Chapter 2

2

As eight pairsof male eyes landed on Calliope, she wondered for the first time if, perhaps, she had made a mistake coming to the Admiralty alone. The low, male rumble of laughter and talk had gone silent when she’d opened the Conscription Office door.

All of them were quite dashing, dressed in dark navy uniforms with golden braids. Two sat at large mahogany desks covered with papers, inkwells, and heaps of ledgers. Six others gathered in a group in the aisle between two rows of desks, some standing, some leaning against the tabletops.

Calliope pressed out a confident smile, throwing a quick glance over the large room.

The walls were adorned with charts and flags and oil portraits of naval heroes and commanders, and the windows offered a view of the busy streets outside. The smell of ink and paper and male sweat filled Calliope’s nostrils. Three large bookcases were crowded with leather tomes and nautical instruments like sextants, compasses, and telescopes. Several ship models stood on the shelves.

She must be the sole female in the huge building, where navy soldiers and officers lived in barracks, trained, ate, slept, and did other manly things. The thought made her stomach quiver with uneasiness.

Damnation. She’d been in such a hurry to get away from William and resolve the problem of his marriage intentions that she had been quite impulsive. She shouldn’t have come alone, after all. An unmarried lady without a chaperone… If this came out, it would damage her reputation in the ton and harm her family’s reputation, as well.

On the one hand, damaging her prospects could play well for her, as it would make William less inclined to pursue her. And she didn’t care about her marriage prospects in any event—she would never rely on a man or trust someone enough to give them control over her life.

However, a poor reputation would mean exclusion from important social circles, and that would be highly inconvenient once she would open her investigative agency and would need easy access to exclusive information.

But however risky this was, coming here alone, she couldn’t wait any longer to recover Spencer.

Boots heels clicked against marble floor as officers stood at attention, and the relaxed faces changed into polite social masks hiding the questions underneath.

“May I help you, my lady?” asked one of the officers. “Are you lost? Is your husband…or your chaperone…somewhere near?”

Her gaze dropped to the one man who wasn’t paying her any attention, and her whole being melted, goddamn it, just as it had a few days ago at the Royal Navy ball when he’d danced a waltz with her, and she’d been in his strong, muscular embrace, inhaling his scent.

What a stark contrast from William.

Nathaniel Fitzgerald, Duke of Kelford, sat at a desk and kept scribbling with his pen over paper. His golden hair was gathered in a tail at the base of his head, just as it had been at the ball a few days ago, his broad shoulders like boulders as he wrote. His chiseled face made her wonder for a fleeting moment if he was not a Greek statue come to life.

Back at the ball, his eyes had been on her as they had danced…it was like being in the presence of a sun that had shone just for her. The timbre of his voice…the way he had talked to her…it was as though no one else existed for him.

But she knew better than to fall for those charms. He was a rake. Her brothers had warned her about him, and they were right. He probably talked like that with every woman, with that velvety, deep voice as smooth as the best French brandy.

“My lady?” asked the officer, and she reluctantly tore her eyes off Kelford.

Calliope squared her shoulders, looking straight into the officer’s eyes. Perhaps William had shaken her, but she needed to remind herself she was more than a cowering little girl. She was fearless. She was about to start a business, and she was ready to turn over the world to find her brother.

She thought quickly. None of them, besides Kelford, knew who she was or even if she was married, or indeed, with a chaperone.

“I’m not lost,” she said with her head high. “And my chaperone—”

She was just about to say her chaperone was going to join her when another officer, as tall as a column, leaned down to his friends and murmured, “Yet another one can’t stay away from Kelford.”

Her cheeks blazed. Of course Kelford was a charmer, and he’d never be interested in someone like her. She was probably just a lady to toy with, to see how quickly he could seduce a bluestocking. She’d rather spend her time with a good book than dancing quadrilles at balls, walking on Bond Street or in Hyde Park, trying to be seen and noticed.

At that, Kelford raised his head and their eyes met. A mixture of expressions flitted across his face. Pleasant surprise. Puzzlement. Then, finally, extreme displeasure.

He rose from his desk, tall and majestic, with his golden hair and the braids of his uniform a striking contrast against the dark navy of his coat.

“Lady Calliope,” he said. “Is one of your brothers joining you?”

“I have a quite urgent matter to discuss. May I speak with you?”

The rest of the officers cackled and snickered like children.

Kelford threw a deadly glare at them. “Leave the lady alone and return to serving your country.”

They stopped snickering and busied themselves with something at their desks. Nathaniel, no matter how dashing, no matter how gorgeous, may be the key to finding her brother and giving her freedom from William.

She walked deeper into the room, her small heels clacking against the marble as she navigated among the heavy desks, and towards him.

“I need your assistance, Kelford,” she said as she stood before him, and oh dear lord, he smelled just like he had at the ball—something earthy and herbal and fresh. She had the strange urge to press her mouth to his skin to see if he’d taste just as delicious. “When we met, I wasn’t aware you served in the Conscription Office—”

He stared down at her with his breathtaking turquoise eyes, an unusual mixture of green and blue, with a burst of gold around his pupils. Just like the sea on white Scottish beaches.

“Lady Calliope, you shouldn’t be here.” He stretched his arm to the door. “You should leave. If you please…”

She raised her chin. “My eldest brother, Spencer, the eleventh Duke of Grandhampton—we learned that he was most likely conscripted into the navy during one of the raids. It was September 3, 1812, and I need your help to discover which ship he may be on.”

He frowned. “Forgive me, but wasn’t he dead?”

“We all thought so, but we were incorrect. We now believe that he was press-ganged onto one of your ships.”

Nathaniel chuckled. “My lady, you are confused. What you’re proposing is inconceivable. A duke wouldn’t be press-ganged.”

“Do you authorize press-gangs?”

“I do.”

There was something disturbing about a law that allowed anyone to be forced into a war regardless of station, but that was another matter altogether. Right now, she needed to concentrate on just one victim.

“And you’re certain you haven’t signed that authorization?” she inquired.

The chuckle around his lips deepened, and he looked her over in such a way that her corset felt tighter. “You little admiral,” he murmured. “Demanding things you have no right to. But I sympathize with your brother’s situation. If one of my sisters disappeared, I’d come storming any establishment.”

The rake had sisters he’d do the same thing for. Who would have thought?

“But I will reply, and once I do, do you promise to leave? I care about your reputation, even if you do not. Coming unchaperoned to seek out a man like me may land you in The Society by tomorrow morning if you’re not careful.”

“I do not care about The Society or the papers. I care about my brother.”

He tapped with his finger against the surface of the desk he stood next to, burning eyes steady on her. “Well, I don’t remember signing that one.”

She blinked. “That is your reply? You don’t remember?”

He shrugged with one shoulder. “I don’t remember every authorization I sign.”

She suppressed a gasp. “How can you not remember signing a paper that defines the lives of six hundred men?”

The other officers threw curious glances at her and at Kelford.

Kelford narrowed his eyes at her. “How do you know it’s six hundred?”

She straightened her back. “I read. So should you, sir. And especially, you should read what you sign.”

His previously cautious expression turned into pure threat. But she wouldn’t let him intimidate her.

“What else should one expect from a notorious rake than a lack of responsibility?” she continued.

He glared at her with the ferocity of a thousand suns. The other officers had all stopped and were openly staring now. The tall one let out a few stifled snickers.

“Lady Calliope,” said Kelford, his voice low and intoxicating, “you should not be lecturing me about my reputation when your own is in grave danger. Why does neither of your brothers come and inquire after this information? Perhaps you should take your own advice and read a little more about a proper lady’s behavior.”

Despite herself, heat blasted across Calliope’s cheeks. A familiar sensation of fiery humiliation licked through her.

Whore, William’s voice rang in her head. Another man was about to humiliate her, make her feel small and worthless, make her feel dirty.

But she’d be damned if this would be all it took to have her back down from finding her brother. Spencer’s life was on the line.

“Kelford,” she said, pushing down her embarrassment, “just look up that date. September 3, 1812.”

“No.” He crossed his arms over his mighty chest. “There’s no reason for it. Your brother, who was duke then, couldn’t have been press-ganged.”

Anger rolled through her body like thunder. This was hopeless.

“This is not over,” she said, throwing as deadly a glare as she could muster at Kelford. “Good day.”

With that, she turned around and walked out of the office, Kelford’s gaze burning holes in the back of her spencer. She took her pocket watch from her reticule. Another unladylike thing—having a pocket watch. She found it much more convenient than pendant watches ladies wore.

It was almost four in the afternoon. The Admiralty would close in about one hour. If Kelford wouldn’t help her, she’d do it herself. After all, that would be the kind of investigative work she’d need to do for her clients once she’d opened her business.

She walked out of the Admiralty and got into the carriage she had hired to bring her here. She watched for an hour as officers left the building one by one or in groups. Finally, when a large group was leaving close to five o’clock, she got out of the carriage and, as nonchalantly as she could, walked back in. The two officers on guard didn’t stop her.

Her low heels clacked against the smooth marble tiles as she climbed the great stairs up to the first floor. She saw a gentleman leave a room next to the Conscription Office and walk away in the opposite direction from her. Before the door closed, she rushed forward and stopped it, then sneaked in.

The room was blessedly empty. Through a slit between the planks of the wall, she watched the officers leave the Conscription Office, and then Kelford’s tall figure. With an effortless, graceful masculine swagger, he walked away.

For a moment, she forgot her anger as she watched his broad back—no doubt, mountains of muscle rolled under that dark navy fabric, and she remembered the feel of his hard arms under her palms as they danced.

This is not the time to turn into a swooning debutante!

“Stubborn, arrogant man,” she muttered.

He turned his head a little, and she felt her heart jump, afraid he’d heard her. But he couldn’t have.

When he resumed walking, she sighed out a long breath of relief. After another five minutes, no one was coming or going from any offices on this floor, and Calliope opened the door as quietly as she could.

Stepping softly, she went to the Conscription Office. She cracked the door open and peered inside.

No one.

She slipped inside and looked around. There was Kelford’s desk with stacks of ledgers, papers, and maps. She approached the desk and opened the first ledger. Letters…names…addresses…for last month. His handwriting was masculine. Precise. Beautiful. So much more readable than her own. She admired the small, pretty, ornamental tails of his letters g and j.

She flipped through the ledger. More names and addresses, but all were for this month and last month. And there were no ship names whatsoever. She sighed in frustration, picked up the heavy ledger, and put it aside.

A distant echoing knock of something against stone made her freeze and listen, her back growing damp with sweat.

Seconds ticked by, but no more sounds came. After a couple of minutes, she put down the second ledger and opened the third one. February…better, but still not right…

“What the devil are you doing here?” said a now-familiar, brandy-smooth voice, and when she looked up, the Duke of Kelford stood in the door frame, blocking any hope of escape.