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.
“No.” He tossed the cloth on the floor as he came out from behind his desk. “And if you’re going to continue this ridiculous debate, you need to stand close to the fire. Otherwise, you’ll soak my carpet.”
The infuriating man was making this as difficult as possible. Debate, indeed. All he had to do was answer my questions. But the grip on my elbow was gentle as he led me close to the comforting blaze.
For a moment, I shut my eyes in bliss. The welcome warmth made my fingers and toes tingle with renewed sensation. When I opened my eyes, my gaze fell on a seventeenth-century terrestrial globe in pristine condition. “Oh, how beautiful,” slipped out before I thought.
Blackford strolled over to the sphere and ran one forefinger along the Atlantic. “It is magnificent, isn’t it? The third duke brought it back from Italy.”
I stared at the globe in wonder for a moment before I gave him a grateful smile and said, “Perhaps you’ll save both of us time by telling me where your coach was on the night of March fourteenth?”
“Which coach?”
He was a duke. He probably had more carriages than I had dresses. “A tall, ancient one, all black, pulled by black horses.”
“The Wellington coach. Why? Was that the night Drake disappeared?”
I shook out my damp skirts before the fire, reveling in the heat. Perhaps that was what made me less cautious. “Yes. If your coach was otherwise engaged, then it couldn’t have been involved, and I needn’t bother you any longer.”
The duke returned to his desk and opened a slender volume. As he flipped through the pages, a curly lock of black hair slid over his stiff white collar. I was certain he’d have the errant strand chopped off for unruliness. “Last Thursday, I attended the theater and then had a late supper at the home of the Duke of Merville, where my carriage waited for me. My coachman was unaware of when I would next require him. We returned here at two o’clock on the fifteenth.”
“The theater let out about eleven?”
“Yes. The duke and duchess rode to the theater and back in my carriage.”
Eleven was the time Edith Carter saw Drake tossed into the duke’s carriage. “I will, of course, verify this with the Duke of Merville.”
A smile, a genuinely amused smile, crossed the duke’s face. “Merville will enjoy providing my carriage with an alibi.”
“Then the task will prove an easy one.”
The smile broadened. “He won’t see you. He’s less tolerant of young women breaking into his study than I am. You’ll have to take my word.”
“Why?”
His smile vanished. In its place, his eyes narrowed and his lips thinned. Hadn’t anyone given this haughty man a taste of his own insufferable attitude before? “He doesn’t see anyone without an appointment. Neither do I, but when you burst in I made a bet with myself that you were here on behalf of Miss Carter. She also entered unannounced, dramatically sobbing threats.”
“Who won the bet?”
Good heavens. The corner of his mouth quirked up in amusement for an instant. “Despite your charming demeanor, Miss Fenchurch, I’m afraid you’ll have to take my word for the use of my carriages. None of them have ever been used to abduct anyone.”
He was toying with me now. Bigger, meaner, uglier men had tried this same technique in the past. Of course, as a duke, he did it with more elegance. “I’m certain that’s true, Your Grace, but I wish to clarify this matter so there can be no doubt in anyone’s mind your coach is blameless.”
He studied my face in silence. I fought down the urge to fidget as I watched him watch me. All businessmen and aristocrats wore unrelieved black and white, but no man had ever looked so exquisite in the absence of color. Perhaps because his skin was unusually tanned for an Englishman. Electricity seemed to crackle in the air between us.
Then he stalked forward, looming over me. Was he planning to physically throw me out of his study?
“Why do you want to find Drake?”
“Because he’s missing, and no one deserves to vanish without someone trying to find him.” I stared back in part because he cut a mesmerizing figure, and in part because I wanted him to know I was serious about my search.
“You’re not looking for his stolen treasures?”
That surprised me. “What are you referring to, Your Grace?”
“That’s not important.”
“Did he steal something from you?”
“Not precisely, no.” He was pacing around the room now. No, I paced around my bookshop. This room was large enough for the duke to stride about the room.
“Who did he steal from?”
“My sister and my late fiancée.”
“I’d like to speak to your sister.”
“I’m afraid that’s impossible. She’s staying at the castle, and there’s no way for you to reach her.”
Of course I would try. For now, I tried to sound deferential. “Perhaps you could speak for her. What is Mr. Drake accused of stealing?”
“A necklace and earrings from my sister, and a bracelet from my late fiancée. The thefts took place over two years ago, and nothing has been recovered.”
“Was this reported to the police?”
“Of course.” His tone said he was nearly out of patience.
“And did they determine Mr. Drake was the thief?”
“No.”
I raised my eyebrows at that. “But you’re certain he’s responsible?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
He strode to where I stood before his fire and stared down at me. Intimidatingly close. He stimulated my nerves in a way I’d never experienced before while being threatened. I swallowed, expecting him to bodily throw me out of his study. Or ravish me with kisses. He was a man who made the air sizzle with the threat of a long-ago highwayman. Instead, he said, “Because the cur admitted it to me a year later.”
“Did he return the jewelry?”
“He returned nothing.”
I gazed into his rough-hewn face. What I suspected, given his ducal seat on the North Sea coast, was his pirate-raider ancestry. Behind the fragrance of clean linen and sandalwood was a hint of gunpowder and male sweat. “And you didn’t pursue him in the courts?”