A Simple Case of Seduction

“You won’t.” His heart swelled. It took all the strength he possessed not to confess his love, not to press her to explain the depth of her feelings too. But a mind filled with tender thoughts was no good to either of them. Sentiment was the enemy of logic. And the longer he lingered, the harder it would be to leave.

“We’ll meet back here this afternoon,” he said, placing a chaste kiss on her lips. “Bostock will accompany you to the circulating library so you may return your book. Then you will stay with him while he makes discreet enquiries about Captain Lewis.” Fearing she’d take the matter into her own hands should she discover any new information, he added, “We cannot presume Gibson is guilty. If you uncover anything of interest regarding the captain, you’re to come straight home to discuss it with me.”

She struggled to hold his gaze. “If we locate the captain, could I not simply strike up a conversation—”

“You’ll do nothing without speaking to me,” he snapped. Fear was the basis of his anger. He softened his tone. “I can’t lose you either.”

She pressed her warm lips to his cheek. “Then hurry home. Let’s pray we confirm the identity of the traitor before this day is out.”

Daniel inclined his head and strode towards the door. He stopped, turned to face her. “I hold Bostock personally responsible for your safety. Remember that, if curiosity gets the better of you.”

Murphy dropped him at the house on Church Street and was to wait while Daniel shaved and changed his shirt. As a man who preferred to dress himself, eat in taverns and make his own damn bed, Daniel had no need for servants. Daphne was right. Servants were a liability: loose-tongued, easily bribed. Indeed, the house was merely a place to store his clothes and to sleep.

Daniel was about to put the key in the lock when he noticed the scratches on the brass plate and hole. They were fresh. The mark of a tool used to pick locks.

With caution, he entered the premises. The drawing room was a shambles. Broken ornaments, pictures, even the decanter and glasses were scattered over the floor. In the study, there wasn’t a book left on the shelves. The desk drawers were open, empty. No doubt the other rooms were the same.

He snorted to himself. The scoundrel would be lucky to find a scrap of bread in the house, let alone the evidence to convict him of treason. However, the fact someone had entered the house illegally raised a very important question. If Thomas’ murderer had stalked Daphne for three years, why had he not stalked him? Why wait until now? Whoever it was must have only recently learnt of their connection.

Daniel was still contemplating that point while he changed his shirt. With a mind engaged in reconstructing Thomas’ last movements, he nicked his chin while shaving. Thomas was a strong, healthy man. Whoever pushed him into the Thames, must have been of similar build and stature. He recalled seeing no defensive wounds on the body, so perhaps Thomas was caught unawares.

During the journey to Lord Gibson’s house on Brook Street, Daniel rehearsed what he would say. Make no accusations, he told himself, though he already deemed Gibson guilty despite the logical part of his brain battling for him to remain impartial.

“I’m here to see Lord Gibson.” Daniel spoke with confidence as he handed the butler his card.

The willowy figure kept him waiting at the door, his graceful movements conveying no sense of urgency.

“I’m afraid his lordship is otherwise engaged,” the butler replied upon his return.

Daniel took a step closer. “Tell your master I have important news from the Carron that might interest him.” When the butler opened his mouth to protest, Daniel added, “If you do not tell him, I shall barge my way in. I would prefer to deal with this like gentlemen. Tell Gibson I have news from the Carron.”

“Show the gentleman in, Cuthers,” a masculine voice boomed through the hall.

“Certainly, my lord.” Cuthers stepped back for Daniel to enter. The butler took Daniel’s hat and gloves and escorted him to the study. Gibson stood in front of his desk. The man was of medium height, average build with equally nondescript features. His dull brown hair lacked lustre. When questioned, it would be difficult to give an accurate description of the man, which no doubt proved useful in his line of work.

“Mr Thorpe.” Gibson gave a curt nod. “While we have never met, I have heard good things about you.”

Daniel inclined his head. “I only wish I could say the same about you, my lord.”

Gibson did not appear fazed by the comment. He gestured to the chair in front of the desk. “Won’t you sit down?”

They both took their respective seats, the large rosewood desk acting as a barrier.

“You say you’re here to bring news from the Carron,” Gibson reminded him. “May I ask how you know I have an interest in that particular vessel?”

“A man in my position stumbles upon all sorts of information.” Daniel observed the lord’s blank expression. He gave nothing away. “You keep a log, I hear. Of the times and dates the Carron has docked over the last three years.”

“What of it?” Gibson tried to sound nonchalant, but his slight hesitation spoke of a hidden anxiety. Confusion flashed in his eyes if only for a second.

“You must know my friend, Thomas Chambers, made regular trips on the Carron. That his work for the Crown meant securing sensitive information and passing it to the appropriate authority.”

“I am aware that Mr Chambers made regular business trips to France before he died,” Gibson said in his monotone voice.

“And I am aware that you also share an interest in his business.

” It was a covert way of telling Gibson he knew he was a spy.

“Then you are an extremely informed man, Mr Thorpe.” Gibson sat forward. “Let me advise you to keep that information close to your chest.”