The duke stared at me for so long I began to wish he’d say something. He reached over and touched the bare back of my hand with his fingertip. His skin was warm against my flesh. I reveled in his gentleness and the intimacy of the contact. A touch that overcame the differences in our stations in life and shouted out our human connection. I could love a man who said so much with one small gesture.
“You pulled Sir Broderick, a much larger person, out of a burning building?”
“Yes.”
“How?” He took a sip of tea while he waited for my answer.
“The cottage was being renovated. There was a lot of lumber around. I grabbed some boards and worked them under the fallen beam to raise it enough to drag Sir Broderick out.”
“You did that alone?”
“Yes.” Then I realized—“You don’t believe me.”
I started to rise, but the duke gestured with one hand for me to sit. “I believe you. What I find amazing is the amount of physical effort you put into your rescue.”
Sitting again, I took a sip of tea to keep from crying. “I can’t believe how badly I failed.”
“You saved his life.”
“His legs were crushed. And I couldn’t get back in to help my parents. The roof collapsed. I did a very bad job of saving anyone.”
“I find it amazing anyone survived. That two people did is a testament to your ingenuity.” He tapped his fingertip on the back of my hand again. “Can you tell me where this cottage was?”
“I’m not likely to forget. Why?”
“Somebody owned it a dozen years ago. That might give you a hint to who your mystery man is.” He ran one finger along my hand to my wrist. His touch felt like a warm breath and made my insides tremble.
I dragged my mind back to our conversation. “We tried that at the time. Neither the owner of the property nor the farm manager had anything to do with what happened. I met the farm manager, and the owner was in Egypt.”
“Still, give me the location of this cottage. I may be able to learn something useful.”
I was suspicious. “Why would you want to assist us in finding a man who’s done nothing to you? Our interests are similar concerning Mr. Drake, and you don’t want our help.”
“Give me a chance to try to help find this killer to repay you for your help at the Arlingtons’ ball. At worst, you’ll know as much as you do now. Let me talk to some people for you.”
I was grateful for his help. The duke had contacts I would never have. With his aid, I might finally find this elusive man.
I held out my hand to him across the tea table. “Thank you, Your Grace. I accept your offer.”
Chapter Eighteen
SHORTLY after we closed the bookshop that evening, Emma, Frances Atterby, and I ate fish, peas, and potatoes with Phyllida. After the terrible meals I’d had while traveling, I was grateful for Phyllida’s artistry with herbs and seasonings.
After dinner, we walked to Sir Broderick’s. Our conversation traveled from sales at the bookshop to the latest news in the neighborhood. I caught Emma’s eye and she gave a small nod. Neither of us mentioned the stealthy footsteps following us to the meeting, but I saw Emma ready the knife in her grip. Each soft step felt like a tiny jab in my spine, and I wanted to run to the safety of Sir Broderick’s front door.
Warmer spring weather had descended on London in my absence, but Sir Broderick’s fire burned as hot as ever and he sat as close. I thought I would melt as I walked over to him.
“Was your trip successful?”
“It was certainly surprising. Are you ready for me to start?”
“Have a cup of tea first. We have a lot to go over tonight. The ball is tomorrow. Hopefully your dresses will be delivered to Lady Westover’s in the morning.”
My stomach did a painful flip. “And if they’re not?”
“It’ll be hard to be the Fire Queen in your normal attire.”
He grinned and I looked down at the clothes I’d worn while having tea with the duke and then working in the bookshop. Blue skirt, white shirtwaist. Professional. Middle class. Ordinary. There was nothing extraordinary or regal about me. I needed the disguise of being wrapped in flame-colored material and rubies to act the part of a queen.
By the time we poured tea and Frances had two of Dominique’s scones, Fogarty had arrived and Jacob came up to join our meeting. Sir Broderick looked around and said, “We have a great deal to cover tonight. I’m going to recap what you’ve told me previously, and then we’ll learn what information is to be added.”
He settled in his wheeled chair and began. “Nicholas Drake, a known thief and blackmailer, was the victim of an attempted abduction. He escaped to his home outside Hounslow, where an attempt was made on his life. A friend of his, Harry Conover, was killed in his place. Nicholas Drake has since gone to his home in the London suburbs, from which he hasn’t strayed. We have someone watching the house day and night.”
Because of my trip, I was four days behind. “Have we notified the police of who was killed in Hounslow and who the target really was?”
Sir Broderick gave me a wry smile. “We have. The police have been less than pleased with our help. Our choices for attacker include the dukes of Blackford and Merville; the Earl of Waxpool; and Lords Naylard, Dutton-Cox, and Hancock. And then we found we could add the current Lord Caphart.”
I paused my teacup halfway to my mouth. “Lady Caphart was the one to sell Drake the cottage in Hounslow. Something new’s come out?”
“It turns out after leaving his wife Anne in prison and arriving in London, Drake went to work as a footman for the dowager Lady Caphart. She had inherited a few properties from her family as well as many works of art. Shortly before her death, she gave Drake the property in Hounslow and a couple of Renaissance paintings. He sold the paintings and bought his house in town. He kept the house in the Hounslow countryside for himself while he rented out the adjoining acreage to a nearby farmer.”
“And?” There was more. There had to be more.
“After Lady Caphart’s death, the current Lord Caphart found out his mother had given expensive gifts to a footman she hadn’t employed long and had a lawyer look into it. They lacked proof, but accusations of theft and forgery flew. Lord Caphart swore he’d get even, but he says he had nothing to do with the attacks on Drake.”
“What do you think?”
“Lord Caphart has been at his country estate until the day before yesterday, confined to his bed with pneumonia for the past four weeks. I don’t think his mind was on Drake.”
“Another possibility gone bad. I wish someone would slip up.” One day to go and we had no idea who was after Drake or why we were attending the ball. I felt the presence of a puppet master pulling everyone’s strings, but finding him was like walking in a strange neighborhood during a thick fog. I was unlikely to do anything but get lost.
Especially since I kept coming back to one puzzling suspect, one I didn’t want to consider. Blackford.
Sir Broderick started ticking our suspects off on his fingers. “Naylard doesn’t care that his sister converted. Blackmail over. Waxpool sent his son away to France and ended any possible embezzlement and the blackmail in a single day. The Mervilles are still paying blackmail over a child they don’t want society to know about, but Drake hasn’t proven to be greedy. They can afford it. Dutton-Cox married off his problem, and his son-in-law refused to pay a farthing.”