Spies and Secrets 02 - Daring the Duke

by Anne Mallory

  DARING THE DUKE

  Anne Mallory

  Spies and Secrets – Book 2

  Dedication

  To Mom, Dad,

  Matt, and Selina

  Chapter 1

  London, 1824

  A sliver of moonlight broke through the dense clouds, and the cold fingers of the night encompassed Stephen Chalmers, the new Duke of Marston, as he watched the figure in the window.

  But heat spread thought his body when the silhouette arched upward and grasped an object in a graceful steady motion.

  With energy and anticipation thrumming in his veins, the passing minutes felt like an eternity. From his position in the shadows, the figure’s act of reaching upward was a lover’s hand skimming a thigh, grazing a side, gliding across a chest. And the motion of pulling an object off a shelf became a hand running down a neck, down a breast, skimming a hip.

  He shifted uncomfortably, trying to ignore the way his body was responding. It wouldn’t be much longer before the papers in the house across the street were secured; the thief’s reputation had been well-earned.

  The silhouette lifted its shirt and tied what appeared to be a sheaf of papers around its waist. The body lines unintentionally revealed more than an added padding of paper.

  The figure slid from view, and the light in the room was extinguished. A long leg stretched from the open window, and the intruder landed a smoothly executed jump.

  Stephen admired the graceful landing and held his position. The figure scanned the empty street, lowered the window, and then sprinted to the east. Stephen motioned eastward to the man at his side, who nodded and silently followed the retreating form.

  It had been a stroke of genius and good luck to find the notorious thief Hermes destination. With it came confirmation of the thief’s identity.

  A satisfied smile eased across Stephen’s face. Patience wasn’t his strong suit, but some tasks were definitely worth the wait. He had tracked the thief’s movements for too many years to carelessly spoil the hunt.

  Years of tracking Hermes had finally come to a close. Stephen had thought he was out of luck when the thief had abruptly retired and disappeared from London the previous year. But something had lured Hermes back to the game with renewed vigor. The thief was single-handedly responsible for six robberies in the last week alone. Seven, counting tonight’s work.

  Having stolen the papers, Hermes’ next step would be the modest brick house near Mayfair. The thief’s temporary home.

  Stephen stepped into the street and walked the few blocks to his carriage, whistling. He would visit the unpretentious brick house soon. An introduction to Hermes was well past due.

  His blood heated. It was time to toss a kink in her plans.

  Chapter 2

  Stephen casually twirled a pen, splattering ink on the papers covering his desk. “What did the informant say?”

  Marcus Stewart, Baron Roth, leaned casually against the leather chair on the opposite of Stephen’s desk. “The same as the longshoreman. He only noticed that the papers had been switched because he was informed earlier in the day that the spice ship was coming in late. Otherwise, the ship would have been rerouted in the same manner as the others.”

  “Any new information on the villains’ identities?”

  “A few of the men of the docks recall a short man with a nervous twitch and a floppy hat. Seems to corroborate the earlier description of one of men we are searching for. Still no recognizable facial characteristics.”

  “What about information on any of the others?”

  “The thefts all point to Hermes. At least one other person besides Mr Floppy Hat has be involved. Probably the coordinator between the thief and the man in charge.”

  “Hermes will be taken care of.”

  “You know who the thief is?”

  “I do indeed.” Stephen dabbed at the splattered droplets with the ink blotter.

  “Well? Who is he?” Roth, usually a patient man, sat forward in his chair.

  Stephen smiled at his friend’s expression. He was in no hurry to satisfy Roth’s curiosity. He examined the shape of his inkpot, the curves vaguely reminiscent of the ones he had seen the night before. “You’ll know tonight. I need to put some plans into action.”

  “Get Hermes, and you have the others. Without the thief there is no way for them to get the papers or to sneak in and use the necessary seals to create the new documents. No one else is as good.”

  “True. But we need to make sure that we get the others.”

  “What’s wrong with the usual methods? Hell, Angelford will be back tonight. He’d probably love to help with the interrogation.” Roth smirked.

  “Provided that his wife lets him.”

  Stephen smiled briefly. “Yes, but I’ve decided to try something new with this one.”

  Roth gave him an unreadable expression. “Why?”

  “I have my reasons.” Not that those reasons are necessarily good ones, Stephen thought darkly.

  Roth leaned back and studied him. “Why the secrecy?”

  “Why the impatience?”

  As planned, Roth took exception to his flippancy. “You know damn well why, Stephen.”

  “Someone is wreaking havoc with the dock and shipping records.

  Flanagan is marshalling forces in St. Giles and stirring action in the stews.

  Someone’s trying to kill me, et cetera, et cetera.” Stephen twirled the pen again. A small flow of liquid jetted towards his friend, landing just short of the papers on the edge of desk.

  Roth grimaced at having taken the bait, but persisted. “That’s a rather blasé way to state the situation, even for you.”

  “We don’t know if Flanagan has direct involvement with the shipping trouble. Shipping ventures aren’t his style.”

  “How much does it take for a criminal to develop an interest in another aspect of the criminal underworld? This is your area of expertise. I shouldn’t be the one quoting it.”

  Stephen sighed and set the pen down, the exhilaration from identifying one of Flanagan’s top thieves receding along with his enjoyment from nettling Roth. “I know. But Flanagan is a thief at heart, not a murderer, and with the dead longshoreman last week and the merchant the week before, it just doesn’t fit. And his minions are cut from the same cloth.

  They belong in prison for their crimes, but I don’t believe they are treasonous. It’s just not their style, Roth.”

  “Hermes was one of Flanagan’s best and we know he is involved in this.

  Besides, illegal shipping and rerouting cargoes fit into the category of theft.”

  Stephen acknowledged Roth’s point. “Yes, and maybe Flanagan has some involvement. But my gut says there are new players involved. Besides, I believe we are searching for someone with greater prestige and position than flunkies in the St. Giles gangs. Someone who has access to specific, confidential information.”

  Stephen began ticking off points on his fingers. “We know there are at least three major players: Hermes, who is stealing the papers and authenticating the fake ones with appropriate seals, the person who is serving the intermediary, and the man behind it all. I need to confirm a few details this afternoon, then I will meet you at Taylors’ party. That way I can tell you and James everything at the same time.”

  Stephen pulled one his fern hybrids over and plucked a dead leaf. “We’ll uncover the plot in time to save the day and rout the villains, just like we did with the Cato Conspiracy, don’t worry.”

  “Sometimes I worry about you, old friend.”

  “No worries, Roth,” Stephen flashed a grin. “The next few weeks should be quite e
xciting. Wait and see.”

  Roth threw up a balled-up piece of paper at his head. Stephen grinned as he caught it, but promptly grimaced as the action aggravated his sore shoulder. The shoulder hadn’t fully healed in the year since he had

  “fallen” into the Thames. He rotated his arm and felt the slight pop.

  Roth watched him, concern etched in his eyes. “Still paining you?”

  “Feeling better every day.”

  “Discover anything new about your saviour?”

  “I have the men following a few leads, but no, nothing new.”

  His friend tapped a finger. “That is odd.”

  “And frustrating. You don’t have to remind me.”

  It had been a year, but Stephen could still feel the dark grip of the Thames before he had blacked out. Jumping off the bridge while barely conscious had not been his smartest move, but in the end it had save his life. As a result of his involvement and investigation, justice had been served. The treasonous members of England’s Foreign Office had been apprehended.

  Everything had worked out satisfactorily, with the exception of the shoulder injury and not finding the faceless savior who had fished him from the river. Both loose ends still bothered him.

  He rotated his shoulder again. “Only one more thug to corral from the Foreign Office investigation. Leonard Peters. The dullard has been absent from London since the incident, which is fortunate for him. A stone would give him a good beating in a test of intelligence.”

  “He works for Flanagan,” Roth pointed out.

  Roth was relentless. He wasn’t going to dismiss the Flanagan connection until he was satisfied.

  “So did some of the other conspirators, but they all maintained they were hired for an outside job. No connection to Flanagan.” Stephen cracked his knuckles, an annoying habit taken from his father. “And there was plenty of incentive for them to implicate Flanagan.”

  Roth nodded but looked unconvinced. “But most of his folks are loyal. I think you should investigate Flanagan’s bunch.”

  Stephen stroked his fingers down the curves of the inkpot. “I have. As a matter of fact, investigating his gang is exactly how I determined Hermes’ identity. Icarus’s too. Two of his favourite thieves.”

  Roth leaned forward, careful to avoid the ink-stained papers. “Excellent.

  Tell me who Icarus is then.”

  “Tonight, old man, tonight,” he teased the man only two years his senior.

  “I do believe I dislike you these days, Chalmers.”

  Stephen grinned. “I promise the Taylors’ party will be interesting.”

  Roth raised both brows in disbelief and rose. “I find that hard to believe, but I’ll see you this evening.”

  Stephen released the curved inkpot and leaned back in his chair. Tonight would be interesting. The carefully structured impromptu meeting this afternoon would guarantee it.

  A light-hearted feeling of anticipation and excitement thrummed through him. The chase was going to be even sweeter this time. He felt it in his skin. He would finish the game started years before when Hermes had pilfered important government documents. While not a treasonous affair, and therefore not in Stephen’s usual line of work, the papers contained secrets that has caused consternation among his superiors and a lot of official sweating. Stephen had retrieved the papers, but the thief had been long gone—an indescribable shadow by witness account.

  Since he had been needed on the Continent, Stephen had assigned numerous men to catch the thief. Hermes had slipped through the fingers of every runner and hired guard. Slipped through every time without a trace.

  But this time the thief was making mistakes, just as every criminal eventually did. Rather than confining activities to the general populace, the thefts had once more crossed into governmental affairs. This time Stephen was going to catch the thief himself and not delegate the work.

  And it was a task he expected to enjoy thoroughly. The thrill of the chase pulsed through him again, forcing him to temper the feeling with cold realism. The ending to these cases was always the same. Prison and often a death sentence. Justice was the cornerstone of English society and civilization. Societies that had laws without justice crumbled—justice always needed to be served.

  Stephen fiddled with the tangled fronds of the fern on his desk. Tangled just like he planned, but maybe a little too twisted to unravel.

  He lifted the plant and walked to his conservatory, whistling. He needed the right amount of twist to get the desired effect. Too little was boring; too much created a mess. He needed the perfect combination.

  He loved a challenge.

  *

  “Good afternoon, Miss Kendrick. The cabbages are particularly plump this day. My son hauled ‘em in from the country early this morning.”

  Audrey Kendrick smiled at the stout grocer and examined the healthy vegetables in his stall. A hearty cabbage soup would complement the roast duck she planned for supper. “In that case, I believe I’ll take two.”

  “How is Mr. Maddox? Is he feeling better?”

  Audrey gritted her teeth but assumed a hopeful expression. “Yes. He is no longer bedridden. The doctor says he has made an inspired recovery. He’s well enough that we shall even be attending a gathering this evening.”

  The grocer leaned forward. “Pardon my saying, miss, but I’ve never seen that doctor around these parts before. Now, the good doctor around the corner, that’s who you should have looking in on your father.”

  Audrey loosened her knit fingers from her skirt. Father indeed. “Oh, Dr.

  Smith has been very kind to us. Father took right to him. I don’t think he would be doing as well without the right doctor.”

  The grocer smiled and bundled her purchases. “Well, then that’s what matters. Here you go, miss. Have a good day. And give your father our regards.”

  Audrey forced herself to smile back. She wouldn’t be surprised to find her skin stretched permanently across her face from the strained smiles and false cheer. If she had to refer to that vicious old goat as her father one more time, she was going to scream. The lies were growing more difficult to utter. Especially in the face of such people. Round, jolly vendors hailed her, and motherly, cheerful women called out greetings. They were too damn nice here.

  This pleasant little slice of London, on the outskirts of Mayfair, was almost comical in its contrast to her old territory. Mayfair was nothing like the dregs of London, where one foul word could find you with a knife embedded in your ribs.

  Absently, she rubbed her right side. She was never going back. A voice in her head mocked her. You’re already back.

  No. No, she was temporarily “assigned” to a few tasks. As long as she and Faye survived this mess, there was enough money to ensure they’d have a life. A new life from London. If there was one lesson in the entire experience had taught her, it was she and her sister couldn’t remain in England. The past would always haunt them.

  Moving away from the vegetable stall and her dark thoughts, Audrey stepped into the center of the market. The smell of warm bread and delicious meat pies filled the air. The atmosphere was festive. It was another way that life in Mayfair was better. In the dregs, women hawked their wares to visiting merchants. Here, merchants hawked their wares to women and servants eager to return with the best of the day’s meat and produce.

  “Fresh vegetables!”

  “Tasty cutlets!”

  “The finest potatoes in England!”

  A street urchin breezed past and she felt a slight brush. In a trice she had shifted her packages and seized the boy’s arm with her free hand. The boy looked at her in surprise, then panic.

  “Not today, boyo.” She pulled him forcefully toward him to keep him off-balance, reached into his pocket and retrieved her money pouch. He regained his footing and scampered into the crowd.

  She absently memorized his features. He was new. The boy had promise; he just needed a little pra
ctice. It was the same for all new recruits.

  Audrey continued down the lane of colourful stalls, letting the cheerful atmosphere temporarily soothe her. These rosy bursts of humanity were the only things that kept harsh reality away, and unfortunately such moments were becoming fewer and harder to come by.

  A bright reflection drew her attention. The summer day was cloudless, and the rays easily caught the gleaming steel in the stall on the right.

  The new smith was flipping knives. She sighed wistfully. He might be an apprentice, but the quality of his craft was evident. Balance, tempered, and sharp. His was the stall she most wanted to visit. But if Miss Audrey Kendrick, fainthearted gentlewoman from the country, strolled in to toss the blades, the grocer and half the other vendors she frequented would become suspicious.

  No, she couldn’t afford to indulge her hobby. But maybe she could sneak into the smith’s house. Of course, she would pay for the merchandise. Her honor demanded it in this instance. But she’d relieve him a few of those crafted beauties and—

  A fresh forest scent assailed her, momentarily breaking her concentration.

  An odd smell to find in London. “Oof.” Audrey felt as if she’d hit a pine tree.

  “The Fates are kind today.”

  The tree had a smooth, deep voice. Audrey looked up at the handsome blond-haired man she had just crashed into, and the expression in his devilish green eyes caused her breath to lodge in her throat. One second.

  Two seconds.

  “I’ve been waiting all day for a beautiful woman to fall into my arms. But I am a reasonable man and will accept a collision instead.”

  Dear Lord, he was here to arrest her. Move, she shouted to her traitorous limbs. But she was rooted in place, rendered speechless and incapable of flight.

  “You looked a little shocked, miss. Are you hurt? I didn’t mean to startle you, but you so intent on watching the smith you didn’t see me.” A mischievous glint lit the familiar stranger’s face, belying his words.