Blackstone's Bride by Kate Moore Page B

room. “Is that what he bought with the government’s money—miles of gold braid?”
    “You think the money did not supply the prince’s army?”
    “I doubt it. Bankers always follow the money trail. We think what happens to money explains people’s most desperate acts.”
    “In this case you think the money was misspent?”
    “Almost certainly, and Frank caught on to it.”
    “Hence his report had to disappear.”
    “And Frank.” Blackstone seemed to forget that point. She risked a direct look at him. He was so thin. “There’s something you’re not telling me.”
    “Surely, you didn’t expect full disclosure from me.” His closed face mocked her.
    “This is not about us. This is about my brother.”
    “You rearranged his drawers. What were you hoping to see?”
    He noticed. Blackstone noticed everything. It was one of the reasons Violet had liked him in the beginning. One did not need to explain the obvious to Blackstone. He’d seen it first.
    Violet wished she knew what to look for. Whoever had searched Frank’s trunk had undone Frank’s message system. The rows of parallel lines did not match up in any of the ways Frank usually aligned them. She came back to the bench.
    “Think, Violet. The trunk must tell us something. It sat in your brother’s rooms in Gibraltar until porters removed it to a cart for a journey to the ship. Seamen brought it on board and put it in the cabin reserved for your brother. His trunk made the passage with or without him, and we need to know which. While everyone else went through customs, your brother’s trunk sat in his room.”
    Blackstone stepped up to the trunk and pulled the cravat drawer from its slot. He turned, holding the drawer out to Violet. “Smell it.”
    “Smell it?”
    “Preston told us that someone else rearranged the clothes. Does it smell like a man’s hand passed through the clothes or a woman’s hand?”
    “You can tell?” She took the offered drawer onto her lap. He watched her with that heavy-lidded look of his. “Why is Frank’s report of such importance to the government?”
    “You said yourself that you think the prince has mismanaged the loan money.”
    “Yes, but that’s not news. Princes are notorious spenders, as we know, and Frank would advise the prince openly if he saw him being taken in, you know.”
    “Suppose, however, that Frank found a truth that’s uncomfortable for someone, dangerous even. Not mismanagement, but deception or fraud.”
    “It would have to be someone powerful, which I don’t think the prince is, for all his extravagance, though I may be deceived by his manner.”
    “Smell the drawer, Violet.”
    She lifted the drawer to her nose. It smelled like Frank, of course, like the sandalwood soap he favored and his piney cologne. She stirred his cravats gently. Another smell came, fleeting and rose scented. Violet waited to catch the scent again. It was unmistakably feminine.
    “A woman’s hand.” She met his gaze and realized he’d already come to the same conclusion. “You smelled the drawer earlier.”
    “I had a chance before you arrived, but I wanted to confirm my suspicion.” He took the drawer from her and slid it back into its slot. Once more he sat beside her on the bench, this time on her left. Violet told herself he was not too close. It was merely that his shoulders took up a good bit of space. He took her cold, ring-bearing hand in his warm ones.
    “The note is a good sign, Violet. It means that whoever has Frank has kept him alive so far, and whatever they want, they don’t want it from you and your father.”
    “What do you mean?”
    He didn’t look at her, but at their linked hands. “They didn’t ask for a ransom. If money is not their object, then they must want something from Frank.”
    “What could they want from him? They must have his report if all his bags are empty.”
    “Not if he anticipated them and sent the report by some other means or encoded its message in some