Chapter Eight
“YOU handled the two men who attacked me very well.” I was more impressed with Blackford’s aggressive brawling approach than I should have been. The man was a duke. He should have men about him to take care of the unpleasant aspects of life. “Where did you learn to fight like that?”
“My grandfather. This was his cane. He told me we carry canes to represent the swords gentlemen used to carry. In honor of its role, he had this specially fitted out.” He balanced the black wooden stick in one hand before tapping it on his other palm. He didn’t offer to let me touch. “He had it specially weighted to inflict maximum damage.”
“Why don’t you have your footmen deal with thugs? I thought that was one of the perks of being a duke.”
“I find it easier to take care of myself, with my footmen looking on to step in if I get into trouble, than to worry about my footmen being injured.”
“Because it’s harder to find a good footman than a useful duke?” I asked. We were far enough away from my attackers that I wasn’t worried if he threw me out of the carriage for my sass.
“Because I’m a better fighter than any of them, and I like to deal with my problems myself. But this still doesn’t tell me where I should let you off.”
“Leicester Square, if you don’t mind going so far out of your way.”
“Not at all. I should have associated you with the music halls and theaters, since you have this other persona of Lady Westover’s relation, complete with a scandalous grandmama to explain why you can’t go out among society.”
As long as he didn’t associate me with the bookstores between Leicester Square and Covent Garden, I’d be fine. This duke had a sharp mind. Sharp enough to be devious, no matter how much he protested.
He turned serious. “Why are you looking for Drake?”
“Because someone wants him found. I told you that the first time we met.”
“Anyone I know?”
He’d obviously forgotten Edith Carter. “No one you’d notice, Your Grace. Why do you not want him found if you want to retrieve your sister’s letters? Don’t you want him within reach so you can negotiate with him?”
“I don’t negotiate with blackmailers if I can help it. If someone has kidnapped him, he has other things to worry about than destroying the reputations of good people. The longer he’s out of circulation, the more chance there is that something unfortunate will happen to him and the evidence he holds against my family and friends. Or the more chance he’ll decide it’s safer to agree to my demands.” A devilish smile crossed his face for an instant, and I feared I’d be devoured.
A new possibility came to mind. “Is his disappearance the result of the efforts of several people working together to keep Mr. Drake out of society and prevent him from causing them harm?”
“I would applaud such efforts, but I am not a party to them, if that is what you’re asking.”
“It is, Your Grace.”
“No. I had nothing to do with his disappearance or the attack on you tonight.”
“Would you tell me if you had?”
He steepled his fingers, showing off long, narrow hands inside pristine white calf gloves. “No. I wouldn’t tell you if I had. While I know I didn’t have anything to do with those events, there’s no way I can convince you. Do you always find yourself running in circles during an investigation?”
“Far too often. It’s part of what we go through to find the truth.”
He gave a chuckle. “You expect to find the truth? Now, that is funny.”
He hit a nerve. I glared at him and he composed his face into a somber expression. “The truth is very important to everyone in the Archivist Society. Otherwise we wouldn’t bother to cut through all the lies we hear.” We were getting close to my destination. “You know these men. Who do you think the most likely to have kidnapped Nicholas Drake?”
“None of them. Are you certain you don’t want me to have the carriage drive down Charing Cross Road? You’d be much closer to Fenchurch’s Books that way.”
I closed my eyes and let out a sigh. Would I be able to hide anything from the Duke of Blackford? “How did you know?”
“Come, come, Miss Fenchurch. Did you think I’d have some strange woman walk around my study and not have her investigated?”
Curiosity is my downfall. I might not like what I heard, but I had to ask. “What did you learn?”
“That you’ve owned Fenchurch’s Books since your parents died. That you live near the shop. That you pay your rent on time. That you handle some excellent antiquarian volumes. That you have a modest success with the shop and employ one young woman who both lives and works with you. The blonde at Sir Broderick’s the night I burst in on your meeting—is she your shop assistant?”