Page 26 of The Duke's Impetuous Darling
"And your's isn't?"
Marjorie knew about her search for Blue Hawker. She’d revealed it just last week. But Del knew nothing. Bee was grateful she’d not divulged any hint of it.
“Be careful, will you?” Marjorie nodded toward the dining table. "Now excuse me, I must take my place."
Marjorie sailed off to her chair. To one side of Marjorie sat Del's dashing former beau Major Lord Bromley, Alastair and Griff's friend who'd come from Paris with them. And to the other sat Lord Carlson.
For her own freedom from Carlson tonight, Bee thanked her dear Lord.
* * *
The ride south into Brighton cleared Alastair’s head, gave him purpose and optimism. The mount Griff had authorized from the stable was a handsome beast, fifteen hands high and fast. Within the hour, Alastair walked into the Brighton Town House where all government offices were located. One of the men standing about inside was a Royal Horse Artillery officer whom he'd met years ago in Spain.
"Colonel Reade!" Alastair hailed the man whose silver-streaked hair told the tale of how the man had prematurely aged during his years in wartime service. "I'm delighted to see you again!"
Beaming at him, Francis Reade grabbed his hand and noted his civilian attire. "I've heard you are now Kingston. Congratulations, Your Grace. How are you?"
Noting Francis' concerned tone implied he'd learned of Alastair's battlefield injuries, he did not wish to focus on his infirmities. "I recover as best I can. I'm thrilled to see you whole and here. Are you on assignment?"
"I'm posted here temporarily to Preston Barracks."
"North of town. Yes, I know of it."
"We've got word of a situation that concerns smuggled goods. Army supplies that have been stolen and are sold for a pittance."
"I see. So you're here to report this to the Customs officials?"
"I'm here to learn what they know. I've come from Ostend where a month ago the Navy tracked an English sloop with contraband that put in at Shoreham."
Shoreham was a natural port west of Brighton where smugglers could tack in easily cloaked by thick foliage of natural terrain. Revenue officials stationed their cutters there because it was easier and quicker to get in and out, as opposed to rockier Brighton shore. "I'm here, Reade, to discuss smugglers into these ports as well."
"I'm to ask if the Customs men have found the smugglers."
"Intriguing." Alastair removed his gloves, eager to speak with the Customs officer in charge of Brighton and Shoreham. "There must be new information, I gather?"
"Wellington has intelligence that some well-connected citizens in Brighton run the operations."
"Oh? Any reason why he thinks that?"
Francis leaned closer. "An informant here in town spied the gang leader and his broker months ago."
An informant. Bee.
"She gave them information that described him. The description the Navy gave of the smuggler and the man he met on the beach in Shoreham matches this lady's."
"I see." Alastair stilled as his blood ran cold. "So you know who this agent is?"
"We have an idea. We must obtain evidence to arrest him."
The Customs man, Sire Henry Torrens, an older gentleman, shorter and very bald, approached the two. "Colonel Reade, I presume?"
"I am, sir." His friend offered a perfunctory smile.
"And you, sir?" the older man asked.
"I am now known as Kingston, Sir Henry. You may remember I spoke with you last spring when a friend of mine had valuable information for you about a certain matter of contraband?" The little man blinked, attempting to recall Alastair. "I was then in uniform, sir. Captain Alastair Demerest of His Majesty's Royal Dragoons.”
"Of course! I do remember now." He pointed a finger in the air in punctuation. "Come in to my office. Both of you. I think we have news you will both enjoy!"
