Page 8 of The Duke and Lady Scandal
With such a crush of customers, Allie knew she’d have a while to wait, so she pulled out the notebook she carried with her everywhere. She immediately began jotting down ideas for research expeditions she might propose to Dom when he returned.
She was done waiting for her time to shine.
Chapter Two
Scotland Yard
Drake strode down the hall toward his superior’s office with confidence in the work he’d done and certainty that he would finally be rewarded.
He hadsacrificed sleep and meals and any semblance of a life to focus entirely on the blackmail scheme and the tangled, messy business of a prince’s peccadillos. If the payoff came today, it would all have been worth it.
He’d entered the force with nothing more than empty pockets and a hunger to lift himself and his sister out of the nightmare fate had dealt them, but he was never content as a foot patrolman. Rising through the ranks had always been his goal.
Hell, he might aim higher than chief inspector one day. But for now, it was the title and role he’d sought for years, and he’d savor it. The youngest man to ever rise to such a rank, just as he’d been one of the youngest to rise to detective inspector.
He considered what he’d say when Haverstock offered him the promotion. Among colleagues, Drake tried to show only stoicism and self-control. Displays of emotion were nothing but adistraction in police work, and in the special cases that Haverstock handpicked him for, he couldn’t afford distractions of any kind.
But the chief constable would expect gratitude.
Thank you, sirseemed too little.It’sdamned well timewas far too honest.I will not disappoint you, sirwas, he knew, what Haverstock truly wished to hear. The older man had taken Drake under his wing, mentoring but also leveraging him. He used him for the cases requiring the most discretion. Cases that might require him to maneuver carefully along the bounds of the law, and even step over them if needs must.
Haverstock understood how far a man would go for ambition, and he’d been waving this promotion under Drake’s nose for years.
But this case had gone beyond what had ever been asked of him. Hellish weeks without proper sleep. False leads. Last night and into the small hours of the morning, after working on Howe for a week, the thief had led him to a boardinghouse. A violent confrontation with another of M’s minions ended with the discovery under the floorboards of letters purportedly written by the prince and one photograph that was undoubtedly of the queen’s heir in a state the Crown would never wish the public to see.
It seemed the blackmail itself had been thwarted, but M had not been identified or apprehended. And that rankled so much that Drake had taken to grinding his teeth until his jaw ached.
Like any detective, he loathed loose threads.
At the door of Haverstock’s office in the deepest recesses of the New Scotland Yard building, Drake took a moment to right himself. He’d had only a moment to tidy after the night’s events, but it would have to be enough.
Haverstock had demanded to be updated immediately. So Drake strode into his superior’s office and handed the white-haired man a report he’d just typed himself, pecking away at the too-tiny keys through bleary eyes, and the documents found in the rooming house.
He stood, as he always did, with his shoulders as square as the window frame. He ignored his aching muscles and bruised knuckles and clasped his hands behind his back. He was well practiced at this ritual of standing tall and silent, waiting for the older man to cast judgement on the work he’d done.
His superiors might quibble with his methods, but he always did his damnedest to get results. For Drake, no other option was worth considering. He’d failed monumentally in his past, so he couldn’t stomach anything but success now.
And Haverstock knew it. Drake was tagged for delicate cases because he’d proven his loyalty and discretion. Only the blackmail case had caused him to doubt the older man’s decisions.
Which was why the elusive M and the drive to catch the man would keep him awake at night. He’d find him, and he’d use whatever means were required. That’s what separated Drake from those he competed with for promotion and favor.
The chief constable had been seconded to Special Branch and relished the work of protecting the realm and the family that sat at the top of it. Drake preferred his work with Scotland Yard, solving crimes against everyday citizens of London, but the damnable, half-resolved blackmail matter was the case that would bring him the promotion he craved.
“Come in, Drake.” The snow-haired man took the report and began to peruse it immediately.
“Hmmm,” Haverstock murmured, one wrinkled finger tracing the typed lines.
Years ago, such a sound might have shaken Drake’s certainty, causing his gut to twist. Today, he was exhausted and ready for the formalities of this briefing to be finished so that he could begin planning how to take on his new role.
“You continue to impress me, Drake,” the old man finally said and looked up at him.
“Pleased to hear that, sir.” He didn’t smile. Didn’t preen. Didn’t allow the flare of pride he felt to soften his stance or allow himself to rest for a single moment on the commendation.
“I shall inform the relevant parties that the threat has been eliminated.” He tapped the pages in front of him. “And we’re certain thatallthe blackmailer’sproofhas been found and destroyed? That there are no copies extant?”
“As certain as we can be, sir. Using my informant’s details, I found the photo and the two letters, which is all the blackmail letters ever referredto. My further questioning of Howe was vigorous enough that I believe he’s told us all.”
“Very good.” He spared the photograph and letters little more than a disgusted glance before swiveling in his chair and tossing the lot onto the fire blazing in the grate. “Thank God, that distasteful matter is at an end without tarnishing the Crown and the royal family.”
