Page 43 of The Duke and Lady Scandal
“Oh, aye? And who might that be, miss?”
She felt the urge to overexplain and stifled it. “Drake.” She said the single word more quietly than any she’d spoken to the man so far.
He immediately shot a look toward a corner table and then the other end of the bar, where a barmaid was loading her tray.
“If you’re asking after the man I know, he washere not an hour past.” As he wiped the counter, he stepped closer. “Came and went quickly.”
“Went where?”
“?’Fraid I can’t help you there, miss. Never spoke a word to him as he never stopped to take any refreshment at all.”
If Drake came and went quickly, perhaps he’d seen Demming and pursued him. Or somehow realized he’d find the man elsewhere.
“Do you know a man named Demming?”
“Aye, I surely do, but he’s not a man you want to know.”
Allie believed him, but she had to ask. “Where can I find him?”
The barman drew in a long breath and sighed. “A tenacious lady, I see.”
“I’m afraid so.”
“Demming won’t have gone far. Holes up in a warehouse nearby or visits a gambling den a few lanes south.”
“Thank you.” Allie dug a coin from her pocket and placed it on the bar, even though she’d have to forgo the cup of tea.
“Here’s advice you’ve not asked for,” the barman called as she started toward the door.
Allie turned back.
The man’s expression had gone grim. “Don’t go looking for trouble, miss.”
If only he knew that she was seeking the one man who’d no doubt repeat a similar sentiment the moment she found him.
She gave The Anchor’s publican a nod, then stepped out into the night.
Clouds had gathered, dimming the moonlight to a mere glimmer that outlined the shapes of buildings and people.
The sensible part of her yearned to find a cab, head back across the river, and get warm in front of the fire Lottie had no doubt laid in her bedroom. But a far different feeling was louder—the need to find Inspector Drake.
So she walked south, deeper into this part of London she’d never visited before. To say she was lost was an understatement. Beyond Bankside, the streets were often nothing more than alleyways between warehouses.
When she passed through a covered alleyway, the darkness all but consumed her. She reached one hand out to use the wall as a steadying guide and waved the other in front of her, lest she crash into someone coming the opposite way.
After a few shuffling steps, her foot struck something firm, and she pitched forward just as the object shifted.
“Damnation,” a man’s voice grumbled, followed by a groan of pain.
Then hands were on her, one grasping her arm, the other her hip as the man rose before her. Stumbling, he caught himself on the wall and then released her.
“Drake.” Allie knew. Even in the darkness, she knew she’d found him. She recognized the timbre of his voice, the starch and spice scent of him. The enormous, broad-shouldered shape of him.
She lifted a hand, placed it on his chest, and was relieved to feel the steady beat of his heart beneath her palm. She slid her hand higher, found the hard line of his jaw, and skimmed her fingers along the stubbled edge.
“I found you,” she said on a warm rush of satisfaction. She’d found him, and that seemed the most important thing she’d done in a long while.
His fingers slid along the line of her throat. “Is it really you?”
