Page 3 of Crash Landing
“You struck me as a very capable fellow when we first met.”
They had become acquainted last year at a house party at Northam Hall, the summer residence of the Duke of Bromleigh and his wife, Cherish, located just outside of Brighton. To the best of his recollection, he had not made much of an impression on Florence, although she had quite intrigued him. Unfortunately, she had spent much of that otherwise pleasant week avoiding him as deliberately as one might avoid rotting fish.
“I’m sorry we did not have time to get to know each other better,” she said, completely ignoring the fact that she had been the one to snub him. “But you know I was busy investigating Lady Cordelia Milbury and retrieving those jewels she stole from Lady Wilmot.”
“Who are you investigating now?” he asked, gently nudging her off him before he grew too comfortable holding her in his arms.
Because she felt really nice in his arms.
She smelled nice, too, a subtle floral scent reminiscent of summer roses at just that point when their petals unfurled under the warmth of the sun and filled the air with the delicate aroma of rose and citrus.
Refreshing. Soothing. Leaving you wanting to breathe in more of her. All of her.
Right. Enough of that.
He sat up and settled her beside him.
She cleared her throat. “The object of my investigation is Lord Frampton’s wife.”
“What did she do? Another theft of jewelry?”
“No, this time it is a packet of purloined love letters.”
Trajan furrowed his brow. “And you think Lady Frampton stole them? I am assuming they contained something quite embarrassing.”
She nodded. “I believe so. I was not given details of their content.”
“Are they embarrassing to Lady Frampton or to another lady?”
“Another lady, and it is now feared Lady Frampton’s husband willmake use of those letters for his own gain.”
“Florence, be careful. The Framptons are a powerful and well-connected family.”
“I know, and Lord Frampton is dangerously ambitious. I think he was the one who urged her to steal those letters from the wife of one of his political rivals. The rival is a decent and honest man, but he will be made a laughingstock and knocked out of contention for any office of importance unless I get those damaging letters back. I haven’t figured out how to do that yet.”
He cast her an admonishing look. There were so many reasons why this was a terrible idea. Not only were the Framptons dangerous to cross, they were also his neighbors, and he did not want any unpleasant incidents within days of his moving in at Gull Hall, the grand estate serving as the seat of the Weymouth dukes. “You should not be handling this assignment. Why did your client not leave it to the Bow Street Runners?”
“Because those investigators are most effective in London, and this latest theft has brought me all the way out here.”
He dug a twig out of Florence’s hair that seemed ready to burst from its pins. Rays of sunlight streamed through the foliage, highlighting the dark-chestnut hues of her silky tresses. “Are you sure these are merely love letters you believe Lady Frampton stole? And from whom did she steal them?”
She glanced around nervously as they heard voices nearby. “May we get away from here? I’ll tell you everything once we are safe.”
“Safe?” He frowned. “You think we are in danger?”
“Well…” She glanced in the direction of the approaching voices. “Yes, we might be. I’m not sure if Lord Frampton saw the glint of my binoculars in the tree as I spied into his bedchamber.”
“You did what?”
“Hush.I believe that is him walking over to investigate. Please, he mustn’t find out I have been watching him,” she said, now whispering.
“Oh, do you think he might just be the littlest bit furious?” he whispered back. “Blessed saints, you are out of your depth here, Florence.”
“I am not—”
The sound of a gunshot tore through the trees too close to them for comfort. Trajan drew her closer to him. “Give me those binoculars.”
To his relief, she did not argue. Without protest, she reached into a large pocket sewn into her gown and handed them over.
