When a Lady Dares (Her Majesty’s Most Secret Service)

by Tara Kingston

  Another man approached the pub, his collar pulled up, as if that would disguise his fleshy face. Reggie. She bit back a gasp as the stout man marched up to the patrolman, exchanged a few words, then pressed something she couldn’t make out into his hand. A pound note, perhaps. Or a scrap of paper bearing a message. There was no way to tell.

  A pretty miss like you had best be careful. The patrolman’s words echoed in her thoughts. Her heart pounded, and she gripped the bench. God above, had he been party to the abduction attempt, or had they bribed him to turn his head in the future?

  The hack rumbled up to the café. Gerry met her at the door, frowning as she cast a quick, assessing glance.

  “Goodness, Sophie, what’s happened to ye?”

  “I’ve had a spot of news. Will you summon Jennie?”

  “I’ll do what I can. Ye may need to wait a bit.” Gerry’s mouth thinned as she ushered Sophie to a quiet corner table. “She’s interviewing tutors for Douglas and Sally. Those children are bright as they come. Douglas wants to learn French, while Sally is keen on learning to play the piano.”

  “Douglas has grown so much in the last year. Why, he’s nearly as tall as me now.” Sophie pictured Jennie and Matthew’s adopted children, a clever lad with mischief in his smile and his equally mischievous younger sister. “And Sally—doesn’t she look the perfect little lady in her bonnet and curls?”

  “Aye, she may look the part, but she’s a handful, she is. It warms my heart to see the little ones so happy. Jennie and Matthew have given those children a grand life.” Gerry glanced over her shoulder. “If my ears do not deceive me, Matthew has arrived.”

  Good heavens, this was not a development she’d looked forward to. Her pulse accelerated as she followed the path of Gerry’s gaze. Matthew Colton made his way through the labyrinth of tables, each stride long and confident. Tall and lean with eyes dark as the midnight sky, he was an exceedingly handsome man. Was it any wonder Jennie had fallen for him?

  The man the press had dubbed the Sinister Inspector had not intimidated her when she believed him to be a criminal. But now, the very thought of the man’s power to cast her out of the elite investigative agency sent a boulder plummeting into the pit of Sophie’s stomach. She’d compromised her ability to access the intelligence she desperately needed, and Colton was not one to tolerate failure.

  “Good afternoon, Sophie.” He gave his aunt a nod. “Gerry, you’re looking well today.” With a subtle gesture, he motioned the women into the small, private office and closed the door behind them. “Gerry, I’d appreciate it if you’d remain. I’m in need of your services.”

  “Whatever ye need, consider it done,” she said, beaming with pride as she always did when the nephew she’d helped raise in the slums of St. Giles was near. Determined after his mother’s death to see him escape a dire, crime-laden life, Gerry had made certain his well-heeled father learned of his son’s existence. Lord Winthrop had welcomed his child into his home and provided an education that allowed Matthew to straddle two worlds, never entirely leaving behind his past.

  “We’ve brought aboard a new operative, a woman with an impressive array of talents. However, we are looking to place her undercover as a cook for some craggy old lord in Mayfair, and it seems the agent has never so much as boiled an egg. How quickly can you tutor her in the essential skills?”

  Gerry laughed. “Ye want me to teach her to cook, do ye? Well, how long will I have?”

  “A week. Perhaps ten days.”

  “Her fare will be limited, to say the least.”

  “I can live with that. Thank you.” He shifted his attention to Sophie. His expression went grim, his jaw rigid with tension. “I am aware of a recent development in your mission. We need to discuss the matter, but it may be best to wait until Jennie is here.”

  Sophie shook her head. “I see no point in waiting, Mr. Colton.”

  “I need to be tendin’ to my customers,” Gerry said, moving to the door. “At this time of day, the gents are ready for a cold brew and a warm meal.”

  “Indeed. I’ve always had a taste for your fish chowder,” Colton said. “Any chance you’ll be whipping up a pot tonight?”

  Gerry’s smile brightened her careworn features. “I’ve got a pot simmerin’ as we speak. I’ll be sure to put some aside for ye.”

  “Thank you.” He watched as the door closed behind her. “Please, take a seat, Sophie.”

  She settled into a comfortable chair upholstered in a rather garish flowery print. “I take it you’ve learned of the brutes who accosted me. I’m confident there’s no need for further concern. Should they put in another appearance, I will be prepared. I now carry a pistol at all times.”

  “That may be of some help,” he said, taking a seat beside her. “But it doesn’t change the fact that you’ve been targeted. You are in danger. It’s time to take a different approach to this mission.”

  “I’ve made strides in garnering intelligence from Trask’s clients. One fellow in particular, a particularly nasty man who goes by McNaughton, is a promising source.” She contemplated the best strategy for presenting what she’d learned without stoking Colton’s apprehension that she might well be in over her head. “I’ve quite recently uncovered evidence that may have bearing on the case.”

  “Very good. Do you have this evidence on your person?”

  “Yes. Might I trouble you to look away?”

  A hint of a smile tugged at his mouth. “Of course. Never let it be said Matthew Colton is not a gentleman.”

  He averted his gaze, seeming to study the paisley wallpaper. “I really do need to encourage Gerry to change this abominable print. It’s enough to give one a headache.”

  Lifting her skirt, Sophie retrieved the documents she’d hidden in her petticoat. “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, I suppose.”

  “Indeed.”

  “You may turn back now,” she said.

  He met her gaze. She handed him Trask’s notes and waited as he gave the documents a brisk perusal.

  “Your efforts have been productive,” he said. “You’ve developed valuable avenues of inquiry. Have you uncovered any direct link between Trask and the men who were killed, other than their patronage of his studio?”

  “Not yet, but I’m close to unearthing evidence we can use against him. As it stands, I’ve witnessed considerable trickery and deception, and I believe he’s made enemies along the way. I’ve also uncovered evidence of another party involved in his enterprise. It’s possible the men who died crossed Trask or his silent partner. If they threatened to reveal Trask’s fraudulent practices, to put him out of business, they may have been silenced.”

  “A man like him would not risk facing the hangman to protect his interests. He’d abscond across the Channel with the money he’s conned from his clients. If he had those men killed, the reasons go deeper than greed.”

  “Quite so. I shall tailor my inquiries along those lines.”

  Leaning back, Colton steepled his fingers. While playing chess with him, she’d noticed he tended to do just that while he puzzled out his next move. What was he contemplating that had his features so drawn and serious? Tension formed a lump in Sophie’s throat. Whatever he was thinking, he knew she would not like it.

  “A complication has arisen,” she went on, pushing her concerns aside. “That archaeologist—Stanwyck’s his name—he’s been sniffing around Trask’s studio. I have not been able to deduce his motives. Clearly, he is not in search of a long-lost treasure, as he claimed in his initial meeting with Trask.”

  “From what I’ve been told, the man has taken a special interest in you. Jennie informed me that he took it upon himself to come between you and the blighters who attacked you. On one hand, I owe him a debt for coming to your defense. On the other, his appearance at the scene may have been all too convenient.”

  Sophie met his questioning gaze. So, he’d also harbored doubt over the timing of Gavin’s gallant arrival upon the scene. She swallowed
against the sudden dryness in her throat. How much could she reveal without risking being pulled from the case? She certainly could not confess that he’d warned her that she was in a killer’s sights.

  She pulled in a breath. “I believe he is a skeptic, out to prove Trask a fraud.”

  Colton nodded. “What would drive a man who’s spent much of his adult life traipsing across a desert in search of antiquities to shift his focus to exposing a phony medium?”

  “I cannot say at this time, but again, you’ve posed an excellent avenue for further inquiries.” Even as she spoke the words, they seemed a lie of omission, bitter on her tongue. Should she inform Colton of the clipping she’d found, evidence that someone connected to Trask viewed Stanwyck as a threat?

  “All indications point to a personal grudge against Trask, rather than an interest in debunking spiritualism. By all accounts, Stanwyck is a highly respected scholar. His service in Her Majesty’s Navy was beyond reproach, and he’s said to be a man of courage, if his actions in the field are a fitting measure. He risked his life in Egypt to save members of a sightseeing expedition that had come under attack. Without his intervention, the travelers might have been killed by the bandits. Why would he invest valuable time destroying a rotter like Trask without an intensely personal motivation?”

  “I’ve also considered that possibility,” she said, even as Colton’s description of Stanwyck took her by surprise. She’d known of his expeditions, but not of his selfless bravery—other than, of course, the courage he’d shown in her defense. Why had he tried so hard to convince her that he was a scoundrel?

  “I tried to get the truth out of him. He admitted he believes Trask is a fraud.”

  Colton’s eyes narrowed. “He told you this?”

  “Essentially, yes.”

  “Blast it, none of this makes sense. At this juncture, I do not know what has led the man to Trask. It’s one more piece of this damnable puzzle.” Again, Colton peered at her over the steeple of his fingers. “Whatever his reasons, Stanwyck has focused his attention on you. That in itself is a troubling development.”

  “Stanwyck does not pose a threat to me. I’m quite certain he means me no harm.” She removed the letters and the clipping from the envelopes. “I found these today. I suspect they prove Stanwyck’s life may be in danger.”

  Colton examined each message. His brow furrowed as he studied the image.

  “Where did you find this?” he asked finally.

  “In Trask’s desk.”

  He gave a grim nod. “Did you think to consider that Trask will suspect you if he realizes the letters are missing?”

  “Yes, but I did not see that I had a choice. It was a chance I had to take.”

  Another nod, and he turned his attention back to the clipping. He pointed to the second man in the picture. “Do you know who this is?”

  “No, but I feel certain there is some meaning behind the selection of the image.”

  “Your instincts are correct, Sophie.” Colton placed the clipping on the round, doily-covered table between the two chairs. “That man is Peter Garner. I trust you are familiar with the name.”

  Good heavens! Garner was the third man who’d sought Trask’s services only to meet his end soon afterward.

  Sophie lifted the picture to the light, studying the image. The two men had embarked on an expedition. Such a danger-fraught endeavor often forged lasting bonds of loyalty and friendship.

  “It all makes sense now,” she said. “Stanwyck has gone after Trask seeking retribution.”

  “So it would appear. Trask’s web is getting more tangled by the day.”

  “Someone must warn Stanwyck.”

  Colton nodded. “I will have my contact at Scotland Yard arrange a meeting. Stanwyck cannot know how the evidence was obtained.”

  “This is a matter of some urgency,” Sophie countered. “It is my duty to warn him. The man put himself at risk to defend me.”

  “I understand, but I must forbid you from making further contact with him. Every moment you are in his presence places you in danger.”

  “And if Stanwyck is attacked…if he is killed…what then? Shall I go about my life and console myself that I followed orders?”

  “We will take measures to ensure his safety. The tone of these letters indicates that the writer expects Trask to take action against Stanwyck. It follows that any threat to Stanwyck will originate with Trask. I will assign a surveillance detail to shadow Trask. He won’t be able to make a move without being trailed.”

  “That is some comfort.” Sophie stared down at her hands. Her knuckles had gone white with tension. “I do feel as if I owe it to Stanwyck to warn him away from Trask.”

  “Absolutely not.” Colton rubbed his neck as if to ease an ache. “I can no longer live with the risks you face in this investigation. I am reassigning you, effective immediately.”

  The air rushed from her lungs. His pronouncement seemed a belly blow she’d seen coming but could not guard against. “Reassigning me? You cannot do this. Trask will realize something is amiss. He may gather his ill-gotten gains and escape to another country, out of reach. There is no telling what the man may do to avoid justice.”

  “Our agents will ensure that does not happen.”

  She steadied her voice. A display of weakness would only undermine her cause. “I need more time…more time to see this through.”

  He shook his head, the granite hardness of his features making it clear he would not be swayed. “We must take all measures needed to ensure your safety. I am well aware of his previous medium’s disappearance.”

  “I have no reason to fear Trask.”

  Colton frowned. Had he detected the lie in her words? The man’s ability to read the tone of one’s voice and the expression in one’s eyes was blasted uncanny.

  “I’ve had misgivings about putting you in this position since the start of the case. These doubts are not rooted in any question of your competence. The danger is simply too great.”

  She came to her feet and stared down at him. Frustration churned within her. “I am a trained operative. Shouldn’t I be the one to make the final decision as to the risks I’m prepared to take?”

  Colton stood, his expression somber. “If you were hurt, Jennie would never forgive me. And frankly, I doubt I could grant my conscience a reprieve should any harm come to you.”

  “Give me more time… I can find the answers you need.”

  “That is not advisable. We have not been able to deduce which is the greater threat—Trask or Stanwyck—but your involvement in this mission has come to an end.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Well, she’d certainly made a muddle of her assignment, hadn’t she? Sophie sank into a corner chair in her cramped boardinghouse room, staring down at the lukewarm tea in a chipped porcelain cup. The mission to uncover Trask’s role in the deaths had offered her the best chance to prove herself. Instead, she’d compromised her role—and over a man like Gavin Stanwyck, no less.

  Colton had assured her that her skill—or lack of it—had not played a part in his decision to pull her from the case. But she knew better, even if he didn’t. She’d allowed Stanwyck to distract her from the core focus of her assignment. She’d been careless. She’d let emotions that had no business in her investigation get the better of her.

  And for that, she could not forgive herself.

  By Athena’s bloomers, she should not have allowed herself to be drawn to Gavin. Her attraction to the man had jolted her off course, if only just a bit. Such a foolish, naive mistake.

  Setting the tea aside, she moved to her trunk and opened it. Colton had made arrangements for her to take refuge in a secure hotel far from London, answering to yet another name. At least she’d been allowed to keep her first name, ordinary as it was. She might never return to the ramshackle but comfortable boardinghouse that had been her home for three years.

  Peculiar, how the realization caused a twinge of pain in the area of her heart
. The relocation was necessary. She could not dispute the danger she faced. Trask knew this place, and she’d trustingly—no, foolishly—revealed the location of her residence to the man she’d believed to be a constable on patrol. As long as she stayed here, the brutes who’d come after her would know where to find her. There simply was no choice.

  She gathered her books, sparing a moment to glance through a dog-eared volume her grandfather had given her on her seventh birthday, a weighty tome filled with illustrations of ancient treasures. As a girl, she’d dreamed of expeditions and explorations amid mysterious tombs. Perhaps she’d ask Colton to send her out of the country. Egypt would certainly put her out of the ruffians’ reach.

  The way her luck had run recently, perhaps she’d encounter Stanwyck at the foot of the Sphinx. Would he greet her with that infuriating half smirk of his, or would his eyes still betray the wound she’d inflicted with her cutting insinuation?

  Snatching up a prim white blouse, she placed the silk garment in the trunk. She’d acquired several lovely ensembles during her time as a reporter for the Ladies’ Pages, a necessity for covering fashionable galas and lush society affairs. Had her time at the Herald also come to an end?

  She had known when she went undercover as Trask’s assistant that she might need to go into hiding. At the time, she’d dismissed the risks. Another colossal mistake.

  A lump seared her throat. She swallowed hard against it. Blast it, she would not weep.

  She folded a wool skirt and stored it in the trunk. A wave of despair swelled in her chest. She’d been so confident, playing the role of Sophie Devereaux with a flourish. She’d gained the charlatan’s trust, and it had seemed a matter of time before the vicious criminal McNaughton would let down his guard and reveal a secret or two. She’d maintained a precise focus on the mission. Until Gavin Stanwyck had strolled into Trask’s studio and upended her carefully laid plans.

  Stanwyck’s warning played in her mind. Her thoughts swirled with doubt and fear she couldn’t wish away. Even locked in a luxurious room, she’d feel like a prisoner. There was no guarantee she would not share her predecessor Lady Valentina’s fate. Whoever had sent the thugs after her had blunt to spare. Gaining access to a public hotel, no matter how well guarded, would not prove an insurmountable challenge to a determined criminal.