Daring the Duke

DARING THE DUKE

Anne Mallory

Spies and Secrets – Book 2

CATCH ME IF YOU CAN

"What brings every young woman from the country to London?" she said.

"Adventure."

"Adventure?" His lips curled. "Most women come during the season to find a husband."

"That is an adventure to most women, Your Grace."

"But you seem much more interesting than most women," he said.

A tingle passed through her. "I am sorry to say you will likely be disappointed in me, Your Grace."

"I’m sure that will not be the case." A sinful glint lit his eyes. She bowed her head.

"I’m sure you will find some other lady to attend."

"But there is no other lady’s interest I wish to
catch
so much as yours."

He pulled her slightly closer than was proper and his leg brushed hers.

The inflection made her heart skip.
He was suspicious, but he didn‘t
know. He couldn‘t or else she would already be in prison
. But a devil inside caused her to say: "You long to
chase
endlessly after something you can never hope to catch, Your Grace."

He threw his head back and laughed, and his laughter vibrated through her body as she saw the mischief shining in his eyes.

To Mom, Dad,

Matt, and Selina

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.

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.”