seat and perused the orderly landscape of the desktop. A neat stack of files sat to one side of an otherwise spotless, gleaming wood surface. She noted a blotter and pen set. The ink bottle was adorned with an engraved sterling silver stopper. Certainly not government issue.
She glanced at the disarray across the room. A messy desk indicated an agent who was busy in the field. A man of action, or just disorganized? She scanned the pristine surface of the desk close to her. A man who was conscientious and meticulous? She hoped so.
“Good afternoon.”
She shifted in her seat to catch the back side of a reasonably tall, dark-haired man as he adjusted the door to the office. For the sake of decency, he left the door ajar.
Dressed in a perfectly tailored suit, his collar points high and cravat slim, the man was the very picture of fashionable. He straightened an otherwise perfect stack of files and twisted a gold cufflink at each wrist before sitting down.
“There now, how can I help you, Miss Jones?”
America tilted her head. Agent Dexter Ambrose Moore was attractive. A shock of black hair fell over his forehead, which might have given him a less imposing, youthful appearance were it not for the neatly trimmed beard that emphasized the man’s best feature. Sparkling sapphire eyes framed by long velvet black eyelashes. Really quite dashing.
She cleared her throat. “Less than a year ago, my father owned a small fleet of merchant vessels and a thriving trading company. In rapid succession, several of his best, single-stack ships were lost at sea, along with their cargo. It was a devastating blow to the business.” Her voice trembled as the words tumbled out. “Then one of his business associates claimed the remainder of his fleet as repayment of debt. One blow after another was too much. My father died recently, in November.”
“Very sorry for your loss, Miss Jones.” He appeared reasonably sincere in his condolence, though perfunctory. All business, this one.
“Those ships weren’t lost at sea. They were stolen.” She raised her chin. “At the moment, I have no proof of thievery. But I shall not rest until I catch whoever did this and make them pay. Bloody pirates.” She supposed the upturn at the edges of his mouth indicated he was at least listening to her. The agent opened a desk drawer and took out several sheets of a paper. From inside his jacket pocket, he removed a fountain pen, unscrewed the cap, and shook it down.
“Your father’s name, the name of his business and his investors?”
“Charles Gardiner Jones. Star of India Trading & Shipping Limited.”
“British Registry?”
“All five ships.”
He glanced upward as he scratched names onto paper. “Might the name of your father’s business partner be either a Mr. Harry Poole or Captain Yanky Willem?”
Her heart flip-flopped inside her chest. “You know of Yanky Willem?”
“I hope to find the scoundrel a new home, preferably a cell in Newgate.” He pulled a file off the top of the stack and flipped it open.
He smiled at her. “With your assistance, Miss Jones, perhaps we can expedite his change of residence.”
“I’d like nothing more than to see a rope around his neck.” She answered his raise of brow with one of her own. “The man can go straight to Hades.”
“That would be a miserable change of address, wot?” A chestnut haired man stood in the doorway wearing a pleasant grin. “Sorry to disturb. I’ll just collect a few files and work in the next office.”
“Hold on, Gabe. Midway to his desk, the affable gent pivoted toward them. “Gabriel Sterling may I introduce Miss Jones.” The slightest ring of acrimony edged Mr. Moore’s voice.
She held out her hand. “America Jones, pleased to meet you.”
“Miss Jones.” He studied her for a moment. “You are American, then?”
“My late father, recently passed, was a British citizen. My mother is American.” Both men stared at her, unwilling to ask the
She glanced at the disarray across the room. A messy desk indicated an agent who was busy in the field. A man of action, or just disorganized? She scanned the pristine surface of the desk close to her. A man who was conscientious and meticulous? She hoped so.
“Good afternoon.”
She shifted in her seat to catch the back side of a reasonably tall, dark-haired man as he adjusted the door to the office. For the sake of decency, he left the door ajar.
Dressed in a perfectly tailored suit, his collar points high and cravat slim, the man was the very picture of fashionable. He straightened an otherwise perfect stack of files and twisted a gold cufflink at each wrist before sitting down.
“There now, how can I help you, Miss Jones?”
America tilted her head. Agent Dexter Ambrose Moore was attractive. A shock of black hair fell over his forehead, which might have given him a less imposing, youthful appearance were it not for the neatly trimmed beard that emphasized the man’s best feature. Sparkling sapphire eyes framed by long velvet black eyelashes. Really quite dashing.
She cleared her throat. “Less than a year ago, my father owned a small fleet of merchant vessels and a thriving trading company. In rapid succession, several of his best, single-stack ships were lost at sea, along with their cargo. It was a devastating blow to the business.” Her voice trembled as the words tumbled out. “Then one of his business associates claimed the remainder of his fleet as repayment of debt. One blow after another was too much. My father died recently, in November.”
“Very sorry for your loss, Miss Jones.” He appeared reasonably sincere in his condolence, though perfunctory. All business, this one.
“Those ships weren’t lost at sea. They were stolen.” She raised her chin. “At the moment, I have no proof of thievery. But I shall not rest until I catch whoever did this and make them pay. Bloody pirates.” She supposed the upturn at the edges of his mouth indicated he was at least listening to her. The agent opened a desk drawer and took out several sheets of a paper. From inside his jacket pocket, he removed a fountain pen, unscrewed the cap, and shook it down.
“Your father’s name, the name of his business and his investors?”
“Charles Gardiner Jones. Star of India Trading & Shipping Limited.”
“British Registry?”
“All five ships.”
He glanced upward as he scratched names onto paper. “Might the name of your father’s business partner be either a Mr. Harry Poole or Captain Yanky Willem?”
Her heart flip-flopped inside her chest. “You know of Yanky Willem?”
“I hope to find the scoundrel a new home, preferably a cell in Newgate.” He pulled a file off the top of the stack and flipped it open.
He smiled at her. “With your assistance, Miss Jones, perhaps we can expedite his change of residence.”
“I’d like nothing more than to see a rope around his neck.” She answered his raise of brow with one of her own. “The man can go straight to Hades.”
“That would be a miserable change of address, wot?” A chestnut haired man stood in the doorway wearing a pleasant grin. “Sorry to disturb. I’ll just collect a few files and work in the next office.”
“Hold on, Gabe. Midway to his desk, the affable gent pivoted toward them. “Gabriel Sterling may I introduce Miss Jones.” The slightest ring of acrimony edged Mr. Moore’s voice.
She held out her hand. “America Jones, pleased to meet you.”
“Miss Jones.” He studied her for a moment. “You are American, then?”
“My late father, recently passed, was a British citizen. My mother is American.” Both men stared at her, unwilling to ask the
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