Page 9 of The Duke and Lady Scandal
“Not at an end, sir. There’s still the matter of M. I will find him.” He felt the truth of it, even if he didn’t yet know where to look for the man next. Still, he’d solved every one of his cases in a decade-long career. He’d solve this one too. “You know I won’t stop until the last thread is tied up.”
“I suspect the man lost his nerve and will shrink back into obscurity after his failure to cause real harm to the prince. You’ve done well.” Haverstock allowed a rare smile. “You never fail me, do you, son?”
“Never.” At the wordson, a stab of old fury skewered into his gut. He fisted the hands he still held behind his back. Memories tried to push their way into his mind.
Breathe. Just breathe.He fought back the panic that reared up when he allowed his mind to wander those old paths. The past was cold and done. There was no life in it. Only his future mattered. Only the accomplishments he meant to stack up, only the power he hoped to wield by rising as high as Haverstock’s title one day. Hell, maybe higher.
And Haverstock meant well.
God knew he wasn’tthatman who used to call Drakesonwhen he’d done no more for the privilege than bed his mother and eat their food and take up space in their too-small lodging room.Fool, vermin, a waste of space—the vile man’s favored condemnations were always followed by a strike or a kick for emphasis.
Until the day Drake had grown taller and stronger than his mother’s paramour. Until the day he’d taken his siblings away from that dingy room and never returned.
His true father was a phantom. A thing of myth and wild stories his mother had conjured to give his child’s mind something to latch onto. She’d claimed he was a nobleman—a duke—though Drake had never believed it. Yet sometimes he’d used it, a kind of currency to garner respect, though just as often it had backfired into ridicule.
As a green recruit on the force, he’d told a mate the story and had been nicknamed Duke ever since. At first as a form of ribbing, but now, after his peers had seen what he could do and how relentless he was about doing it, the moniker was only ever used familiarly. Respectfully.
Not by Haverstock, of course. The man relished rank above all else. The implication that Drake held a duke’s blood in his veins would make it harder to treat him paternally, to feel the full weight of his power and superiority.
So Drake allowed the occasionalsonin their conversations, and endured the man’s delusion that he would court his daughter one day. He’d do agreat deal to climb the ranks to sit where Haverstock did, but using a young lady as a pawn held no appeal.
“I know what you’re aiming for, Drake. But I can’t offer it to you.” Haverstock seemed to note the muscle that tightened Drake’s jaw and lifted a finger in the air. “Yet.”
“When?”
“Soon, Drake. Soon. Your day will come. Stanhope will move up by year’s end. That will leave one slot for a chief inspector.”
Haverstock danced enticingly over the words while his gaze remained glued on Drake.
The man saw him as a tool. Tempered with praise and honed by ambition. He knew the older man understood he played a balancing act between giving him a bit of power and always holding something back. He wanted to keep him hungry so that he’d work harder to prove himself, and yet the game couldn’t drag out too long.
A starving hound eventually bit back.
“I’m counting on soon, sir,” Drake told him, then shifted his stance, assuming he’d be dismissed so he could get a bloody hour of sleep, if he was lucky, in his office chair before the others arrived for work.
“Join us for dinner on Saturday evening, Drake. We’ll be attending a party hosted by Lord Wellingdon. He’s long been a proponent of child labor laws and is now pressing that working-class housing law I know you’re keen on. Mrs. Haverstock and Lavinia would be pleased to see you.”
Drake had heard of Wellingdon. Like his sister,he kept an eye on any laws and policies meant to help those who struggled, as they had in their youth, to keep a roof over their heads and their bellies full. He and Helen and their younger brother, George, had worked long hours when they should have been enjoying childhood.
“I would like to meet Lord Wellingdon. Thank you for the invitation. What time shall I arrive?”
Haverstock waved his hand in the air, almost dismissively. “Whenever your day here is done and you’ve tidied yourself. If you arrive at our home early, more time for you and Lavinia to speak awhile before we depart.”
“Very good.” Drake nodded and lifted a brow. “Anything else, sir?”
Haverstock reached out and laid a hand over a document on his desk. “There is one last thing. I thought you’d wish to know.” He flipped what Drake recognized as a handwritten police report. “Howe was found a few hours ago.”
“That’s not possible.” His mind ran through the memory of his last encounter with the man. “He was going to leave London.”
Drake had given his reluctant informant the funds for a train ticket himself, though he thought it best not to tell Haverstock that part. The chief would see it as weakness.
“Well, he didn’t do so soon enough, it seems.”
Drake snatched up the paper, scanning quickly over the neatly printed words. A cold chill froze his blood, and then a boiling fury rushed in to replace it.
Howe had been found in the East End. At one of the brothels he favored. And he’d had his throat cut, just as he’d warned Drake would happen if he revealed M’s identity. But he hadn’t. Howe had provided clues that allowed Drake to find the blackmail materials, and yet the thief had steadfastly refused to give away the mastermind behind it all.
And he’d been terrified once Drake released him.
