When a Lady Deceives (Her Majesty’s Most Secret Service) (29 page)

An immense black carriage shuttered with heavy curtains waited at the curb as the thugs led Jennie from the theater. Her conveyance to a fresh hell at Harwick’s hands, no doubt. So, they intended to use her as bait to lure Matthew into a trap.

“Get in.” Mr. Leonard barked the words against her ear. He’d taken his hand from her mouth, keeping one thick arm linked with hers like a manacle.

“He won’t come after me.” She met his shark-dull eyes. “He escaped last night. He’s probably on his way across the Channel by now.”

Mr. Leonard shrugged his massive shoulders. “That’s for Harwick to figure out. All I care about is getting ye to him.”

“So you’re Harwick’s servant? I’d think a man like you would have his own enterprises rather than taking orders from a cur like Harwick who doesn’t like to get his hands dirty.”

He gave his head a grim shake. “I’ll knock ye flat, missy. Now shut yer trap and get in the coach.”

“I won’t go along with this. You’ll have to kill me. After all, that’s what’s going to happen in the end.”

“Bloody hell, the bastard deserves ye,” he muttered. “Ye’re just making it hard on yerself.”

With that, he caught Jennie in his arms and hauled her off her feet. A scream escaped her, only to be stifled by the pressure of his hold against her mouth. A fresh bolt of fear energized her. She had to escape this brute and his wharf-rat of a partner.

Morning’s first rays peeked over the horizon. The streets were no longer dark and quiet. Peddlers pushed carts. Young lads hawked papers. Workers trudged off to factories. Surely someone would see what was happening. Surely someone would help her.

A street vendor cast her a glance, then looked away while a pair of workmen stared as if watching a stage show. They turned away as another man craned his neck, staring in bemusement before comprehension flickered over his wan features and he crossed the street to give them a wide berth. Bloody cowards. Chivalry was well on its way to extinction.

“Get her in the carriage,” Cathcart muttered, climbing onto the driver’s seat. “Yer attractin’ attention.”

She needed a means of defense. Mr. Leonard was losing patience. If he struck her with his massive fist, the blow would leave her helpless.

Uttering a quick, silent prayer for strength, she plunged her shoe down against his boot. Plowing hard into the sensitive inner portion of his foot with her heel, she struck again with her other foot.

A grunt edged past his thick mouth. With a sudden jerk of her body, she wrenched against his hold. She drove her heel into his shin. Another grunt. But still, he restrained her. Looser than before, but she was still manacled by his burly arms.

Struggling to escape, she twisted violently against him. If she could drive her knee into his groin, she might free herself.

“Bloody hell!” His bellowing voice filled her ears. Behind the brute, a child’s grubby fists pummeled Mr. Leonard’s broad back. A stack of the morning edition lay strewn over the pavement.

Douglas.
The lad Colton had aided that cold, desolate night. Dear God.

“Let her go!” the boy cried.

Mr. Leonard cast him aside like a mastiff shaking off a pup that had dared challenge it. The lad got in a kick to the shin for good measure. The thug stared down at the child, dumbfounded. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

“Leave her alone,” Douglas said, his bottom lip trembling but his head held high. “She doesn’t want to be with you.”

Mr. Leonard reached down and curled his paw-like hand around the lad’s arm. “I should break ye into little pieces.”

“Get rid o’ the brat.” From his perch on the driver’s seat, Cathcart shot Jennie a glance. “Tell ’im t’be on his way.”

She steadied her breath. “Yes, that’s right. Go along now, Douglas. I am well.”

The lad’s jaw jutted out. “Beggin’ yer pardon, but ye don’t look well t’me. Ye look like these big men are hurtin’ ye.”

“Tell him to go on his way.” Mr. Leonard ground out the demand.

“I’m perfectly well,” she said calmly. “This was a misunderstanding, nothing more. Now go back to hawking your papers before someone makes off with them.”

“Get in the carriage so he’ll see ye’re tellin’ the truth,” Cathcart ordered.

“I’m going on a journey with these men.” Jennie swallowed against the lump in her throat. She couldn’t allow the boy to become a part of this. It seemed a miracle the men hadn’t harmed him. But that would change soon enough. They were losing patience. Men like Mr. Leonard would think nothing of beating the child and leaving him for dead in the street.

A puzzled frown marked Douglas’s small face. “Where are ye going?”

She forced a smile. “It’s a surprise. Now run along.”

“I got this jacket with the coin ye gave me.” Douglas beamed proudly. “And my sister has new mittens. With no holes.”

“That’s a fine jacket, indeed,” she said as Mr. Leonard clamped a hand over her arm and hoisted her inside the conveyance. Through the opening in the window curtains, she met young eyes filled with doubt.

“Take the kid. She’ll be more cooperative with ’im along,” Cathcart called from his perch.

“No!” Jennie cried as Mr. Leonard scooped the boy up and lugged him into the coach.

Setting his big body into the seat across from her, Mr. Leonard thrust the struggling child toward her and barred the door with his tree-trunk leg. “Keep ’im quiet, if ye know what’s good fer both of ye.”

Cathcart cracked the whip, starting the carriage in motion. Jennie gathered Douglas in her arms and met the cold-eyed gaze of the man who’d both saved her and condemned her within a single morning.

“Ye should’ve stuck with good deeds.” Mr. Leonard reached down to rub the shin the boy had kicked. “Ye both would’ve lived longer that way.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Matthew pulled his hat low, shoved his hands in his pockets, and concealed himself amid the shadows beyond Mrs. O’Brien’s boardinghouse. Forced to skulk in an alley to avoid a constable on patrol, he’d wait until the bloke was out of sight to steal into the building. With any luck, Jennie would be safely under her covers and not on the streets pursuing her inquiries.

The first hint of dawn dappled the horizon. Her usual haunts would remain shuttered for at least another hour. Of course, that would be of little consequence to Jennie. She sought out evidence with the tenacity of a terrier after a rat. Nothing stopped her. Not exhaustion. Not fear. If she set her mind to it, he’d no doubt she’d find a way into the queen’s own chambers in Buckingham Palace.

Her investigation didn’t matter now. Surely even she would understand the game was over. One more move on Harwick’s part, and they’d be facing checkmate. Jennie had to come away with him, away from the danger that stalked like an insatiable predator. At this point, there was no choice.

From his vantage point, he spotted a slight figure departing the boardinghouse. Draped in a cloak that concealed her features and her shape, she—if he was indeed observing a woman—moved with a practiced caution. Mrs. O’Brien’s tenants came and went at all hours. Jennie was proof enough of that, but this woman crept down the front steps with deliberate stealth. Could this be the messenger who’d delivered the threatening missives to Jennie’s door?

Once on the street, she clipped along at a brisk pace, heading away from him. Matthew followed, keeping a discreet distance. Her heels beat a steady rhythm against the cobbles, her strides quick and sure.

And then, she ducked into an alley. Had she gone daft? God only knew the vermin and refuse she’d encounter there. Cautious, he approached the darkened space.

The woman in the cloak faced him with a boldness that took him off guard. He knew the beautiful blonde’s delicate features and direct gaze at once.
Sophie Atherton
. Jennie’s confidant and protégé made no secret of her affiliation with the
Herald
. Her name appeared on articles about fashions and plays and pastimes of the London society matrons—the position of society reporter as much a disguise as Jennie’s act as a barmaid.

Her eyes widened as her mouth tensed into a seam. So, she recognized him. Surely she’d turn and bolt from the man the
Herald
had taken such pains to vilify.

But she didn’t. Miss Atherton was indeed Jennie’s apprentice. The beauty had even adopted Jennie’s unflinching manner. She held his gaze. Her small, gloved hand held a Sharps Pepperbox, her aim at his chest unwavering. “Why, Mr. Colton, to what do I owe this honor?”

Alarm rippled through his body. Jennie would not have asked her assistant to risk her safety on these rough streets at night. Clearly, she was not tucked away in her room. His gut clenched as if a fist had plowed into him.

“Where is Miss Quinn?”

Sophie cocked a brow. “Miss Quinn? I believe you mean Miss Danvers.”

“This is no time for deception, Miss Atherton. I know who you are, and I know all about Jennie. You must realize she’s in danger.”

“And I am to believe you intend to protect her? You’re the reason she’s in harm’s way, Mr. Colton. Your picture graced the front page of the morning edition. You’re wanted for murder. Again.” Her words were layered with frost, but her eyes were stricken with worry.

“I am the reason she’s in danger.” The words were like bile on his tongue. “But the threat is not from me. I’m prepared to do whatever it takes to save her, but you’ve got to tell me where she is.”

“You think I’ll lead you to her?”

Damnation, they were wasting time. Sophie knew something. He needed her to trust him.

“There is no time for this debate. She’s in grave danger.”

Her eyes narrowed, cautiously studying him. “And what of you? Every Yard man in London is after you. Harwick doesn’t like that kind of attention, does he?”

He met her keen stare. Sophie was smart and protective. But she needed to know what they were up against. Bracing himself, he let the truth pour from his lips. “I’m a dead man in any case. But I need to save her. Harwick knows who she is. He
will
kill her.”

She took a moment to digest his words. The pucker between her brows deepened. “This is most distressing. I have reason to believe you’re telling the truth.”

“And what might that reason be?”

“I’d rather not disclose my sources.” For the first time, she glanced away, casting her focus to a spot on the cobbles by his feet. “Jennie went with Jack Trent. I don’t trust that man. There’s something about him. Something cold and dark that Jennie doesn’t see.”

“You know where she is?”

“I have a suspicion. Nothing solid.”

“Tell me what you know…before it’s too late.”

“Jennie sent me away tonight, but I couldn’t sleep for worry. I came back to convince her to join me at the hotel. When my carriage arrived, I spotted her with Trent. The driver tried to follow them, but they wove through alleys, most likely in an effort to avoid detection. I lost sight of her.”

“Where were they going?”

“Toward the Lancaster and the theater district. That’s all I could tell. So I slipped inside Jennie’s room and reviewed her notes. She’s set her mind on finding Mary McDaniel’s diary.”

Tension dug into Matthew’s gut. All of this talk wasn’t leading him to Jennie. “Where is she now?”

“I suspect she’s gone after the diary. She’d identified several locations where Mary might’ve hidden the book. There was only one Jennie hadn’t searched.”

“Where, Sophie? I need to go there. Now.”

Sophie nodded. “The theater…the last place where Mary McDaniel performed.”

“The London Palace?”

“Yes, that’s it.” The seam of her mouth unpinched as she lowered her weapon. A gleam brightened her eyes. “I will accompany you.”

“Not a chance. I don’t need any complications.”

“I assure you I am not a complication. As you can see, I’ve come prepared.” Sophie tucked the gun into her velvet bag. “You’ll attract less notice with me by your side. The Yard is looking for a man on his own, not a man escorting a lady from a rendezvous.”

“A beautiful woman might well draw even more notice.”

She set her chin at a haughty angle. Stubborn as Jennie, that one. “If that is meant as flattery, I am unimpressed. Jennie may indeed be in a fix—you may require assistance to extricate her from the situation. No one in their right mind would suspect that I am ready for a violent confrontation.”

“Indeed.” He raked a hand through his hair. “The notion is ridiculous.”

Her mouth curved into a schemer’s smile. “And hence its brilliance. We’ve no time to waste, Mr. Colton. I suggest we make our way to the Palace.”

Matthew slanted Sophie Atherton a glance. He had to admit she was right about her value as camouflage. Even with her golden hair covered by her hood, her lovely face drew attention from him. Most men would be too preoccupied with the blonde’s delicate features to consider she might be armed. The element of surprise would prove useful if they encountered Trent or any other bastard who might have Jennie under his control.

They made their way to the theater, finding the back entrance unlocked. Jennie’s handiwork? Sophie concealed her pistol within the heavy folds of her cape. The thick door opened with a protesting creak.

A gas lamp on the wall cast a dim light on the corridor. Turning a corner to an unlit hallway, they navigated the passage through near darkness. A pair of lamps in the lobby provided much needed illumination as they approached the stairs leading to the balcony.

He spotted a lifeless figure at the foot of the staircase. A man sprawled over the floor. Jack Trent.
Damnation
.

Matthew threw Sophie a glance. “Stay back.”

Crouching at Trent’s side, he could see the dark stain where the man’s blood seeped from his chest. Matthew placed a hand on the wounded man’s shoulder. The faintest of breaths rippled through Trent. He clung to life.

“Who did this to you?”

Trent’s lids fluttered. A single harsh gasp met Matthew’s question. And then, a whisper.

“Leonard.”

“And Jennie?” Matthew pressed.

“Gone.”

Trent moaned, a labored breath puffing his lips. Blood trickled from his mouth. He didn’t have long.

Desperation filled Matthew’s soul. What had the treacherous bastard done?

“Where is she?”

“Alive.” Trent’s eyes opened wider. He met Matthew’s gaze. “For now.”

Bollocks, why had Trent put Jennie in danger? Why had he wanted her in harm’s way? Matthew’s hand clenched. The urge to throttle the truth out of the man was strong. He pulled in a breath. Trent was dying. Speeding the process would do no good. If he possessed a shred of conscience, his words might lead to Jennie. Before it was too late.

Steadying his tone, Matthew sought confirmation for his suspicion. “Leonard took her?”

Trent nodded, a small, negligible movement. “Harwick…”

Matthew dug his fingers into Trent’s lapel, twisting the tweed in his grip. With a harsh exhalation, he let his hands go limp. In his gut, he’d known the truth. But hearing it from Trent, knowing that Jennie was at Harwick’s mercy, was like a brawler’s fist to the belly. “Why? What does he want with her?”

“The book.”

The invisible fist slammed into him again. They’d found the journal. He had to get to Jennie. Before it was too late. Harwick would kill anyone connected to that damned compilation of his crimes. He wouldn’t let her live. She’d be a liability to silence.

Matthew stared down at Trent. “Tell me what you know. Tell me, God damn you!”

Trent’s head shuddered left, then right. “Go to hell.” His mouth twisted, an ugly sneer. “She’ll die. Because of you.”

His lids closed. The desperate inhalations went silent.

Matthew staggered away. Evil to his last breath, the cur had got his due. Damn shame he hadn’t been the one to send Trent to hell.

A woman’s light touch on his forearm eased the anger surging through him. “Mr. Colton, you must calm yourself.”

Sophie led him away from the dead man. She studied him, her eyes piercing in their astute regard. “You care for her. I can see that. You must have faith. She is cunning, and she possesses great fortitude. She will save herself…until we find her.”

Matthew pressed his fingers to his temples, as if he could ever fully banish the images of pain and death that infiltrated his mind. Harwick’s mocking gaze crept into his thoughts. Trent had made a deal with that devil, a bargain Harwick never intended to honor. The reporter had recovered the diary. And then, Harwick had double-crossed him.

Freddy Leonard had taken the book. And he’d abducted Jennie.

Matthew dragged in a breath as despair unlike any he’d ever experienced flooded his veins. God above, he had to get to Jennie. Before it was too late.

He couldn’t lose her. Not now. Not when he’d fallen in love with her wit and her passion and that fiery spirit, so uniquely hers. He wouldn’t survive without her. Jennie’s sweet face was the one he wanted to see every morning for the rest of his life.

She was the woman he’d love until the end of his days.

Bloody hell, he needed her! She made him feel more alive whenever he was near her. An image of Jennie’s spirit-filled eyes flashed through his mind. Her courage would sustain her through this ordeal.

His pulse roared in his ears. Christ, he had to think. He knew where Leonard had taken her. Harwick’s warehouse on the docks was utilized for far more nefarious purposes than storage. God only knew how much blood stained its cold stone floors.

But he couldn’t charge into a trap. The only way to save Jennie was to stay alive.

His cover was in shreds. His contact at the Home Office had offered a blunt warning. Damnable shame Alicia had been right. Harwick was on to Matthew’s scheme to infiltrate and destroy his empire. And now, he expected Matthew to pay a vile price for his betrayal.

Sophie’s low voice tore him from his stormy thoughts. “We will rescue her, Mr. Colton. I have the utmost confidence in you…and in Jennie.”

Indeed. He would save her. He could not harbor any doubt.

A realization played in his thoughts, strangely calming. Harwick already had the book. If the bastard wanted to silence her, Leonard would’ve done the job for him.

“Jennie wasn’t the quarry, Miss Atherton.” He pulled in a breath, even as a plan began to take root. “She is the bait.”