Carnal Deceptions (19 page)

Gibbs jerked back a step. “Must you lurk like that? You frightened the holy hell out of me. By God, Cliffe, it doesn’t take much to turn you into a villainous-looking scoundrel—change of clothes and you’ve arrived.”

“At least I don’t look like a pigeon plump for the taking. I told you to wear something tattered and old.”

Indignant, Gibbs peered down at his lightly smudged olive-colored morning coat and nankeen pantaloons. “This is the shabbiest clothing I own.”

Tallon pulled the pistol from the deep pocket of the ancient coat and handed it to Gibbs. “Since you are dressed like that you had better carry the weapon.”

Gibbs glanced down at the gun in his hand. “This gets more and more intriguing. Are you going to share with me the purpose of this secret outing?”

“Sloan has stopped throwing the banknotes around. Perhaps he doesn’t want to risk gaol just when he is about to embark on a profitable smuggling venture. I’m guessing the greedy bastard has a stack of the fake money lying around in the office he rents here.”

Gibbs surveyed the dilapidated building. “Elegant address he’s chosen. What merchant would discuss matters with him here?”

“Do remember the type of business that Sloan conducts.” “Will we break into his home next?” Gibbs asked dryly.

“I already know there’s nothing there. Jessup scoured his house, as well as the cottage he keeps in Woolwich by the dockyard.” He’d spat out the word cottage and fancied himself burning the thing to the ground.

“Do you have the entire battalion working for you? First Cyrus and now Jessup. Gladdens my heart though that Jessup had to suffer through that bloody bore of an opera, too. Couldn't happen to a more deserving fellow.” Gibbs combed his hand through his wiry hair, making it stand in spikes.

“I need to find something on Sloan. I feel Tess is in danger.”

“Ah, Tess. That is what this harebrained adventure is about. I hate to tell you, old friend, but I think she actually prefers me over you.”

“That must be why she talks about you all the time.” “Truly?” Gibbs asked.

Tallon rolled his eyes. “Can we get on with this?” He could hear the edge in his voice. This was not a joking matter to him. He’d driven himself nearly mad wondering if Tess’s obsession with Sloan had really tipped from hate to love. In Tallon’s heart hid the hope that once Sloan was in prison, she would turn to him, that she would be able to concentrate on him, at least a little.

“You seem overly attached to the girl. It’s not like you, Cliffe.”

“She’s the woman I intend to marry.”

Gibbs, in his surprise, skidded on the edges of a greasy puddle. He groaned in disgust and shook the liquid off his boot. “Marry?”

A noise from behind made them both duck into a dark corner. They waited silently.

A cat ran by with a freshly killed mouse.

They stepped out from their hiding place.

“I feel a right fool,” Gibbs commented as he tucked the pistol back into his waistband. “How the devil did you get someone to say yes to you?”

“I’ll worry about getting the yes later,” Tallon said.

Gibbs stopped cold. “What makes you so sure there will be a yes?” “There might not be a yes, but there will be a marriage.”

“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. You never let her out of your sight. You poor devil,” Gibbs said without sounding the least bit sympathetic.

Tallon led Gibbs down the alley behind Sloan’s office. A woman standing in a recessed doorway lifted her dress to her waist and thrust her pelvis forward. Her voice thick with liquor, she made them an unintelligible offer. A man standing nearby took advantage and rubbed her with his filthy fingers.

“Why didn’t you invite your ox-necked friend along? Two of you big bastards stomping through this alley would have cleared it of any and all miscreants in a flash.”

“Cyrus is busy watching over Tess. Here.” Tallon handed Gibbs some coins and gestured in the couple’s direction. “We need to get them inside. Go pay for his good time.”

Unwilling to step too close, Gibbs threw the coins. They landed at the man’s feet. “You two find a bed,” Gibbs said with a grimace. “Hell, no man should have to witness
that
…ever,” he mumbled to himself.

With gin-soaked laughter, the two disappeared into the building. “Let’s get in before anyone else comes,” Tallon said.

Gibbs measured the width of the window with his hands. And then compared the distance with the breadth of Tallon’s shoulders. “Never going to fit, old man.”

“No, but you might.”

“Oh, no! I’ll get stuck and my legs will be dangling out in this criminal-infested alley.”

Tallon laughed. “You don’t actually think I planned on pushing that fat arse of yours through that small window? Just keep an eye out for me.”

Tallon moved to stand in front of the alleyway door. While he worked the key into the lock, he hunched his back so it would appear as if he were taking a piss.

“How did you come by that key?”

“Jessup, naturally. He got a hold of Sloan’s keys and made a copy.”

“Well he truly is a marvel. I don’t know why you would need me at all when Jessup is so capable.”

Tallon shook his head. “I cannot believe you are still angry that he was promoted to captain before you.” The lock released and Tallon, followed closely by Gibbs, pushed inside.

The furnishings consisted of a desk, a chair and a chest of drawers. Some hand-drawn maps were strewn across the desk. A lone painting hung forlornly on a moldy wall.

“It looks like he cleared this place out awhile ago,” Gibbs said as he yanked open another empty drawer.

Tallon found nothing in the desk but a tin of tobacco and a crumpled handkerchief. Starting at the edges, Tallon paced the room, knocking the floorboards with the heel of his boot, listening for a hollow sound.

“There’s not a damn thing here,” Gibbs said.

Tallon, having discovered no cache in the floor, was in agreement. He strode to the window and with his sleeve swiped away a layer of grease. He peered out into the alley to see if it was safe to leave.

“I’ve found something,” Gibbs said.

Tallon turned to see the gaping hole in the wall where the painting had been. Gibbs stuck in his hand and pulled out a cloth-wrapped bundle. “This is all there was,” he said as he placed the package on the table, pulled the string and unfurled the flannel.

“Engraver’s tools,” Tallon remarked. But there were no incriminating etched plates. “Not enough to get him arrested. Or to satisfy the soon-to-be Lady Marcliffe, I

imagine,” Gibbs said.

“Fucking hell,” Tallon said with a biting laugh. He was a sorry bastard. He’d actually convinced himself that finding evidence which implicated Sloan would earn him Tess’s affection.

Long before dawn, Tess found herself being ripped from her bed. She struggled in his arms against his impossibly hard chest. Flurry stood at the foot of the bed barking wildly, her protector looking like a tiny, white snowflake next to Lord Marcliffe.

A maid entered behind him carrying a traveling bag. After lighting a lamp, she started folding Tess’s clothes and packing them in the valise.

Tess tried again to wriggle out of his grasp. He was as immovable as rock. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“I say differently.”

“You can’t just order me about. I’m not one of your soldiers.” “Stop fighting me, or I’ll carry you outside in your nightclothes.”

As furious as she was, she knew she faced no danger. After all, he’d appointed Cyrus to be his eyes and ears, to make certain no harm came to her. “Fine. Set me down so I can at least get dressed.”

With a heavy sigh, he dropped her none too gently to her feet. “You have two minutes.”

“Yes, Captain Marcliffe,” she said sulkily.

“I was a major, actually,” he corrected and shut the door hard behind him.

To cover the angry marks Sloan had given her in the garden, she wrapped a fichu around her neck and tucked it into the neckline of her dress.

She could hear him pacing outside her door as she pinned up her hair. Her stomach felt queasy as she stepped into the hallway. Maybe this was the end of her London stay. Obviously, Lord Marcliffe had decided to dispense with his troublesome houseguest. She picked up Flurry and rubbed her face against his soft head. She would not be able to take care of a dog when she was cast out. It would be hard enough keeping herself fed.

With her night cap askew, Lady Stadwell stood in her doorway looking sleepy and befuddled. Tess ran to her. “Please take care of Flurry for me. He is very fond of you.” She wrapped her arms around Lady Stadwell’s frail shoulders, and the small dog let out a peep as he was caught amidst their embrace. “You are so dear to me.”

Lady Stadwell patted her on the back. “Poor girl. Nephew, it is heartless of you not to be more forthright.”

“In due time,” Lord Marcliffe replied.

Tess let go of Lady Stadwell and clumsily swiped the wetness from her cheeks. Lord Marcliffe picked up the valise, and Tess trailed obediently behind.

Craving the warmth and comfort of her bed, Tess stepped out into the chill dark of night. The coach and four awaited them. She had barely taken her seat across from Lord Marcliffe when the coach pulled abruptly away from the curb. To steady herself, she grabbed the overhead strap. The man was wasting no time ridding himself of her.

“If you’d provide me with enough fare to hire a carriage, you could save yourself the trouble and drop me off right here.” Brave words. She had no place to go. The tears threatened again.

“You’re not getting away from me that easily.” He sat back, crossing his arms over his chest, his muscles straining against the fabric of his sleeves.

Thinking of his big arms made her think of how he was big everywhere. It had been far too long since he had touched her intimately. To prevent herself from moaning, she pressed her knuckles to her lips. With effort, she pulled her gaze away.

She neatened her skirt then clutched her hands in her lap. “Fine then. Just keep all of this a mystery, and I will sit and hold my tongue.”

He raised his eyebrow. “That would be a first.”

She attempted unsuccessfully to concentrate on the bleakly shadowed scenery passing by the window. Her gaze was soon pulled back to Lord Marcliffe. A dark intensity radiated from him. He stretched out his legs, propping them on the bench beside her, effectively barring the exit, as though she might throw herself out of the hurtling coach.

They traveled hard and fast with Lord Marcliffe insisting on the breakneck pace as if someone were following them.

From the start of the baffling journey, he did not spend any time with her at the inns where they lodged. Instead, he saw to the changing of the horses. And in the evenings he

haunted the local taverns. She would lie in the strange bed and cry herself to sleep wondering how she’d managed to make him hate her so much. And once ensconced in the coach again, he said not a word. When he wasn’t sleeping, he was watching her as though she might evaporate before his eyes.

On the fourth day, she took her usual seat, and asked the same question she’d asked every single morning since they’d left London. “Where exactly are we going?”

He angled himself into the corner and sighed drowsily. “Do you remember my mentioning that Sloan had absconded to Scotland after his last crooked dealings?”

Shocked at getting a response, she sat forward. “No, I don’t recall you telling me anything of the sort.”

“Perhaps it was my aunt I spoke to. Now would you like me to continue?”

“Yes, although I hardly see what this has to do with you kidnapping me and dragging me across half the bloody country.”

“Hell’s fire, you are melodramatic, woman.”

“Well, is it not true that I am your captive on this adventure?”

He leaned forward and took a firm grip of her wrist. He pushed her palm to his mouth and ran his tongue lightly across it. The erotic gesture instantly made her nipples hard.

“Believe me, sweeting, you would know if you were my captive.” His tone was so sensual, she immediately felt heat swirling low in her belly.

“Please continue.” Her voice cracked. He gave her a carnal smile.

“I mean with your explanation,” she clarified.

With reluctance, he released her wrist. His breathing had become heavier. He rubbed his face. “Now what the devil was I talking about?” he said more to himself than to her.

“Sloan and Scotland, remember?”

“Ah yes. My God, woman, my mind is always rattled when you are around. Anyhow, there is a man in Scotland who is said to be a master engraver. The kind of man who could create that near-perfect banknote. I think he is in league with Sloan.”

“And why must I be here?”

“Isn’t catching the bastard what motivates you? Shouldn’t you be thanking me for asking you along?”

“How will my absence be explained to Sloan?”

“Cyrus will tell him you are ill. He can be quite convincing.” He tipped his head back against the seat, his eyes drifting shut.

“Fortunately for you, you will not have to bear this dreadful journey twice in a month.” She did not care that she sounded like a pouting child.

“Quiet, rabbit, I am trying to sleep.”

*

The driver slowed the coach to a crawl once they’d crossed into Scotland.

“Joseph Kerr,” Lord Marcliffe said loudly, startling her from a stupor. “That is the man.” He tapped on the roof of the coach. “Pull into that yard,” he shouted.

Tess gazed out the window at the hostelry.

Lord Marcliffe pointed to a small placard in the yard. The name Joseph Kerr had been painted with enormous skill. Beneath the name was a picture of an anvil topped with a rose.

“He’s an anvil priest, it seems, as well as a counterfeiter.” He took the pistol from his waistband.

She put a restraining hand atop his. “What do you intend to do with that?”

His brow furrowed and he slid the pistol back into his waistband. “I suppose I could wait and see whether the man cooperates first.”

“Please leave the pistol here,” she pleaded.

“If you’d rather I didn’t use the gun, then we’ll have to go about it a different way.” He glanced around the yard as if he were looking for inspiration. “I have it.” He hid the pistol beneath the seat. “We’ll obtain a certificate and bring it to the constable in London. He can then determine if the banknote is the work of the same man.”