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Prologue
England 1814
Sadness sat heavily on Malcolm’s bent shoulders. He slumped inward, trying to make himself as small as possible as he sat in a chair in the corner of his brother’s study. His dead brother. His breath hitched painfully in his chest. In fact, his chest ached at the effort it took to keep back the sobs he wished he could let escape. What was going to happen to him now that he was all alone?
Across the room, his family’s solicitor spoke with one of his father’s oldest friends, the Duke of Hartwick. The solicitor’s panicked voice carried across the room.
“No one can ever know the circumstance surrounding his death if the boy is ever to have a chance to right the title. There was no will, no guardian appointed. There is nothing left after all the creditors descended. A tragedy is what it is.”
“The elder Lord Kingsbury was a close friend. I will not let another of his sons fall into despair. How old is the boy?”
“Fifteen, your grace.”
“All right, old enough then. I will procure a letter of service from the crown and pay for a naval commission. He is too young yet to claim his title anyway. At least he will have a career and a path to follow. Close up the estate house. I will pay severance to the servants.”
“That is most generous of you, your grace.”
“It is the least I can do. I wish I had kept a better eye on Paul after their parents passed. How did he manage to waste it all in such a short amount of time?”
Malcolm watched the duke run a hand down his face. Then, his father’s friend turned and walked toward him. The duke crouched in front of Malcolm’s chair. He had kind eyes, soft and gray as the sky on an April day.
The duke’s heavy hand patted Malcolm’s knee and stayed there, warm and comforting. “Son, you won’t be going back to school. Instead, I will see that you start a new career as a naval officer. I have an old friend, a Royal Navy captain, and I will request you be put on his ship. Would you like that? A chance to sail the open sea and travel the world?”
Malcolm understood what wasn’t being said. He was not a small child. He knew there was nothing left here for him. Everyone he loved was dead. And even though the fear that had been ever-present since he had been told the news of Paul’s death still felt tight around his heart, the idea of escaping all the sadness of the past few years was tempting. Perhaps the sea air could wash away some of his pain.
He sat up straight and nodded. “Yes, sir.”
Chapter One
England 1826
He was late. Malcolm glanced down the busy London street, which looked exactly the same as the one on which he had just walked. One of the two should be Charing Cross, which should lead him down to Whitehall. He turned and peered down the opposite direction, but the streets at this corner appeared to meet almost like spokes on a wheel. Shit.
Then, across the road between a bakery and a haberdashery shop, both bursting at the seams with customers, he spied a narrow building sporting a wooden clapboard sign emblazoned with a book. It looked quiet and empty; perhaps the bookshop owner could give him some directions.
He strode across the street, dodging carts as they rumbled over the cobblestones. To his right, a horse whinnied, and Malcolm side-stepped out of the path of a carriage just before gaining the safety of the walkway. Why hadn’t he taken a hack instead of thinking walking would be easier? It had been ten years since he had stepped foot in London. It seemed as though the city had grown ten times in size.
The bookshop was blissfully quiet. Rows of dark wood shelves filled the space. Each row was neatly marked by category. Malcolm peered down the rows to see if there was a desk with the proprietor anywhere. But the only person he spied was a diminutive lady standing precariously on a three-legged stool. She balanced on her toes, one arm outstretched, and reached for a large volume on the top shelf. Her other arm was full of books.
Malcolm hurried down the aisle. Coming behind her, he reached over her shoulder and plucked from the shelf the book that was about to fall on her head. Unfortunately, his presence startled the lady so badly that she gasped, wobbled, and fell off the stool straight into his arms. Her books scattered onto the floor.
“Oh dear!” Her exclamation came out breathy as she stared at him owlishly through a pair of round spectacles. Wide, luminescent eyes of golden brown blinked rapidly several times as though she needed to make sure of what she was seeing. She smelled divine, like vanilla and spice.
He should put her down but couldn’t quite convince himself to let go just yet. She was a tiny thing, and he cradled her easily with one arm. Malcolm couldn’t help but grin at her horrified expression as she glanced down at the books strewn about. “I saved this one at least,” he said, holding aloft the leather-bound volume.
“Yes, but what of the rest?” She stared down at the mess around his feet. “You scared me to death! Now, would you kindly put me down?”
“I don’t think I care to put you down. You feel just right.” He winked and gave her waist a squeeze.
“Sirrah, put me down. This is entirely improper.” Her feet kicked in the air.
He set her down on her feet. “I apologize for scaring you, but you were about to be knocked unconscious by this book.” Flipping it over, he read the title. Catalogue of Nebulae and Clusters of Stars. His eyebrows shot up. “No wonder it is such a large volume.”
The lady snatched the book from him. Her gaze veered back to the books on the floor. “Yes, well, I have been searching for this volume for quite a while, and the proprietor, Mr. Pierce, has disappeared again…” She bent and began to gather books.
Malcolm crouched down to help. “Perhaps this is too many books for one small woman.” How was she going to get all of these books home?
“I beg your pardon. But there is no limit on learning, even for women.” An adorable small divot appeared between her brows as she frowned, upending his usual unflappable composure.
“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 coming in 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 century BC.” 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.”
Malcolm stood and bowed. Shoving his hat back on his head, he exited his superior’s office. He whistled a sea shanty softly to himself as he walked down the quiet halls of Whitehall. A new wardrobe, lodgings that were not aboard ship, and an interesting task that was not the same damn thing he had been doing for the past five years. Just the break he needed from the humdrum of watching the shorelines. This was going to be fun.
End of Excerpt
