Her revelation sank in his gut like a leaden weight.
“Once again, I would remind you I am the Duke of Arden,” he gritted. “You may refer to me as Duke or Arden or Your Grace, Miss Montgomery.”
She stood abruptly, smile still in place, clutching her satchel as if it were a weapon. “As I said, I will address you with respect when you treat me with the same. Now, if you will excuse me, I find I am plum tired from all my travels. I will leave my journal with you. If you would be so kind as to point me in the direction of my lodging?”
Plum tired.
The woman was a menace. But at least she was leaving at last. The weight in his gut lightened incrementally.
He stood. “I am afraid I do not know your hotel, madam. You may inquire with my butler, Reynolds. He ought to be able to assist you.”
“Oh, I am not staying in a hotel,” she informed him brightly. “I am staying here. With you.”
The hell she was. “That is out of the question, madam.”
“There was a recent spate of thefts at the hotel where I was meant to stay.” She tilted her head, considering him as if she found him pitiful. “The Home Office has deemed it best I stay here, as your guest, until further notice. We cannot afford for my documents to be stolen and find their way into the wrong hands, you understand, Mr. Arden. Now then, will you be showing me to my room, or would you prefer me to inquire with the guard dog?”
He clenched his jaw so hard, it ached.
Abomination, he decided grimly.Thatwas the perfect word to describe Miss Hazel Montgomery.
Chapter Two
Hazel frowned downat the words she had written in her journal beneath the headingLucien West, Duke of Arden.
Arrogant.
Condescending.
Devilishly handsome.
The last two words did not belong in her catalog, and the sight of them, penned in her own hand, aggrieved her mightily.
Why, it was as if her mind betrayed her.
Whenever she began a new case, it was her habit—a tactic established years ago, at the beginning of her career as a Pinkerton agent, but one which had stood the test of time—to make copious notes on all involved in the case. Suspects, friends, family members, fellow detectives, the law… Hazel recorded everyone, categorized them, studied them. Her mind functioned at its greatest potential when she was organized.
Lists. Her mind wantedlists.
Her fellow agents found her an oddity, she knew. Not just because she was a female, but apeculiarfemale at that, the sort who had no desire to become some man’s blushing bride. The sort who chose to find her own fortune, her own destiny. The sort who relied upon herself, upon her cunning, wit, daring, and determination. The sort who earned her own money and paid for the bread on her table and the roof over her head.
But strange or not, she had established a history. Not a failed case in a decade, with the exception of one. And she believed, quite firmly, her success was due to the familiarity she had with herself. It was the sort of familiarity which only could be had by years of living on her own, years of depending upon herself. She had learned a long time ago to trust no one else, to be her own best ally at all times.
Hazel had been depending upon herself from the time she was old enough to walk. Had learned to listen to the needs of her convoluted, confusing, complex mind. If her mind required lists, she gave it lists, by God.
One thing she didnotdo, was allow herself to feel any emotions toward her fellow agents or the suspects she investigated. She had allowed it to happen once, in the early stages of her career, and she would never forget the painful lesson she had learned. There was no place for subjectivity as a Pinkerton agent. Each moment was one of life or death, decision versus indecision, truth warring with deceit, right over wrong.
Proverbs saidpride goeth before destruction, and an haughty spirit before a fall, but Hazel believed firmly it was not pride, but rather an inability to see past one’s nose, which caused destruction. She chose objectivity over subjectivity, without fail.
Which was why she put the metal tip of her pen to paper now and struck through the unwanted third item on the list. Heaving a sigh, she dipped her pen back into ink and continued her list.
Devilishly handsome.
Icy.
Forbidding.
Suffering from an abundance of self-confidence.
