’d seen her at Hawlston’s. Flashes hit him at the oddest moments. The way she’d commandeered the objects on his desk. The way her hands danced through the air while she talked. The temptation of her lips curved in a smile.
Yet each time he got lost in such musings,he forced his mind back to the more pressing matter—his advancement.
Normally, he took Haverstock’s word on any matter without challenge. But he’d checked on Stanhope, who Haverstock claimed would be “moving up” soon.
Turned out the man had already moved up, and not just up but out. He’d left his role at Scotland Yard and was now at the Home Office.
It appeared that Haverstock was obfuscating to hold him back, and Drake refused to be hobbled professionally by anyone. Even by a man who’d mentored and championed him as Haverstock had for the past few years.
In truth, he did not want to work for Special Branch. It had seemed an intriguing opportunity and Haverstock had encouraged him, but after the business with the blackmail scheme and the death of Howe, he’d found much more satisfaction in dealing with the cases he’d set aside the last few weeks. Those cases dealt mostly with working-class Londoners.
He identified with their struggles, and he was looking forward to discussing the working-class housing bill with Lord Wellingdon at the dinner he’d been invited to.
For the first time in a long while, he was finishing work at a reasonable hour. But as he donned his overcoat, raised voices in the hallway outside his office drew his notice.
The moment he reached for the handle of his office door, he recognized one of the voices.
A distinctly feminine sound.
Miss Prince was back.
Unbidden, a grin stretched the muscles of his face, and he could not will it away.
He was beginning to think he’d never pass a future day without encountering her, and he was terrified at how much the thought delighted him.
Someone twisted the latch on his door. He pulled the door open and she came with it, stumbling against his chest.
He wrapped his arms around her, and her hands went to his shirtfront, as if to brace her fall. But he wouldn’t let her fall. He held her steady, and she hesitated as if stunned, her warm breath gusting against his neck.
The sort of adrenaline that rushed his veins when he was on a case heightened his senses now.
Long lashes. Pink lips. Those tip-tilted eyes. Curves that snugged against him as if the two of them had been made to fit together. He dipped a hand lower, pulling her just an inch closer. So close he could count her freckles. So close he could feel the fierce thud of her heartbeat. So close he could kiss her if he dipped his head but a few inches.
Stop,some distant warning voice told him.She’s not yours.
“I wished to see you,” she whispered.
It was at that moment that he noticed Ransome in the hall behind her, hands on his hips and a glower on his face.
“I tried to stop ’er, Duke.”
“No need,” Drake told him, then tried to ignore the way the sergeant gaped at him in slack-jawed shock.
“Are you all right?” he asked her quietly.
She nodded and then pushed away from him, past him, and strode into his office.
He followed her and glanced down at his chest—he felt the imprint of her soft curves there still—and everything in him wanted her close again. He licked his lips and shoved a hand through his hair. Her nearness shook him more than he could fathom.
“I must speak to you, and you’ll want to hear this, Inspector.”
Her eyes were wide and blood had rushed into her cheeks. She looked very much as she had yesterday morning. As if whatever she wished to say was all but ready to burst out of her.
