Dauntless (Gentlemen of the Order 1)

The thought of beginning a new investigation sent blood surging through Noah’s veins. Yet the excitement filling his chest stemmed from more than a need to feel useful. The reason became abundantly clear when he entered the hall and found D’Angelo pressing his lips to Miss Dunn’s bare hand.

Jealousy reared like a spitting viper.

D’Angelo straightened upon hearing the clip of Noah’s boots on the tiled floor and flashed an arrogant grin. “Ah, the wanderer returns.”

Devil!

Noah ground his teeth in annoyance. D’Angelo was lucky he cared for him like a brother.

“Is it not considered the height of rudeness to leave a lady waiting in the hall?” D’Angelo teased.

“It’s the height of rudeness to interfere in another man’s business,” Noah countered. “If you wish to be useful, write a note to Peter Lydford and arrange for me to meet him on the morrow.”

From the wicked glint in D’Angelo’s eyes, Noah knew to expect a provoking retort. Indeed, the rogue said, “Why? Have you written another book of lewd poems?”

Miss Dunn’s delightful mouth fell open. “You write poetry, Mr Ashwood?” Her excitement rang through the hall, the information feeding her innate curiosity.

God’s teeth!

“Mr D’Angelo enjoys taunting me.” Noah shot his friend an irate glare. “It is merely a hobby. I once wrote a collection of rather salacious poems. Poems unfit for a lady’s delicate ears. Mr D’Angelo persuaded me to publish them, anonymously, of course.”

“They’re remarkably good.” D’Angelo grinned. “So exceptional one can almost feel the poet’s crippling torment when he denies himself that which he desperately craves.”

“How interesting.” Miss Dunn’s animated smile reached her cornflower eyes. “I wonder, might the book be entitled Every Man’s Desire?”

Good Lord! Surely she had not read the volume.

Noah swallowed deeply. “Men are driven by a multitude of passions. They strive to be great landowners, doctors, tailors. Yet their base desires are the same. In that regard, rich or poor, we share an affinity.” He cleared his throat. “That is but one topic explored.”

The lady continued to study him intently. “Fascinating. Perhaps we might discuss your work in more detail.”

“You wish to discuss erotic literature?” Noah spoke past the hard lump in his throat. He tried to ignore the tightening in his groin, tried to ignore D’Angelo’s satisfied grin.

“That would be inappropriate, sir. But I am most interested in your creative process.”

“Trust me, Miss Dunn. You do not want to explore the mind of a man who commits his desires to paper.” It wasn’t just his deepest desires laid bare. His fears and anxieties were evident, too. “Now, I hear Mrs Gunning stomping up the stairs, and so we shall be on our way.”

Noah reminded D’Angelo that he was to send a note to Mr Lydford, then he took his hat and gloves from the console table and escorted Miss Dunn out onto Hart Street.

They walked towards Long Acre in companionable silence, Mrs Gunning ambling behind playing chaperone. A list of unanswered questions bombarded his thoughts, and so he took the opportunity to gather answers.

“May I ask why you came to Hart Street without your maid?” he said, keen to delve deeper into the workings of the lady’s mind.

It took her a few seconds to reply. “I no longer know who to trust, Mr Ashwood. Indeed, I find myself growing more suspicious by the day.”

“You’re right to be cautious.” Now was a good time to prepare her for the inevitable outcome of their morning visit. “I imagine we will solve the problem of your missing undergarments within the hour. Once your maid has confessed, we will have a better understanding of whether she’s involved in the theft of your boots.”

“My maid!” Miss Dunn sucked in a sharp breath although her gait did not falter. “You’re convinced she is to blame?”

“It seems likely.”

“Kathleen is not a bad person, I can assure you.”

He admired her sense of loyalty. “Good people commit crimes. More often than not, the motive is money. What’s the price of silk stockings? Eight shillings?”

“Twelve, sir, though I suspect three shillings is the going rate for second-hand hosiery.”

He thought it best not to mention that wealthy men with strange obsessions paid more than five pounds for a soiled pair.