“I’ll hail a hackney.” She moved around the desk and walked toward the door.

  “You will do no such thing,” he barked. Just the idea of her standing outside waiting for a hackney shot alarm through him.

  She startled and looked at him. “I am certainly not going to walk home.”

  Once she stepped outside all manner of men would notice her. She would be a rose among the weeds. Thieves were likely to try to make off with her reticule and he didn’t want to contemplate what the more malicious may attempt. “Of course not,” Jonathan pushed his fingers through his hair. “Allow me to offer the use of my carriage.”

  She studied him as if she wasn’t sure.

  “It is dangerous along the docks at night. No one will bother you if you are with me.”

  She pursed those lovely lips before she spoke. “Thank you.”

  Jonathan glanced back at the desk and the piles of documents. He should continue working in here, trying to make headway into the disaster his secretary had left, but he was too bloody exhausted. He caught a glimpse of his hands. They were filthy from working inside the warehouse, as were his clothes. He could not escort that lady anywhere in this condition, nor had he intended on leaving the warehouse without changing. “Please, wait outside.”

  She gave a quick nod and stepped through the door. Jonathan rushed to the small closet and withdrew trousers and a clean shirt and quickly changed before hurrying to the washstand in the corner and scrubbing the dirt from his face and hands. At least he was a bit more presentable. He pulled on his jacket and flung the wilted cravat around his neck before opening the door.

  He turned down the lamps before following her. Jones had left a lantern burning at the foot of the stairs so they were not in complete darkness. He tried to make some semblance of order of his cravat, knowing it was hopeless. But, at least it was tied about his neck in some manner. If anyone were to see them they could not complain that both were not put to rights. Not that he planned on being seen, but one never knew and he had no idea where she lived.

  “Wait here.” He certainly didn’t want her seen by those who wandered the docks this time of night.

  He exited the building and looked around. His driver was seated on a box at the corner of the building and Jonathan nodded to the man. He would have harnessed the horses as soon as he saw the workers leave for the night and waited for Jonathan to come out.

  When the carriage stopped before him, Jonathan escorted Miss Mirabelle out of the building and bolted it behind him before leading her to the conveyance and asking for her direction.

  “Fourteen Curzon Street,” she answered.

  Jonathan could only stare at her. “You live with Lord Acker?”

  She pulled back at his question. Had she lied about where she was to be taken or surprised that he knew Acker?

  “He is my brother-in-law.”

  Jonathan called the address to his driver and settled on the bench across from her. He remembered reading about Acker’s marriage to a ballerina. He hadn’t known the woman had a sister. Not that it mattered, except as the missing shipment also belonged to Acker’s wife, it was all the more important that they be found. So far he had been able to put off those inquiring but he didn’t need another lord asking questions.

  As the carriage pulled into traffic, Jonathan studied the young woman. Her intelligent grey eyes watched him; her full lips were pursed in displeasure. She was beautiful indeed, with high cheekbones and a narrow nose. If only she hadn’t visited for such an unpleasant purpose. What kind of lady visited the docks without protection? “Do you make it a habit of going through other people’s desks?”

  “I make a habit of organizing the disorganized.”

  “You don’t even know me, Miss Mirabelle, and it was rather presumptuous to sit behind my desk.” It rankled him to have someone go through papers, especially a complete stranger. A lovely female stranger, but a stranger nonetheless.

  “You hadn’t given me answers and I thought to find them myself.”

  She made no apology for her actions. Close friends would not have done what she did. They may have commented on the mess but they would have never dared touch anything. A man’s desk and the items upon it were personal, his domain, and she had thought nothing of disturbing that order. Not that there was much order. “I take it you didn’t find what you were looking for.”

  Her grey eyes grew round and she gave a bitter laugh. “Those papers are in such a state that it would be impossible to find anything at the moment.”

  Jonathan turned to look out the window. On that, they were in agreement, though he didn’t appreciate her laughing at him. He really should return tonight and begin going through them because it couldn’t put it off much longer.

  In truth, he hadn’t been putting it off; he just hadn’t found the time. They were shorthanded in the warehouse and until he got to the bottom of everything his secretary had been up to, he didn’t dare hire anyone else. He wasn’t even sure he could trust the men that still worked for him. Hadn’t they noticed missing shipments? If they did, none of them said anything to him.

  Who the hell could he trust?

  The carriage rumbled to a stop in front of Acker’s townhome.

  “Thank you for the use of your carriage,” Miss Mirabelle said as a footman opened the door and placed the step on the ground.

  “It was my pleasure.” He nodded. “I will be in contact with you.” He hoped his assurance was enough to keep her from his offices.

  “Where have ye been? Acker is half-mad with worry.”

  Bridges glanced out the window to find Lord Brachton confronting Miss Mirabelle on the walk between the carriage and the townhouse.

  The man glanced back and noticed him. “Bridges?” he asked with a confused frown.

  “I went to Mr. Bridge’s warehouse to determine the location of my family’s belongings.”

  Jonathan sighed and stepped from the conveyance. “Brachton,” he nodded.

  “Ya lef’ hours ago.”

  Why was Brachton so concerned about Miss Mirabelle’s comings and goings? Unless Acker had enlisted the gentleman’s help in locating the young woman.

  An urge to protect Miss Mirabelle rose up and he couldn’t begin to understand why. He offered his arm. “Perhaps we should discuss the matter inside.” Jonathan motioned toward the door. Those going about their business had begun to take an interest. He needed no one speculating about him or Miss Mirabelle, especially if they noticed she did not have a maid with her. Not that his reputation was ever remarked upon but Miss Mirabelle’s could suffer.

  She smiled sweetly up at him. It was the first time she hadn’t practically glowered at him and his heart warmed. Jonathan shook his head. He needed sleep.

  Brachton nodded and stood back so Miss Mirabelle and Jonathan could precede him to the door, which was promptly opened by a footman.

  “Where have you been?”

  The question was shouted by Lord Acker, who stood looking down into the foyer.

  Miss Mirabelle sighed, placed her hand on the banister, and climbed the stairs. Jonathan and Brachton trailed behind her and into a sitting room. Jonathan glanced around and was rather taken aback. Waiting inside were Lord and Lady Acker, Mr. John Trent and his wife, and Lady Brachton. He moved to Miss Mirabelle’s side. Why was he so concerned for her? He barely knew the woman, she had been rifling in his documents.

  “Please have a message delivered that Miss Mirabelle has been located and is home,” Acker instructed a footman.

  How many people were out looking for the wayward miss? He would be concerned that perhaps she were simple and must have an attendant, but her intellect was clear the moment their eyes met. Then again, she had been gone a long time and if his sister had done the same, he might well have gone mad with worry.

  John Trent gave a quick nod and Acker stepped forward. This was all rather odd but Jonathan was too bloody tired to further question what appeared to be Trent giving Acker permission to speak in his own home.

  “You left here over six hours ago, Geneviève,” Acker began. “Where have you been and why didn’t you send notice?”

  “As I informed Lord Brachton, I went to Mr. Bridge’s shipping office to locate my family’s belongings.” She sighed and sank down into a chair. “You are all really making too much of this.”

  “You went to the docks, unaccompanied?” Trent demanded. “And why is Bridges just now returning you to us?”

  He could just imagine what they were thinking given his disheveled state. At least Miss Mirabelle was put together, without one auburn curl out of place. “If I may,” he said and stepped forward. Everyone turned to look at him and he quickly explained the events as he knew them. “I could not let Miss Mirabelle hail a hackney after it was already dark and returned her home.”

  “Thank you,” Acker acknowledged. “I apologize if Geneviève has caused you any inconvenience.”

  The woman gasped and stood. “Inconvenience to him?”

  Had he only imagined the sweet smile earlier?

  “He is the inconvenienced? If he would just produce my mother’s items neither one of us would have been inconvenienced.”

  Bloody hell! He did not want to answer questions as to why Miss Mirabelle did not have her shipment. “My secretary left my employ a few months back,” Jonathan began to explain before they could begin questioning him. “It is an embarrassment, but I did not know that he had not been working as he should in the months leading up to his departure. Documents are not as organized as I would like and I am still locating the various shipments and determining which warehouses in England they are stored, waiting for retrieval.”

  Acker tilted his head and studied him. Mr. John Trent narrowed his eyes in suspicion and Brachton stiffened with concern. The ladies accepted his explanation without so much as batting an eyelash. He feared the gentlemen, however, read more into his words than he wished.

  “Are there any issues with my wool shipments?” Brachton asked.

  John Trent startled and looked at Brachton. Did Trent know that wool was their code for whiskey? “Not as of yet, but there are matters we should discuss.”

  Chapter 3

  “Do you have any idea how dangerous it is for a lady to be down at the docks?” John demanded as soon as Bridges was gone.

  Geneviève sighed. She was tired but she knew the gentlemen in her family would not let her rest yet. “I am unharmed.” When would her brothers cease treating her as a child? Of course, none of them knew she carried a pistol. If they did, they would likely take it away from her. She had learned to shoot while they lived in Milan. She wasn’t so naive that she hadn’t realized the dangers of living in a household of all women and with no gentlemen to protect them. Not that they needed gentlemen, and a pistol was deterrent enough if anyone wished to harm them. She also knew the dangers of being on the waterfront, especially after dark, not that she would admit to such. She truly hadn’t meant to remain for so long in the warehouse. She’d simply lost track of time.

  “Any number of things could have happened to you,” Acker added.

  “They didn’t.” She stood. Though, Bridges did turn out to be a surprise. She didn’t know what she had expected, but certainly not a gentleman as handsome as he, with his black hair and light brown eyes. To think she had been frightened of him at first. She bit back a giggle. Now was not the time to laugh. Not with her brother and brothers-in-law looking on. Bridges simply worked at his business. At least physically, she amended. She had yet to meet an English gentleman who got his hands dirty. She rather admired that in him, though he needed to spend more time in his office. “Might I return to Bentley’s home? I am tired.”

  “Why did you have Bridges bring you here?” Juliette, her sister, now Lady Acker, asked.

  “Because I didn’t want to explain why I was being taken to Bentley’s home when nobody is to know he is my brother.”

  “At least you showed sense in doing so,” Trent grumbled.

  Geneviève straightened. “I showed sense the entire time I was gone. It is the gentlemen of this family who refuse to believe I have any.” With a huff, she marched from the room. “If you will excuse me, I am going home.” Or at least what was as close to a home as she had at the moment. What she wouldn’t do to return to Milan and the small home she shared with her mother and two sisters.

  It would never be. Maman was dead and her sisters married, and Geneviève was now under the control of her older half-brother, the Earl of Bentley. But, perhaps after her mother’s belongings were located she could speak with Bridges about booking passage on one of his ships. It was the least he could do for having her wait so long without answers.

  “I’ll have my carriage brought around,” John insisted, trailing after her.

  “I can walk,” Geneviève ground out.

  “You don’t have a maid,” he reminded her. Geneviève bristled. She was so tired of waiting for others when she needed to do something. It was inconvenient if a bit uncomfortable to have someone trailing after her everywhere she went because propriety demanded it. Or worse, have a gentleman accompany her everywhere because apparently, dangers lurked behind every corner in London. She longed for the freedom of Milan, where she was allowed to come and go and do as she pleased.

  Neither John nor Elizabeth, his wife, said anything as the carriage pulled into traffic. She should apologize for worrying them, but they shouldn’t have been worried in the first place.

  “I think it only fair to warn you that Bentley is rather upset,” John said as the carriage rumbled along the road.

  Geneviève bristled at the comment. “If he would trust me and quit treating me as a child he would have no need to be upset.”

  “That isn’t how it works, Geneviève.” John leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You are under his care, something he takes very seriously.”

  “I never asked to be under his care, or anyone's. If I would be allowed to live in the house on Henrietta Street, nobody would need to know about my comings and goings.” The house on Henrietta was owned by her sister, Juliette, given to her by Lord Acker before they married. Behind it, facing an opposite street, was the school of dance where Juliette taught ballet when she wasn’t performing. It was a perfectly good house, partially furnished and fully staffed. It was a waste that no one lived there and Geneviève was determined it would be her residence once their belongings arrived and the household furnishings were complete, and out from under the watchful eyes of their brothers. If, she didn’t just sail back to Milan first.

  Oh, it was an easy threat to make, but Geneviève would never live so far from her sisters.

  “It is not done,” John insisted.

  Elizabeth, John’s wife, simply shook her head and rolled her eyes. Geneviève had long suspected Elizabeth didn’t let her husband dictate her actions. She would have to find out how Elizabeth convinced John she could take care of herself. Of course, Elizabeth always behaved as a lady, always had a maid accompany her, but she wasn’t a wilting violet either.

  When the carriage rolled to a stop before Bentley’s London home and the footman opened the door, Elizabeth rose and stepped out, followed by Geneviève and then John. With a deep breath, she walked up the two steps to Bentley’s home and entered. As she suspected, her remaining three half-brothers were on the stairs, looking at her. She handed her pelisse to the footman and marched up the stairs and past them without a word. Her sisters-in-law, Eleanor, Grace, and Audrey, were seated on settees across from each other, a tea service sat in the center of the table. Each was dressed to attend a ball.

  “All of you look lovely.” Geneviève took a seat at the end of the table. Her brothers followed her into the room a few moments later. She assumed John had told them where she had been.

  “You will not return to Bridge’s warehouse,” Bentley ordered as he walked into the room.

  Geneviève did not answer and accepted a cup of tea from Eleanor. She wasn’t going to lie and promise not to return. Nor was she going to advise him she had every intention of going back, as often as necessary, until her items were returned.

  The sun was not up yet and the fog hung so heavily about the wharf that Jonathan could barely see his hand in front of his face. Had he not been coming here since he was a child he might have walked past the warehouse. But, he knew the docks better than anyplace else in London and could navigate it blindfolded if necessary. He quickly unlocked the door, stepped inside, and bolted it behind him again. It might be early and most of the criminal element in the area retired for the night, but one never knew who lurked in the area ready to stick a knife in your back. Jonathan struck a flint and lit the lantern hanging by the door before carrying it with him up the stairs and to the office. He should be able to work for an hour or two before the workers began arriving.

  He shrugged out of his coat and hung it on a peg behind the door before doing so with his jacket. As he made his way further into the office, he lit the lamps placed throughout the room and settled behind the desk. The weight of the documents upon his desk seemed to settle upon him. What had Miss Mirabelle discovered in her search?

  What had possessed that woman to spend hours in his office going through his things? Didn’t she realize that a woman’s place was not in a shipping office but comfortably situated in a home? She was Acker’s sister-in-law and certainly knew better than to come here, especially alone.

  Across the front of his desk were neatly stacked documents. As they had not been in this arrangement yesterday.

  “I had better find out what she has learned before I do anything further.” He picked up the first stack. They were all letters to him from customers seeking the same information as Miss Mirabelle. “Bloody hell, now she knows she isn’t the only one with a missing shipment.”

  He set the stack of papers aside and picked up the second. After a quick review, he realized that all of the invoices, contracts, and agreements were for shipments into Dover, from all over the world. The next stack was similar except the destination was Liverpool. The remaining stacks were for Plymouth, London, and Bristol. The tallest, at the corner of the desk, were shipments to be delivered to outside of England. None of the documents were in date order, but it was a start. Jonathan began sorting the haphazard stack in the middle of his desk in the same manner as Miss Mirabella had done. He didn’t pay attention to what the items were, he simply sorted. From there, we would break them down further.