Page 16 of A Lady’s Guide to Mystery and Mischief

Circling the secretary’s desk, Farah knocked at Mr. Montgomery’s door. Without waiting to be called in, she opened it a crack. “Are you quite decent, Mr. Montgomery?”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” he grumbled by way of response.

Farah pushed the door open to see that he was almost exactly where she’d left him—at his desk, with his office in total disarray. His shirtsleeves had been rolled up to reveal his forearms, and his neckcloth had been pulled loose from its tidy knot. In short, he was, much like his surroundings, the very picture of dishevelment.

“Did you spend the night here?” she asked.

“Miss Rafiq,” he said, “your stubbornness is truly unmatched. How many times must you be sent away before you stop coming back?”

Farah’s eyes traveled around the room. “If you did spend the night here, then I’m afraid I must tell you that you achieved very little. This place is a disaster still.”

“I appreciate the observation. Can I help you?”

Perking, Farah seated herself before him, her cotton skirts billowing about her in a white cloud. “No. This time, it is I who will help you.”

Mr. Montgomery raised a single dark eyebrow at this. “The sheer thought of asking you to elaborate terrifies me.”

Farah ignored the quip, fully focused on putting her plan into motion. “Have you contacted the constable, by any chance?”

“I have not,” he bit out. “Clearly.”

“Excellent.”

The bewildered look on his face made her want to laugh out loud. “Excellent? I thought you were hellbent on seeing Francis’s fortune found.”

“I am.” She scooted forward in her chair. He leaned back in response, which she found rather strange. “But I think contacting the constable would be a terrible mistake.”

“Indeed?” He folded his arms across his broad chest. “And why is that, Miss Rafiq?”

“Think of Hawkins & Montgomery. One thousand pounds is quite a sum to lose, don’t you think?”

“I didn’t lose it,” he muttered.

“The reputation of your firm is at risk,” she continued, hoping that she was striking the correct nerve. “Potential clients look for trustworthy solicitors—solicitors who will keep their affairs in order and safe.”

Mr. Montgomery examined her in silence. It was silly, she thought, that a man should have such beautiful eyelashes. Not that they were wasted on him, given the perfect fashion in which they framed his somber, gray eyes. Even in his unkempt state, Farah could recognize his allure. Absentmindedly, she wondered about his romantic life. Was he in love? If not, had he ever been? How did he express his affections? For a woman to find herself tangled with stern, stubborn Mr. Montgomery sounded absolutely—

“I suppose you have a point,” he said eventually. “As much as I hate to admit to it.”

Farah felt as though her brain had been replaced with tufts of spun sugar. “A point?”

“About the firm,” he said. “But if the crime is not reported, it will not be solved.”

Coaxing her last functioning brain cell back to reality, she countered with, “I disagree. We can solve it.”

For the second time since she’d met him, Mr. Montgomery laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners. It was a fleeting, gravelly chuckle, one she couldn’t help but feel in the pit of her stomach.

“I didn’t mean for that to entertain you,” she said, biting the inside of her cheek to avoid joining him. “I’m being serious.”

He made a clear effort to compose himself. “I know you are.”

“I intend to see this through,” she informed him. “For Francis and myself.”

It was the wrong thing to say, of course, as it caused Mr. Montgomery’s face to darken without delay. “Have you ever tracked down stolen goods, Miss Rafiq?”

“No,” she said, wishing she hadn’t brought Francis up at all. “Have you?”

“No,” he replied. “Which makes us the two people in London least capable of catching our thief.”