The Vanishing Thief(44)
“Yes.”
She gave a last tug on my corset strings. “Then I’d suggest something businesslike. Your best shirtwaist is freshly ironed. Perhaps with your gray outfit.”
I nodded. “What do you think the duke wants? I sent him a note with some questions. He could have sent back a reply. I wasn’t asking anything personal.”
The room was silent as she pulled my petticoat and skirt over my head. “Perhaps he wants to hire you and the Archivists to find that missing man.”
“Perhaps.” I considered the possibility while she did up my buttons.
“How old is the duke?”
“Mid to late thirties, I’d guess.”
“And he doesn’t have a family? I’d say he’s interviewing you for the position of duchess. Or something like.” Her voice turned dry. “He hasn’t had any reason to get the wrong impression, has he?”
“I should hope not.” But his questions about my virginity still left me uneasy.
I looked prosperous in my newest white blouse with a gray skirt and jacket. Emma nodded her agreement when I entered the empty shop, though she frowned at my hair. With a few extra pins, she gave me a tidy coiffure. I could only hope it would stay that way as I strolled from Grosvenor Square toward Park Lane. The drizzle had let up and the wind died down, but with it, fog had settled onto the city once more.
By the time I reached the duke’s residence, the air was that peculiar yellowish gray and smelled vaguely of sulfur. People and carriages sprang out of the cloud and then disappeared again. All in all, an ominous, depressing day.
The butler took my wrap and escorted me to a small parlor in the back. If he remembered me from my first visit to Blackford House, his manner never showed any recollection of me scooting around him in the main hall.
The view from the window of the duke’s garden might be lovely on a clear day; today it was hidden behind an impenetrable film. A silent maid carried in a tea tray and set it on the low table by the sofa.
The duke arrived a minute later and found me still standing near the fire, looking about the pretty room and wondering what I, a middle-class bookshop owner, was doing there. He gestured for me to sit. I chose the sofa; he chose a wing chair. “My stepmother decorated this room.”
“It’s lovely.” It truly was, done in pinks and yellows with striped wallpaper and well-padded furniture. It was a light, cheerful room, not yet darkened over time by the grime of coal fires and gas lamps.
“Would you pour the tea?”
“Of course.” I hoped I wouldn’t make a mistake as he watched intently. “Cream or sugar, Your Grace?”
“Sugar. One lump.”
I handed him his cup and survived the ordeal without shaking too badly. He had a terrible effect on my nerves. His unblinking stare and pirate-raider expression made me wonder if he was going to lay siege to my honor or slit my throat.
After fixing my own tea, I looked at him expectantly. “You were going to answer some more questions for me?”
“I knew the Archivist Society was meeting at the time I arrived because I had you followed.”
“Really? Neither Emma nor I noticed anyone following us that night. He must be very good.”
“He is.”
“Why did you have me followed?” I studied him intently. There was something battle ready about his appearance, from his helmet of straight black hair to his uniform of black suit and waistcoat, white shirt and collar. The gold chain leading to his pocket watch was like a band of medals from previous skirmishes. This meeting felt like a test of wills. Why had the duke chosen to fight me on his home ground?
“Because I don’t want Nicholas Drake rescued by anyone but me. Since I wanted to speak to the Archivist Society, I decided sooner or later you would lead me to them. And you did. Thank you.” He took a sip of his tea and then set down the cup.
“You weren’t the only peer to visit us that night.”
“I’d mentioned your involvement and that of the Archivist Society to my fellow victims of Drake’s greed. Then, after I left your meeting that night, I ran into Lord Hancock at my club. He must have rushed over from the club to appeal to you to stop interfering.”
I nodded my head in reply, while my skin cried for another bath. I felt dirty from being spied on. “Am I still being followed?”
“After you were attacked, I decided my interference was to blame and I told one of my men to keep you safe when you go out in the evening.”
“Why?”
“I just told you why. My interference is to blame.” He snapped off the words as they left his mouth.
He might think he was being prudent, but I needed to know if someone following me had evil intentions. “It might be wise to introduce us. I’d hate to disable my protector.”