When a Lady Deceives (Her Majesty’s Most Secret Service) (15 page)

With a deliberate lack of haste, she walked to where he waited.

His gaze swept over her, assessing, no doubt taking in her worn appearance. What did it matter? She could not pretend to have been unaffected by what had gone between them the night before.

“I was beginning to think you didn’t care to join me.” Shadows rimmed his eyes, and the fine creases at their corners were more pronounced than usual. So, his sleep had been as fitful as hers. Perhaps that was some slight consolation.

She glanced toward the building. As she’d anticipated, Mrs. O’Brien spied none too discreetly from behind her curtains. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“I needed to see you.”

His intent expression spurred her pulse. “I did not expect to see you until this evening.”

He placed his hand over hers. Gentle. Yet demanding. “This won’t wait.”

“I don’t believe I can spare the time, Mr. Colton.”

“
Mr. Colton
? The formality seems a bit out of place, all things considered.”

Even breathing seemed a challenge when he stood so near. “I’m sorry, but—”

“I won’t take no for an answer. Or do you want me to convince you?”

…

As soon as Matthew touched Jennie’s ungloved hand, he realized his mistake. The warmth of her satin skin triggered the hunger he’d so tightly restrained. For a heartbeat, he questioned his resolve. He should drag her home, peel the prim layers of clothing from her luscious body, and forget that the life he’d carved for himself didn’t permit the luxury of caring for a woman like Jennie, if only for a few precious hours.

She’d felt it, too. The spark of her flesh against his. The rosy tint on her cheeks deepened to scarlet as she took one single step away from him.

He didn’t permit her retreat. His fingers coiled over hers. She regarded him with a glacial glance beneath her lashes.

“I have appointments this morning.” She clipped the words like shards of ice from a glacier.

“They’ll wait. There’s a café nearby. It’s quite private.” He shifted his hand to clasp his fingers over her elbow. Her body went so brittle, she seemed ready to crack in two.

Her eyes cast daggers, but she nodded her compliance. “I do not possess an appetite.”

“I’m starving. Ravishing a woman does that to a man.”

Her lips formed a luscious, indignant bow. If only he could keep his mind off that beautiful mouth.

“I find no amusement in your comment,” she murmured. “A gentleman would not speak of such things.”

“I keep telling you, I’m not a gentleman.” He drew her near. It hadn’t seemed possible, but she went even more rigid. Bloody hell, she looked like Joan of Arc marching off to a bonfire.

“You have eliminated any hope I once held. Do we have much farther to go? This cold pavement has numbed my toes.”

“With those flimsy stockings you wear, it’s no wonder.”

“If anyone were to hear you—”

He gave the crowded street a fleeting glance. “I don’t need to say a word. The blush on your pretty face tells the story.”

“
Oooh
.” She gritted her teeth and shrugged out of his grasp.

He recalled Jennie’s shapely calves sheathed in the transparent fabric. “I must admit I’m intrigued by those decadent stockings. I’m not sure I ever want to strip them off.”

Lifting her chin defiantly, she marched with crisp strides. “I am quite certain you will never face that dilemma again.”

He chuckled under his breath. Did she have any idea how her indignant pout tempted him? “Don’t be so sure. Unless you forego clothing altogether the next time.”

“You’re impossible.”

He gave a shrug. “You wear too many blasted garments. Ridding you of all those layers exhausts a man.”

“You are definitely not a gentleman.”

“We’ve already established that.”

The tip of her tongue peeked out to moisten her lips. Without warning, a fresh wave of hunger consumed him. He wanted to kiss her senseless.

And that would be only the beginning.

He swallowed hard and motioned to the frosted glass doors of Café Susannah.

“You’re wasting my time,” she said curtly. “We have nothing to discuss.”

“You’re wrong, Jennie. I know you’re in danger. It’s about bloody time you tell me the truth.”

Chapter Fourteen

Danger.
Jennie mulled the word. Had Matthew planted the note to unnerve her? Did he think fear would induce her to tip her hand? She gave a little huff. My, how little the man knew of her, of her resolve.

Clasping her hand, he led her to a secluded table. An immaculately dressed employee nipped at his heels like an agitated hound. “Sir, this table is reserved. I have a lovely spot for you. I’m sure you’ll—”

Matthew cast a glare over his shoulder. “This one will do.”

The waiter wiped his brow with a pristine handkerchief. “Sir, that table has been reserved.”

Matthew riveted him with a cold stare. “Someone’s plans just changed.” He flashed a cold smile as he pulled out a chair and motioned for Jennie to take a seat.

The gangly man’s Adam’s apple bobbed wildly. Looking as though his eyes might pop from his head, he huffed a protest and beat a hasty retreat.

Matthew leaned closer, his mouth so near she thought he might kiss her. Utter insanity, the way her thoughts drifted to the carnal whenever he was near. His eyes flashed a warning. “I want to know what you were doing on the streets last night. Whatever game you’re playing, it ends now.”

Apprehension twisted like a knife in her belly, but she’d be damned if she’d show it. “What I do when I am not at the Lancaster is none of your concern.”

His mouth hardened. “
You
are my blasted concern. I’ve no desire to see your body fished from the Thames.”

Dread slithered along her spine. “Why would you say such a thing?”

“You are toying with men who’ll slit your throat and whistle while cleaning your blood from their blade.”

“That was uncalled for.”

His expression darkened. “Do you know what kind of men you’re dealing with? I presume you remember that scrawny wharf rat, Cathcart.”

“The scarecrow from the tavern. Ah, yes, I made a bid for his attention by spilling ale in his lap.”

“Your attitude toward the man warmed considerably the following night. What were you after?”

“Good heavens, with your penchant for seeing lurid intrigue, you might take a turn at writing penny dreadfuls.”

“What did you seek from him, Jennie? God’s teeth, you certainly weren’t drawn to the cur’s looks or good humor
.
”

“This is ridiculous. I can’t give you the answers you want.”

“Cathcart sliced his doxy’s throat. Ear to ear, I’m told.” Matthew’s quiet, matter-of-fact tone clashed with the blazing fire in his eyes.

“Doxy? What are you talking about?”

“A tart by the name of Ida Kenney. Word on the street was she’d taken a mind to sell more than the wares beneath her skirts. Cathcart saved his own neck by silencing her.”

Ida.
The world seemed to tilt. Jennie curved her fingers over the edge of the table. She drew in a breath to steady herself.

“What has any of this to do with me?”

“You’re in danger, Jennie.”

“This is all quite preposterous.”

Matthew tipped her chin, compelling her to meet his gaze. “If you loosened the bastard’s tongue, he’ll show you no mercy. Make no mistake, he will come after you. I need to know…I need to know how to protect you.”

…

The rosy flush drained from Jennie’s face. Her lush mouth transformed to a thin slash. Her hands knotted together as fear flickered through her wide green eyes.

As quickly as the emotion flashed over her, it was gone. She composed her features, her mouth softening, the tension in her fingers easing. She was a fair actress. But she was trying to deceive a man who was as much a fraud as she was. Matthew knew a performance when he saw one.

“Oh, I certainly did loosen the man’s tongue. The bloody dolt didn’t mind telling me what he wanted to do with it,” she said.

“I will do everything in my power to keep you safe. But you must tell me the truth.”

She swept a loose tendril behind her ear. She was tense. Her hands went to her hair when she was nervous. “The bloke offered vile propositions and nothing more. I’ve sought no further contact with him.”

“You require my protection. You’ve never dealt with men like these.”

Smoky lashes veiled her eyes. “You’d be surprised.”

Matthew caught her hand in his. His thumb stroked small circles over her skin. Like satin, that delicate flesh. She lifted her gaze, her defenses seeming to soften. But she did not quite trust him. Not yet.

Cruel images invaded his mind. Damnation, he’d seen so much carnage and pain and brutality inflicted on Harwick’s orders. He’d protected those he could, blunting Harwick’s anger and holding back the vile two-legged curs who acted as attack dogs when they thirsted for blood. He’d risked his own neck. But those he hadn’t saved, those who’d wound up floating belly-down in the Thames or left to die in some dank alley—the horror of their fates haunted his nightmares.

If Jennie gave any of the bastards cause for suspicion, Harwick would have no mercy. He’d extinguish the threat, no matter how lovely that threat happened to be. The thought twisted Matthew’s insides, clawed at his soul.

Dragging in a breath, he released her. “Jennie, you’re in danger.” The words came out, harsh and edged with desperation.

She blinked and drew back. Was that fear in her eyes? Fear of him?

Good God, he had to get her away from here. Far from London and the treacherous web of lies they’d constructed.

But even then, would he be able to defend her from Harwick’s brutal reach?

He had to move quickly. She’d already attracted Harwick’s interest. Christ, what man wouldn’t be drawn to Jennie’s fresh beauty and subtle refinement? The cur’s heavily rouged mistress seemed a pathetic caricature by comparison. Banishing her from the Lancaster wasn’t an option. Any change would draw Harwick’s attention. He would ask too many questions. The last thing Matthew needed was to put the vicious bastard on alert.

Matthew glanced up as the waiter returned. Clearing his throat, the man shuffled nervously on feet far too big for his scrawny frame.

“I am sorry to interrupt, sir. Have you decided what you would like?”

“Not yet.” He pressed a coin into the man’s palm. “I’d appreciate some privacy.”

The waiter’s thin face brightened as he took in its value. “Thank you, sir. May I bring the lady a beverage?”

“No, thank you.” Jennie plastered on a sweet smile and came to her feet.

The waiter gulped in a breath. “Is something wrong, miss?”

“Of course not.” She pivoted away from the table. “I can find my way home.”

Matthew bolted from his seat. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Her eyes blazed, brilliant as emeralds. The apprehension had vanished, replaced by a fiery resolve. “I am leaving. As I told you earlier, I have appointments to keep.”

He caught her wrist. “Don’t make me do something we’re both going to regret.”

“You already have.” Her softly spoken words pierced like shards of ice. “Unhand me at once. Or are you truly a ruffian?”

He pulled her close, whispering against her ear. “I won’t stand by and let you get your pretty throat cut. I’m watching you.”

…

Skirts rustling like a whirlwind about her high-topped shoes, Jennie fled the café and boarded a tram to Oxford Street. With any luck, MacAlister Campbell would be comfortably settled at his usual table at the Boar’s Head, enjoying his customary cinnamon scone and surveying the crowd. Blast it all, she’d vowed not to be late
this time
. But accompanying Matthew to Café Susannah had been enlightening, if more than a bit disturbing.

His warning played in her thoughts. Peculiar, how she felt no fright of the man. He would not harm her. Somehow, in ways she could not put into words, her heart knew he would never raise a hand to her in violence. But she could not deny the shiver that trickled down her spine. The look in his eyes had chilled her to the marrow. She’d seen fear there. Not for himself. But for her.

Did he see her sharing her informant’s fate?

He knew Mary’s killer. Nothing else made sense. Harwick had set a vicious savage on his scorned mistress. And Matthew believed she would be next.

She had to find out what he knew. Perhaps he’d already revealed the truth. Cathcart was a murderer. The scoundrel had taken a blade to the lightskirt. Had he bloodied his knife on Mary before silencing Ida Kenney?

Weaving through the crowd, Jennie accelerated her brisk steps and slipped into the tavern. True to her expectations, Campbell occupied a place at the rear corner table, a half-eaten scone on his plate.

He sported a bushy beard and moustache. Yet another disguise. His thick false brows hiked. “I was starting to wonder if I’d been tossed over for a more appealing rendezvous.”

“Something came up…a lead. I had no choice but to investigate.”

“Balderdash,” he said with a scowl. “You were with
him.
Don’t even try to deny it.”

Indignation welled in her throat. “I did not come here to be interrogated. Of all the dunderheaded—”

“I don’t care how much information you get out of that man, and I don’t give a bloody damn how many bastards the rogue pummels in your defense. You’re taking reckless chances, and I won’t have it. I’m pulling you off this story.” Campbell threw down his trump card.

“Do you really believe I can’t get this story? Say it, and I’ll walk away.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “I’m close to the truth. Too close to tuck my tail between my legs and run.”

“You believe that blackguard is the key?” His voice was low. Controlled.

“Yes. He knows something. I can get him to talk.”

Campbell took a bite of scone and chewed it for a leisurely moment. A sip of tea to wash it down, and he eyed her with a precise focus that seemed to look right through her.

“I’ll give you a week. No more. I’ve brought in another reporter—Jack Trent.”

Shock rippled through her. She pulled in a breath.
What in blazes is Campbell up to now?

“Trent? What does he have to do with this?”

“He’s in London. I convinced him to come back to the
Herald
before
The Times
lured him aboard. The man has the instincts of a bloodhound.”

“I must admit this is most unexpected.” She managed a bland tone. Her gaze flickered to the lace-trimmed serviette she’d crumpled between her fingers. Slowly, she released the scrap of linen.

“If there’s a connection between Harwick and the murders of those women, Trent will find it. He’s already been out to see what he can dig up. If he puts pressure on Harwick, it will take the bastard’s attention from you.”

“I have the investigation well in hand. Trent’s assistance will be of no benefit. I suggest he delve into the rash of jewel thefts that’s plagued Lady Westerbrook’s circle of friends. The thief is skilled and apparently quite devious.”

Campbell slowly shook his head. “You can’t do this on your own. You’ve set your mind to tying Harwick to Mary McDaniel’s murder, but you’ve lost sight of the original focus of the investigation. Harwick’s organization may be responsible for half the smuggling trade in Britain. We require proof of what the bastard’s up to. I’m confident Trent will ferret out what we need. He can get into establishments you can’t. Gentleman’s clubs. Gambling hells. Concert saloons. The East End is no place for a woman. I don’t want you anywhere near that hellhole.”

“Harwick doesn’t prowl the East End. He aspires to more refined tastes.”

“Refined tastes? Those thugs he deals with are as refined as sewer rats.”

“Harwick will know he’s being watched. He knows who Trent is. So does Matthew Colton. Trent nearly roused a mob when he covered Colton’s trial. Have you forgotten?”

“We need to draw attention from you. If you think Harwick hasn’t noticed you snooping around, you’re more naïve than I thought.”

Tension tightened her mouth. “I won’t convince you to reconsider this scheme?”

“We’ll discover soon enough if this is a mistake. Trent can fade out of sight for a while. I’ve no doubt the man knows how to handle himself. At the least, he’ll provide a distraction away from you.”

“Perhaps,” she admitted grudgingly.

Campbell’s eyes hardened. He set his jaw. “And I must insist that you distance yourself from Colton. The rotter won’t betray Claude Harwick. Not for you. Not for any woman. He knows what would happen if Harwick suspected he’s forgotten where his loyalties lie.”

She met his penetrating gaze. “I’ll keep Colton at arm’s length.”

Pity she didn’t believe the words even as they fell from her lips.