Excerpt of The Vanishing Thief by Kate Parker

“The duke has no wish to discuss Nicholas Drake again.” The gray-haired
man, presumably the butler, spoke in a hush that didn’t echo in the
marble-tiled front hall.
I restrained my desire to stare at the ornately carved balustrade, the
delicately painted ceiling with its pastoral settings, and the exquisite oil
paintings. The duke wasn’t short of a pound if the entrance hall was
anything to go by.
“I only need two minutes of his time and then I won’t bother him again.” I
tried to fill my words with quiet authority since my appearance wouldn’t
garner respect. Wind had forced rain under my umbrella while I’d walked
from the omnibus stop. Then, as the rain continued to pour down, I’d spent
time arguing that my business was with the duke and I would not use the
tradesmen’s entrance. Thank goodness there was no mirror in the hall. I
must have looked like a drowned pup.
“He doesn’t wish to be bothered at this time.”
I’d seen the door the butler had left and returned by. One quick dodge
around the older man and I’d be through that doorway. “That is most
unfortunate.”
I turned as if leaving, and when the butler moved around me to help me
on with the cloak I’d previously shed, I dashed down the hall.
Skidding on the polished floor in my wet shoes, I grabbed for the door
handle. I threw open the door and entered a warm, paneled study filled
with enough books and maps to make me feel at home. My shoes squished
as I hurried across the thick Oriental carpet.
“Your Grace,” the butler said from behind me.
The Duke of Blackford remained seated at his massive desk studying the
papers in his hand. “I’ll handle it, Stevens.” His voice was a weary growl. I
could imagine this man, wide shouldered, craggy faced, immaculately
tailored, throwing the unimposing Edith Carter out of his house. He hadn’t
risen or even looked up when I entered the room. Philistine.
And then he set his papers on the pristine desktop and stared at me with
eyes that challenged my right to breathe the air in his study.
I could play my role better than he could. I curtsied. The door clicked
softly behind me as the butler left, followed by an icy raindrop skittering
down my cheek. I didn’t like being left alone with this man. For once I
wasn’t worried about my reputation; I was worried for my life. His dark eyes
bore into me, proclaiming he ate more important people for breakfast. And
there was the small matter of the blood on Drake’s floor.
“Well?” he demanded in a deep voice. “Why are you here?”
“Your carriage was seen at the site of an abduction.” My voice didn’t
tremble, but my knees did.
“Whose abduction?”
“Mr. Nicholas Drake.”
A cruel smile slashed across his sharp-angled face. “Another of his
lovers? The middle class grows more interesting.”
Heat rose on my cheeks. “I’ve never met the man.”
“Then why do you care?”
“Friendship.”
“For that drab little mouse Miss . . . ?” He made a graceful, sweeping
motion with the long, tapered fingers of one hand. Then his gaze returned
to the papers on his desk.
If he thought he could convince me to leave by ignoring me, he was most
certainly wrong. I stalked toward the smooth mahogany desk and glared at
the seated man. “Her name is Miss Carter. Are you familiar with friendship,
Your Grace?”
He rose and looked down on me. I’m of insignificant stature and he had
an impressive height advantage as well as the bearing of a duke. His black
hair was ruthlessly slicked back and his dark-eyed gaze burned inside me.
“You’re dripping on my desk, Miss”—he glanced at the card I’d sent in with
the butler—“Fenchurch.”
I hopped back a step and gazed down. Two drops shimmered on the
polished wood. I wished I’d sent in one of my cards with a false name. This
man knew how to intimidate his inferiors without even mentioning his title.
I decided not to ask about the death of his fiancée. I’d already made the
mistake of letting him know my true identity.
He pulled out his handkerchief and wiped off the rain, then looked from
the cloth to me as if he didn’t know how to proceed with propriety. He held
out the large white square. “You might want to pat yourself off. You appear
to have spent too long outdoors.”
For an instant, I saw concern in his eyes, but was it for me or his desk?
Then all expression vanished. I took the handkerchief and wiped my face
and hat brim. “You haven’t answered my question.”
His voice was dry with annoyance when he said, “I am familiar with
friendship.”
“Then you understand why I’ve taken on this commission for her.” I
handed back the handkerchief.
“No.” He tossed the cloth on the floor as he came out from behind his
desk. “And if you’re going to continue this ridiculous debate, you need to
stand close to the fire. Otherwise, you’ll soak my carpet.”
The infuriating man was making this as difficult as possible. Debate,
indeed. All he had to do was answer my questions. But the grip on my
elbow was gentle as he led me close to the comforting blaze.
For a moment, I shut my eyes in bliss. The welcome warmth made my
fingers and toes tingle with renewed sensation. When I opened my eyes, my
gaze fell on a seventeenth-century terrestrial globe in pristine condition.
“Oh, how beautiful,” slipped out before I thought.
Blackford strolled over to the sphere and ran one forefinger along the
Atlantic. “It is magnificent, isn’t it? The third duke brought it back from
Italy.”