“I didn’t mean…” He swallowed hard at the sharp look she flung at him. “I was simply thinking of the mechanics of you getting all the books home.” He offered her his most charming smile as he handed her two books.
“Oh.” She bit her lower lip. Those big brown eyes assessed his sincerity. “I have a very large bag.” She pointed to a carpet bag lying at one end of the aisle. “And my coachman is waiting outside.”
She must be a lady of some means to have servants waiting while she purchased such a large pile of books. They stood, and Malcolm leaned one forearm against the bookcase behind her. His gaze roamed across her features—the slight uptilt of her nose, her long dark lashes, and the rosy pink of her lips, which were currently pressed together in an annoyed line. He was sorry to be the cause of it. “What is your name, miss?”
“I hardly think it is proper to give my name to a stranger. I shouldn’t even be speaking to you.” She glanced around as if someone was going to jump out from behind a bookshelf and chastise her.
Pity, she was so straitlaced. Malcolm straightened. “Is the proprietor often missing? I’m quite lost and late for an appointment. I hoped to ask him for directions.”
“Where are you headed? Perhaps I can help you be on your way.”
Touché. “Whitehall.”
Her gaze swept down over him, perhaps now noticing his blue frock coat. “Yes, it’s south of here. If you make a right when you exit the store and then another right at the first corner, you shall be on your way straight down to Whitehall.”
“Thank you. I am in your debt.” Best make a quick exit before he stumbled over his tongue again. Or worse, picked her up and kissed her. He’d never had the urge to kiss a complete stranger before. Maybe her spicy-sweet scent had bewitched him.
“Please excuse me; I’m very late.” He tipped his hat and hurried back out onto the chilly October day. The air, crisp and cool, felt good against his overheated face. As he hurried down the street, he thought about the lady from the bookshop, her pretty face framed by a riot of dark ringlets, her sweet distress over a bunch of fallen books. And the way she smelled. Malcolm whistled softly. If all the ladies in London were so fair, perhaps he would enjoy being back in town more than he initially thought.
*
“Thanks for comingin today, Commander Iveson. I have a new assignment for you.”
Malcolm nodded and took a seat across the polished mahogany desk from Admiral Daniels. “Sir, I have just given my crew two weeks’ shore leave. Is the assignment urgent?” He could pull his crew back, but it would be a bloody pain in his arse.
The admiral waved his hand dismissively. “No need to haul your crew back. I just need you for this particular assignment. It is a delicate matter.”
Malcolm raised an eyebrow. Interesting. His duty for the past five years had been hunting down smugglers. Having command of his own sleek brig-sloop had been a massive step forward in his career. He worked reasonably autonomously as long as he and his crew continued to bring in the criminals. Malcolm glanced out the big window to the busy street below as he waited for the admiral to continue.
“Your track record of apprehending smugglers is unmatched. But it is your title that I need you to utilize for this assignment. A large shipment of goods from the Mediterranean has arrived in port here in London. We were tipped off that a shipment of contraband tea was on board amongst the silk and spices picked up in Istanbul.”
Malcolm nodded again. This was no surprise. Tea was highly taxed, and the only item that rivaled contraband tea leaves was the French brandy, which the ton loved so much.
“The ship had several influential investors. We have a short list of three men, which include the Earl of Rawlings and Viscount Fenwick. Now, whether they knew that contraband goods would also be in the shipment is debatable. Many times, wealthy investors are brought in without any knowledge of the true value of the shipment. But in this case, we feel that the men in question are complicit.”
“What makes you think so, sir?”
The admiral laced his fingers together over his ample midsection. “An intelligence report revealed that several important artifacts from a Greek statesman were stolen from his home in Athens and hidden in the tea shipment. As you know, things are volatile in the Peloponnese right now, which is a perfect time to filch valuable artifacts. These items disappeared from the ship before my men searched. We think the investors must have been tipped off about the raid and knew exactly what to take off the ship.” Daniels ran a hand down over his bushy beard. “The Foreign Secretary to Greece, Lord Bellamy, is in a damn snit over the whole thing. We confiscated the tea, but I need someone to track the missing pieces. That will be your job.”
“Sir, why me? My job is chasing down smugglers before they make landfall. I’m not an intelligence officer.”
“Your title, Lord Kingsbury. You have the ability to blend into polite society and investigate these investors without them knowing they are under scrutiny.”
Malcolm shook his head. “I have never moved in polite society. I am simply a navy man.”
“I know you are, Iveson. But you are also the Marquess of Kingsbury, and that is the role I need you to take right now.” The admiral slid a piece of parchment across the desk. “These three peers heavily invested in the commercial venture. Find out why and if they are complicit in bringing contraband into Britain. We can’t accuse gentlemen of crimes against the crown without proof. Find the artifacts. Three items of great value.” Daniels looked down at another piece of paper. “Two gold crucifixes that date back to Byzantine times. And a headdress that was once worn by Queen Hor…Herat, some ancient queen from fourth centuryBC.” He slapped the paper down on the desk.
Malcolm kept his expression neutral while watching Daniels’s gray mustache twitch in frustration. Even though the prospect of parading around London as Lord Kingsbury made him uncomfortable, his interest was piqued. Tracking down missing ancient artifacts was a hell of a lot more interesting than running down smugglers’ boats full of French brandy. He looked down at the list he held. Lord Rawlings, Lord Fenwick, Lord Neelum. “I was friends with Lord Rawlings’s son back in my school days.”
“Good. Maybe then, that’s a good place to start. Be discreet. I am attending dinner at Lord Quinton’s house this Saturday evening. You will accompany me and we will establish your story. You are back in London to find a wife.”
Malcolm sat forward with a start. “A wife?”
“It is the best way to ensure that you are invited everywhere. A young titled man in need of a wife is a coveted guest.” Daniels chuckled.
Malcolm swallowed hard. It was just an assignment. No need for his heart to race so fast. Besides, flirting with comely ladies of the ton would hardly be a hardship. This job would be a child’s play compared to his usual duties. “Yes, sir. Discreet, wife, artifacts. Not a problem. Except for the wardrobe.”
The admiral nodded again. “Get whatever you need. And find decent lodgings. The admiralty will cover all expenses.” He slid the list of artifacts into a folder and pushed the file across to Malcolm. “You are excused. Go get prepared.”
