Page 16 of A Lady's Dangerous Secret
James took a sip of his ale as he processed the information he had just learned from Morris.
Mrs. Gibson.
He shook his head in defeat. His life as a captain in the Royal Navy during a war was simpler than his current predicament. There, you knew the enemy. Here, it was all aliases, murder, and secrets.
Who is Mrs. Gibson?
He needed to find her,so he could get the ledgers released and be paid his insurance money. Then, he could leave thetonand this awful city.
Before sheand Roberts showed up, James had begun to readjust to living on land. Jack had known James needed a purpose, but also that he had restlessness that could not be quelled. Jack had sent James to monitor his shipments at the various ports throughout Britain. It provided James with direction but also kept him moving. Jack’s former man of business for western coastline ports was Embry, a heavyset, jolly, middle-aged man whom James had trusted.
But James only worked with him for a short time, because Embry died unexpectedly. Or so Roberts said. Roberts did not waste any time taking over his predecessor’s accounts.
James did not know whom to trust anymore.
At least he could speak with Jack. His best friend would never lie to him. They were like brothers, bonded by nightmarish childhoods in Birmingham.
He finished his ale, then made his way toward the door, his height and shoulder breadth preventing a furtive exit like Morris. He squinted in response to the daylight. Once his eyes had adjusted, he stepped away from the pub and then hailed a nearby hack to transport him back to the hellish world of the gently bred. He climbed into the vehicle with his head down and slouched against its squabs in defeat.
James was no closer to findingher.
CHAPTER SEVEN
During calling hours, Charlotte was back in the drawing room, adorned in a white-sprigged muslin dress and seated on a cream settee surrounded by suitors. Her aunt hovered nearby in an eye-catching frock, and directed the men as they came in, artfully placing them in proximity to Charlotte based on their title and fortune. For the most part, Charlotte aimed for her best aristocratic smile while the gentlemen tried to woo her by any and all means.
She tried to keep a straight face. She had never thought of how many words rhymed withblue. Every poem or sonnet that presented to her attempted to describe her eyes and somehow find a rhyming counterpart. The blue of her eyes was likened todew,hue, and her favorite,coo, which to her knowledge was a massive Highland cow. For the latter, she could not help but laugh at that particular term of bovine endearment bestowed upon her by a Scottish laird with a gambling problem.
The adventurous ones mentioned her hair, but not one mentioned a word about her personality or anything of substance. Charlotte felt as if she were a painting in a museum, and the gentlemen were standing behind the ropes in a gallery, commenting on her looks from afar.
When these gentlemen attempted conversation, it was the same polite topics that were repeated daily in every Society drawing room or ballroom. It was London, and it was always raining.
Charlotte had just politely put down a cage containing a pair of doves when the room fell silent. For a moment, all she could do was relish the quietness. Then her eyes swept the room until they landed on an imposing figure standing in the doorway.
The Duke of Westcliffe looked dapper in an olive-green double-breasted coat with a cream waistcoat, smartly tied cravat, buckskins, and gleaming, black top-boots. From his standing position, the Duke looked down, both figuratively and literally, at all the men seated throughout the room who were making fools of themselves trying to win Charlotte’s favor. She caught the side of his mouth twitch as he raised his eyes from the pups before him and caught her gaze.
She respected His Grace. Despite being kinder than she expected, he still held himself like a duke, with an air of authority that challenged anyone to cross him. She was not the only one present who felt his power. The other men shuffled to the side to make room for him as he parted through the sea of suitors with a bouquet in his hand and greeted Aunt Frances and her.
Aunt Frances ushered the seated dandy off the sofa to make room for His Grace. The Duke positioned himself next to Charlotte. “I thought I would deliver my flowers in person.”
Charlotte took the offered bouquet of vibrant pink and yellow flowers. “Thank you, Your Grace. These are beautiful, though I don’t recognize them. They seem exotic,” she said.
“They’re hibiscus flowers,” he explained. “Although I don’t come to London often, we have a flourishing conservatory with a very capable gardener.”
Charlotte rotated the hothouse bouquet in her hands, so she could fully appreciate their beauty. A few moments passed before her eyes caught movement above the flowers as the suitors left. The last one or two her aunt swiftly shooed from the drawing room, so Charlotte would have a private audience with the Duke.
“These flowers are absolutely delightful, and their bright colors a welcome respite from the dreary weather.” She grimaced at the final comment, apparently even she was not immune to using meteorology to fill the silence.
“Lady Charlotte, you don’t have to keep up the pretenses. You and I both know you are far more intelligent than to be talking about weather and flowers.”
She glanced around the empty room and saw Aunt Frances give her a nod as she walked to the doorway and loudly stated, “If you insist that I’m needed urgently…”
Her aunt slipped out of the drawing room toward an imaginary crisis, leaving the door slightly ajar for propriety.
Charlotte let out a sigh and allowed her shoulders to slump for a moment. “Thank goodness. That was overwhelming.” Her eyes darted to the Duke. She knew he had just encouraged her to speak more freely, but she likely overstepped the bounds of proper conversation.
Fortunately, he did not look offended. “I’m glad I was here to save you.” He waved his hand dismissively. “They’re boys being forced into marriage, either because they need an heir or they need the funds, not because they’re ready for it.”
Charlotte could not help but raise her eyebrows. “I don’t mean to offend you, Your Grace, but my understanding is that you, too, are in need of one of those things.”
