He went on. “My file on you and this shop was riddled with bad intelligence. Obviously.”
She looked back. He was staring in open assessment, his gaze methodical, like he was in the business of studying people.
“Deuced unprofessional,” he continued. “Amateur, really. No wonder you don’t believe I’m a duke.”
“I’ve asked you to go,” Isobel said weakly. No matter who he was,he had to go. Drummond Hooke, the meeting. She reached for the door—
“Not before,” he said, taking hold of the door above her head, “we discuss this journey.”
“But you cannot mean...” Her brain swam with the highly unlikely (and yet very small possibility) of dukes and foreign offices and national heroes and a file abouther. She drifted to her desk.
Behind the counter, Samantha looked up. She staredat the Lurker with narrowed eyes. “You’ve found him, I see,” she said, her tone suggesting that a snake had been found beneath the barn.
“How do you do?” the Lurker asked pleasantly.
“Managed to find our door, did you?” Samantha asked.
“Indeed,” said the man.
“Did you tell him?” Samantha looked to Isobel.
Isobel stared back, her brain going almost entirely blank. Her only thought was,I’ll tell him nothing.
Samantha said to the man, “Please be aware, sir, that we’ve an important meeting in ten minutes’ time. The owner of this agency has traveled from Shropshire for a review. When he arrives, all customers will be asked to—”
“He’s not a customer,” corrected Isobel, her heart thudding in her throat. “Samantha, can I trouble you to prepare tea? Mr. Hooke relishes little flourishes.”
“The kettle is on,” said Samantha, looking back and forth between Isobel and the man.
“Go and check it,” Isobel bit out.
“It’s not whistled.”
“Please.”
“Right,” drawled Samantha. “Nowmay I get the saber—?”
“Samantha!” breathed Isobel.
Samantha backed from the room with exaggerated stealth. When she was gone, Isobel hurried behind her desk. With the safety of the familiar oak between them, she took a deep breath and turned to the Lurker. In two frustrated yanks, she pulled off her gloves.
He exhaled. “Can we begin again?”
“Can you be gone in ten minutes?”
“My name is Northumberland—North, if you prefer—and I’ve come to book a journey.” He approached her desk in two easy strides.
Isobel braced against his proximity. The alley was one thing, dark and easy to flee. Now sun through the window illuminated him like an angel and she was trapped behind her desk.
She checked the clock. How had he evaded her for days but now trailed her inside? Perhaps if she changed tack. What if she simply went along?
“This trip is for yourself?” she asked. She took up a pen.
“Yes.”
“As I’ve said, Everland Travel primarily arranges holidays forfemaleclients.”
“But are you capable of booking passage for a man? It’spossible?”
