When a Lady Deceives (Her Majesty’s Most Secret Service) (16 page)

Chapter Fifteen

Jennie hoisted a tray of generously filled mugs intended for boisterous gents at the rear of the tavern. Nearly the witching hour, and Matthew Colton had yet to show his face. So much the better. As it was, her thoughts were filled with the man. His chiseled features. Lingering echoes of his voice. Traces of his scent.

It was as though he’d marked her.

Through the muddle of her traitorous emotions, her mind raced with question upon question, all stirred by Sophie’s revelation of the blood tie between Matthew and Harwick. How deep did their bond go? She’d detected no hint of kinship between the two men, only the same wary regard two natural predators would accord each other. It was high time she delved into Matthew Colton’s history with more precise focus.

But at the moment, she ferried ale to a blustery man whose jowls jiggled as he called for yet another round for his table. Given the urgency in the sot’s voice, one might think he actually required the sustenance another stein might provide. She’d fetch the blighter’s drinks and then be done with him and his cronies, at least for a little while.

The rising swell of excited chatter sounded an alert. Rose hurriedly primped as though she’d spotted the prince regent. “Mr. Colton just came in. He’s looking for you.”

Balancing the heavy tray, Jennie shot a glance over her shoulder. “I suppose he’ll have to wait his turn.”

“And when will that be, Miss Danvers?” Matthew’s smooth baritone unleashed tingles of awareness through her body. With a rogue’s smile, he took the tray from her hands. “Rose, please take these to the table.”

The barmaid’s beaming adoration faded. “Of course, Mr. Colton.”

“That’s not necessary,” Jennie protested.

“Thank you, Rose,” Matthew said with a curt nod of dismissal. One hand moved with deliberate possessiveness to the small of Jennie’s back as he motioned to the barkeep.

Harry sidled closer. “Can I get you somethin’, Mr. Colton?”

“Not now. You can take a break.” The words were a command, not a suggestion.

The barkeeper waited until Jennie nodded her agreement. Casting a protective glance over his shoulder, he shuffled away.

Matthew’s glower softened. “He likes you. Harry doesn’t care for too many people.”

“I suppose he is a bit protective of me.”

“He’s got good reason to be.”

Harry lumbered back to the bar. Resting one elbow on the bar, he slanted Matthew a wary glance. “Sorry, Mr. Colton, but I’d best be keepin’ busy. Mr. Harwick came in through the rear door. He looks to be in a helluva foul mood.”

“Christ.” Matthew bit off the word between his teeth. “We’ll continue this conversation later.”

He crossed the tavern floor with long strides, then mounted the stairs to Harwick’s office two at a time.

Harry rested his sturdy arms on the counter. “I’m worried about you. That man eyes you like a dog tempted by a juicy bone. Watch yourself. A man like him isn’t above taking what he wants.”

She had no time to ponder his words. Heavy footsteps on the stairs heralded Matthew’s return. “Don’t leave without me. I’ll be back. Whatever happens, stay here.”

“You can’t wait for him all night.” Harry’s voice was gruff with concern.

“I’ve no intention of doing any such thing.” With deliberate leaden movements, she wiped a spill with a clean rag. “There’s work to be done. I won’t leave it for someone else.”

The barkeeper confiscated the rag and pitched it out of sight behind the bar. “You’ve done enough. It’s high time you went home. If it’s an escort you need, I have two legs I’m willing to use.”

She snatched up a dry cloth and dusted the frosted glass lamp that illuminated the counter. “I’ve too much work to even consider leaving.”

“You’re coming with me. I won’t take no for an answer.” Harry drummed his thick fingers against the polished oak. “It’s after midnight. The place is spotless. It’s high time we shut down.”

The big man trudged to the backroom and returned with her cloak. Staring down at her with unexpectedly perceptive eyes, he draped the garment over her shoulders. “Colton won’t be back tonight. Whatever Harwick sent him to do, it won’t leave him fit company for a lady.”

A shudder of apprehension quaked in her stomach, but Jennie managed a weak smile. Her weary feet twinged. She pulled the cape tight around her.

“If you insist. I am quite tired.” After all, she was not bound by Matthew Colton’s dictates. He was a source. Nothing more. And with a man like him, it wouldn’t do to become too compliant.

The barkeeper darkened all the lamps but one and met her at the entrance. “I have to lock up.”

The door jerked open. Matthew barreled in. His eyes narrowed as his gaze fell on Jennie. “You can leave now, Harry. I’ll see Miss Danvers home.”

Harry clutched his hat and slanted a concerned glance. “No need to trouble yourself with that, sir. She’ll be safe with me.”

Matthew’s eyes hardened. “That won’t be necessary.”

“If you’re sure, Mr. Colton.”

“Quite certain.” Matthew’s steady tone left no room for argument.

The barkeeper’s shoulders fell in a defeated gesture. “’Night, Jennie.”

The door thudded closed behind him. Matthew headed to the bar, poured two fingers of Scotch into a tumbler, and stared into the amber liquid. Something was wrong. The dark glint in his eyes only confirmed her fears.

He took a drink, set the glass on the bar, and came to her. “I told you to wait for me.”

“Harry was closing down the place.”

“I told you to stay here. I meant it.”

At his imperious tone, she cocked her chin and met his gaze. Who was this man to order her about? “You have no right to tell me what to do. I’m not a child. Harry offered to escort me home.”

“I don’t give a damn about Harry. I don’t trust him or anyone else around this damned place.”

“You are most infuriating. You storm in and order me about as though I were a dull-witted pet. Am I to believe you’re protecting me from some fiend? For all I know, you could be a madman.”

“I would not deny it.” His voice took on a dangerous edge. “God knows I’ve had cause to question my own sanity.”

He reached for her then, his touch gentle despite the rawness in his tone. She thought he’d kiss her, but he lightly laced his fingers through her hair. His lips brushed her forehead in the sweetest of caresses.

She dragged in a breath, as if that would calm her racing pulse. She shouldn’t want him to touch her, but she couldn’t help herself. Still, she had to keep her head. Too much was at stake.

Jennie stepped away, a small, subtle movement, and met his eyes. “What’s happened?”

“Nothing…nothing of any importance.” He finished off the whiskey. His gaze seemed harder then. Impenetrable. Yet when he reached for her, a soul-deep desperation flared in those dark eyes. “I needed to see you. It’s been a hell of a night.”

I needed to see you
. At his words, the world seemed to tilt. Just enough to set her off-kilter. Just enough to pierce her resolve.

“Something is wrong,” she said. “You must tell me.”

His jaw went rigid, as if he’d said too much. With a light hold on her arm, he led her to the door. His demeanor had gone cool. Icy as the brisk wind she knew lurked beyond the tavern doors. No point trying to draw the truth from him. Not yet. Bundling the woolen shield of her cloak about her, she followed him into the night.

Each footfall against the cobbles echoed in her ears. Silent, Matthew kept his focus ahead, as if unwilling to meet her questioning eyes.

They left the Strand’s crowded sidewalks behind. Scattered sounds from dimly lit alleys kept Jennie’s mind on edge. As they approached the front steps of Mrs. O’Brien’s rooming house, tension radiated to every nerve.

He slowed his brisk march and turned to her. “I don’t want you on these streets at night.”

Something in his tone cut through her, triggering an instinctive alarm. The penetrating concern in his voice battered her defenses, but she mustered a calm front.

“I’ve ventured out to the Lancaster every night for weeks. I assure you I’ve encountered far more brutish behavior within the walls of the tavern than beyond its doors.”

He caught her hands in his. Gently, yet his touch seared her.

“There is evil in this world, Jennie. Waiting to strike. Waiting to destroy whatever stands in its path. I make no effort to deny it.”

Her hands went clammy. A cold, hard weight settled in her stomach. She steadied herself. Matthew’s mouth was set in a granite-firm line, his shoulders rigid. What did he know? Had she been targeted by Harwick? Or was Matthew trying to frighten her away, one less problem he’d have to eliminate?

“Evil? My, I hadn’t taken you to be so dramatic,” she said, the lightness in her tone an utter lie, a feeble attempt to mask her apprehension.

“For now, you’re going to have to trust me.”

“What reason do I have to trust you? In truth, I know very little of you. You might well be the villain in this tragedy.”

“Oh, I’m a villain all right. I’ve never lied to you about what I do for Harwick. In my world, the line between right and wrong is blurred.” An undercurrent of pain marked his confession. “But I’d never hurt you.”

“Tell me why I should believe you.” The plea seemed to tumble from her lips. She swallowed against the sudden burn in her throat.

“There’s nothing I can tell you. Nothing to justify your faith in me.”

He studied her for the span of several heartbeats, as if he waited for her to bolt from him. Moonlight blended with a streetlamp’s meager rays, dancing off the masculine contours of his face. He traced the taut line of her jaw, his touch feather-soft. Almost chaste. The heat in his eyes was anything but. The way Matthew looked at her, she thought he might kiss her, but he kept the small distance between them.

“You’re so tense, it’s a wonder you haven’t cracked right in two,” he observed almost casually.

“If you think I am afraid of you, you’re wrong,” she said.

He slowly shook his head. The darkness in his eyes spoke of a man haunted, tormented by a specter that showed no mercy.

“You’ve good reason to fear me, Jennie.”

He pulled her to him. His head dipped, and his lips swept over hers. Fleeting. All too brief. Delicious.

“Sweet, sweet Jennie,” he murmured against her mouth.

He kissed her then. His touch was a perfect melding of tenderness and heat, of longing and restraint. Of a caress and the most primal of passions.

And oh, how she drank him in. Every precious moment of contact. Every breath. Every beat of his heart against her breast. That wicked tongue of his broke down the last of her defenses, and she melted against him.

His stubble grazed her cheek, a heady rasp of sensation. When he released her, he cupped her cheek against his hand. Her pulse raced, and she pulled in a gulp of icy air.

A sly smile caught the corners of his mouth, and she thought he’d kiss her again. Her pulse thrummed in anticipation. He grazed his thumb over her bottom lip. She’d been prepared for his caress, not the naked emotion in eyes that had darkened to ebony.

“Guard yourself, Jennie. Against me. Against all the other jackals.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead, reluctance coloring his gaze. “Lock yourself in and get some sleep. Good night.”

…

Matthew slipped into the Lancaster through the back door. He poured himself another drink, slugged it down, and headed up the stairs. The door to Harwick’s office was ajar. Matthew marched in without announcing himself.

He didn’t need to. Features set in an impatient scowl, Harwick waited in an immense leather wingchair, hands folded neatly on the surface of an elegantly carved mahogany desk. A thug monarch on his damned throne.

He pinned Matthew with a cold stare. “Did you get it?”

Matthew shook his head. “I searched the place. No sign of it. Or Bond.”

Harwick slammed his fist on the desk with such force, the floor shook. “I need the bitch’s diary. I have no intention of paying what he wants for it. I’ll kill the bastard first.”

Matthew pressed his palms against the wood and met Harwick’s piercing stare. “I’ll get it. Give me time.”

“I don’t have time. If that book gets into the wrong hands—”

“I’ll get it.”

“Make sure you do.” Harwick’s sharp-eyed glare raked over him. “We’ve got another problem.”

A fist twisted in Matthew’s gut. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“A reporter was here, the same wily stoat who wanted to see you hang. He thinks I had those women butchered.”

“Trent.” The clenched fingers in his belly tightened their grip. “I thought that bastard was cooling his heels across the Atlantic.”

Harwick stared at his steepled hands. “He’s back at the
Herald
, sniffing around like a hound after a fox.”

“He’s looking for an angle, something to write about to justify his keep at that rag. There’s nothing for him to turn up.”

“You could be right.” Harwick reached for a cigar and lit it. Reclining against the rubbed leather chair, he inhaled deeply. “If you’re not, someone’s going to pay.”

…

Trust was earned, not freely given.

It didn’t matter if you were a beauty in his bed or an old man mulling a lifetime of regrets, Matthew found lies flowed so much more easily than truth. In his life, he’d found few souls he could trust. Not with the truth. Not with his life. Not with his heart.

Even his mum had lied. She’d woven a heart-wrenching tale of a father lost at sea, her words soothing Matthew on nights when his belly ached from a lack of food. The reality, when it came, had been ugly and harsh. But he’d survived. And in the process, what a liar he’d become.

The darkness in the alley closed in around him. He was a damned fool, braving a foul wind and a fouler stench in search of the truth about Jennie Danvers. If that was even her bloody name. He had no good reason to believe a word out of the woman’s pretty mouth.

The thirst for answers plagued him day and night. He had to find out what she was about. If Harwick came to suspect Jennie of being something other than a pretty, smiling barmaid, the consequences would be brutal.