The Vanishing Thief(7)

*



“THE DUKE HAS no wish to discuss Nicholas Drake again.” The gray-haired man, presumably the butler, spoke in a hush that didn’t echo in the marble-tiled front hall.

I restrained my desire to stare at the ornately carved balustrade, the delicately painted ceiling with its pastoral settings, and the exquisite oil paintings. The duke wasn’t short of a pound if the entrance hall was anything to go by.

“I only need two minutes of his time and then I won’t bother him again.” I tried to fill my words with quiet authority, since my appearance wouldn’t garner respect. Wind had forced rain under my umbrella while I’d walked from the omnibus stop. Then, as the rain continued to pour down, I’d spent time arguing that my business was with the duke and I would not use the tradesmen’s entrance. Thank goodness there was no mirror in the hall. I must have looked like a drowned pup.

“He doesn’t wish to be bothered at this time.”

I’d seen the door the butler had left and returned by. One quick dodge around the older man and I’d be through that doorway. “That is most unfortunate.”

I turned as if leaving, and when the butler moved around me to help me on with the cloak I’d previously shed, I dashed down the hall.

Skidding on the polished floor in my wet shoes, I grabbed for the door handle. I threw open the door and entered a warm, paneled study filled with enough books and maps to make me feel at home. My shoes squished as I hurried across the thick Oriental carpet.

“Your Grace,” the butler said from behind me.

The Duke of Blackford remained seated at his massive desk studying the papers in his hand. “I’ll handle it, Stevens.” His voice was a weary growl. I could imagine this man, wide shouldered, craggy faced, immaculately tailored, throwing the unimposing Edith Carter out of his house. He hadn’t risen or even looked up when I entered the room. Philistine.

And then he set his papers on the pristine desktop and stared at me with eyes that challenged my right to breathe the air in his study.

I could play my role better than he could. I curtsied. The door clicked softly behind me as the butler left, followed by an icy raindrop skittering down my cheek. I didn’t like being left alone with this man. For once I wasn’t worried about my reputation; I was worried for my life. His dark eyes bore into me, proclaiming he ate more important people for breakfast. And there was the small matter of the blood on Drake’s floor.

“Well?” he demanded in a deep voice. “Why are you here?”

“Your carriage was seen at the site of an abduction.” My voice didn’t tremble, but my knees did.

“Whose abduction?”

“Mr. Nicholas Drake.”

A cruel smile slashed across his sharp-angled face. “Another of his lovers? The middle class grows more interesting.”

Heat rose on my cheeks. “I’ve never met the man.”

“Then why do you care?”

“Friendship.”

“For that drab little mouse Miss . . . ?” He made a graceful, sweeping motion with the long, tapered fingers of one hand. Then his gaze returned to the papers on his desk.

If he thought he could convince me to leave by ignoring me, he was most certainly wrong. I stalked toward the smooth mahogany desk and glared at the seated man. “Her name is Miss Carter. Are you familiar with friendship, Your Grace?”

He rose and looked down on me. I’m of insignificant stature, and he had the advantage of height as well as the bearing of a duke. His black hair was ruthlessly slicked back and his dark-eyed gaze burned inside me. “You’re dripping on my desk, Miss”—he glanced at the card I’d sent in with the butler—“Fenchurch.”

I hopped back a step and gazed down. Two drops shimmered on the polished wood. I wished I’d sent in one of my cards with a false name. This man knew how to intimidate his inferiors without even mentioning his title. I decided not to ask about the death of his fiancée. I’d already made the mistake of letting him know my true identity.

He pulled out his handkerchief and wiped off the rain, then looked from the cloth to me as if he didn’t know how to proceed with propriety. He held out the large white square. “You might want to pat yourself off. You appear to have spent too long outdoors.”

For an instant, I saw concern in his eyes, but was it for me or his desk? Then all expression vanished. I took the handkerchief and wiped my face and hat brim. “You haven’t answered my question.”

His voice was dry with annoyance when he said, “I am familiar with friendship.”

“Then you understand why I’ve taken on this commission for her.” I handed back the handkerchief.