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

by Tara Kingston

  “So, let’s return to my initial inquiry. Why did you come here today?” The calm in Matthew Colton’s tone was somehow more unnerving than his anger.

  “I was concerned for her safety.” Gavin turned toward her. “I can protect her, if she will allow me that privilege.”

  “Quite commendable, Professor.” Mrs. Colton turned to the editor. “Might I trouble you for the documents I brought over earlier.”

  With a brusque nod, Campbell produced a binder labeled with Gavin’s name.

  “You kept a file on me?”

  “It is a recent development, I assure you.” Mrs. Colton took the binder from the editor’s hand. “Until you began delving into Trask’s enterprise, we had no reason to look into your background.”

  “You have been spying on me?”

  “We prepared some preliminary research, but there was no time to embark on an investigation. The situation has changed dramatically, and with alarming speed.” Jennie Colton produced a neatly trimmed square of newsprint. “This may be of interest to you.”

  He stared down at the clipping. Sophie had correctly interpreted the meaning of the image. Trask knew of the connection between him and Peter Garner. With such information, even a fool could have deduced the true intention behind Gavin’s visits to the incense-clouded salon.

  Gavin ran a finger around the edge of the paper. Had it been only three years since he and Peter had returned from their joint expedition to the Sahara? So much had changed in that brief time. Peter had been so driven then, so enthralled by the prospect of unearthing antiquities that had lain untouched for millennia. That had been before he fell headlong in love with his bride, before Amelia’s death had gutted him.

  Before Trask had duped him into believing Amelia called to him from the grave.

  Before Peter plunged to his death in the unforgiving current of the Thames.

  “Someone felt threatened by you, Stanwyck,” Campbell spoke up. “They sent Trask that scrap of newspaper by messenger. We suspect Trask hired the men to kill you in an attempt to save himself.”

  The words hit Gavin like an uppercut he hadn’t seen coming. “Someone is trying to tie up their own loose ends. Trask has been eliminated. If not for Sophie’s courage, I would also be a dead man.”

  Colton went to the shelves behind Campbell’s desk, producing a grid of London’s streets. He placed that map over the one spread out upon the editor’s desk and tapped a finger against a neatly penned black X. “Each of these marks indicates a death or an assault we believe may be connected to Trask’s clientele. Those marked in red indicate the victim did not survive. Fortunately for you, Bertram is a fine shot.”

  Gavin leaned over to study the maps. “The killings are not confined to London, or Britain, for that matter.”

  “One of the men died while on an impromptu holiday in France,” Campbell said. “We suspect he knew he was in danger and attempted to outrun the menace.”

  The color drained from Sophie’s cheeks. Jennie Colton placed her index finger on the spot where Sophie was attacked, then to another location, not far from Trask’s studio. “Were you aware that Sophie was accosted the night before you came to her assistance?”

  He shook his head. Bugger it, if he’d known, he would’ve done everything in his power to get her away from that damned studio.

  Mrs. Colton’s mouth settled into a grim seam. She reached out to Sophie, offering a reassuring squeeze of her hand. And then, she turned to Gavin.

  “The question now is, how do we keep the both of you alive?”

  For a breath, perhaps two, Gavin took in Sophie’s face, seeing the fright she valiantly struggled to hide. “I know a way… I can protect her.”

  “Is that so?” Colton did not disguise his skepticism.

  “As you’ve pointed out, fleeing to the Continent will not offer a guarantee of safety. I propose another refuge. A veritable fortress.”

  “A fortress?” Sophie regarded him with what seemed a blend of doubt and hope. “What do you propose?”

  Jennie’s expression brightened. So, she knew of his estate, of the sprawling lands and structures his father had referred to in a colossal bit of understatement as a hunting lodge. “That may provide a solution. A temporary one, at best. But a solution nonetheless.”

  Sophie turned to him. The hope in her eyes had transformed to something more akin to indignation.

  “Are you suggesting I take up residence in some moldy castle in the middle of nowhere…with you?”

  God above, she was lovely when that flush tinted her sweetly rounded face. Why did it amuse him to vex her? “You say that with some measure of disdain.”

  “Some disdain. The notion is madness.” She turned to Jennie. “I am prepared to board the first train out of London to the Continent.”

  “Any form of public conveyance puts you at risk. There’s reason to believe you would be followed, and we cannot monitor everyone who boards a train or a ship,” Campbell explained. “The deaths on the Continent point to the danger involved.”

  Colton shot his wife a speaking glance. “Jennie, I have my doubts.”

  “We can provide security to a private estate,” she said. “It can be done.”

  Sophie rose and walked to the window. She stared down at the street below. “I do not care for this solution. Not at all.”

  Blast it, he wanted to take her in his arms, if only to reassure her she would not face the threat alone. But this was neither the time nor the place. He joined her at the window, reaching for her, his touch light, nearly chaste. How was it that the merest contact between his body and hers generated undeniable heat?

  He leaned closer, lowering his voice to little more than a whisper.

  “Trust me, Sophie. That’s all I ask of you.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Perched on a seat inside Stanwyck’s sleek carriage, Sophie curled her fingers around the edge of the cushion, bracing herself as the conveyance jostled along the route. Had there always been so many ruts on the road, or had the driver’s mad dash to the Stanwyck country estate accentuated the bumps and sways? Dash it all, Bertram certainly enjoyed daring the devil each time he took the reins. At this rate, her bottom and nearly all the other parts of her would be numb by the time they arrived at what Stanwyck’s father had dubbed Hunter’s Folly.

  Not that she didn’t understand the need to make short work of the miles between London and the Yorkshire countryside. Stanwyck had made it clear they needed to arrive at the estate by sunset. Traveling by moonlight was a risky proposition in the best of circumstances, and if there were any chance they had been followed, they’d be far safer behind sturdy walls than exposed on a remote road.

  Sophie closed her eyes for a moment and pressed her head back against the cushion, willing herself to relax. A show of nerves would not do, especially with Campbell’s no-nonsense, exceedingly devoted secretary seated across from her. Sophie dug her nails into the cushion a bit deeper, feeling the woman’s eyes on her at that very moment, observing her every move. Was Miss Beddingham experiencing a twinge or two of apprehension? It would be only natural given the circumstances. Plucked out of the safe confines of the editor’s office at the Herald, Rebecca Beddingham had traded her usual duties for her first assignment in the field.

  More likely than not, they would spend their days filling time rather than facing down some sinister menace. But the potential for danger could not be denied. Still, holing away like a fox chased by hounds went against Sophie’s every instinct. At least in the city, she might’ve slipped away from her exile to pursue an inquiry or two. Surely, the villain who’d seen to Trask’s death would not be so bold as to attack her on a crowded street in the light of day.

  Now, she’d be penned up in what amounted to a spacious prison—and with Stanwyck, no less.

  Gavin would not allow himself to consider that she did not need his protection. The man’s thick skull was likely as impenetrable as Hunter’s Folly’s stone walls. Quite ironic, tha
t. She’d had to do the rescuing the last time the curs had reared their heads. Of course, Jack and Reggie had employed the element of surprise in their favor. But that scarcely signified. She was a trained operative. She knew how to use a gun and an assortment of other less conventional devices that would bring an assailant to his knees. She neither wanted nor needed Stanwyck to play the white knight.

  The carriage jolted. Behind them, Bertram’s brother Fitzhugh drove a second coach carrying Gavin, his assistant, and supplies to see them through at least a week. Sophie smiled to herself, envisioning Gavin and Henry enduring the same jaw-rattling pace. Undoubtedly, the men would’ve preferred to ride their own mounts to the estate, but to travel unprotected in full view posed far too great a risk.

  “Blast these ruts! We’ll be fortunate if Bertram does not manage to jar loose every tooth in our heads by the time we cross onto the grounds of the estate.”

  Seated on the padded bench across from her, Miss Beddingham nodded in agreement as she gripped the edge of the seat with white-knuckled hands. Jennie had insisted Sophie be accompanied by another female, if only to provide a sense of camaraderie and propriety in what would likely be an exercise in isolation.

  Not that Sophie gave a fig for what was proper and what was not. What did it matter? After all was said and done, she and Gavin would go their separate ways. It wasn’t as if a passionate indulgence or two would irreparably alter the course of her life.

  Sophie glanced from the window, watching as the greens and golds of the countryside seemed to speed past. She wanted to deny the effect Gavin Stanwyck had upon her, the way her heart sped ever so slightly at the very sight of him, the way her mouth went dry with longing when he spoke her name in that husky rasp of his. Oh, well, there was nothing to be done about it now. She’d indulged her hunger for his touch, only to discover there was no sating the need he’d kindled deep within her. How was she to avoid that particular temptation while under the same roof with the man, even if that roof was atop a castle?

  Did Jennie suspect she’d developed a taste for Gavin Stanwyck’s kiss? She had not expressed as much, but she had made it clear he proved a distraction.

  Sophie smiled to herself. Her mentor was certainly well-versed in that very subject, wasn’t she? After all, her beloved Matthew had once been at the center of her investigation into a vicious criminal organization. Seeing the man of integrity beneath the brutal façade, she’d fallen for the supposed sinister inspector. In the process, their lives had been forever changed.

  Of course, Gavin Stanwyck had little in common with Matthew Colton—other than his courage. And his clever mind. And his stubborn intention to make a play at chivalry.

  Dash it all, she didn’t want to like the man. It would be far easier to simply desire his lean, hard-muscled body and indulge in a spot of pleasure or two…or three…without craving his spontaneous smile, his biting wit, and his all-too-infuriating arrogance.

  “My, I’ve never been on an assignment. It’s all so very exciting,” Rebecca said, her blue eyes radiant with enthusiasm. The soft-spoken comment provided Sophie a welcome escape from her thoughts.

  Perhaps a year or two older than Sophie, Rebecca managed MacAllister Campbell’s office with an exacting efficiency. Despite her obvious discomfort at being tossed about like a stone inside a tumbler, her excitement at being chosen for this mission overruled her chattering teeth.

  Sophie braced herself against another rut in the road. “I don’t want to disappoint you, but I suspect this may well be a rather dull experience.”

  Rebecca’s mouth curved in a subtle smile. “In any case, it’s bound to be more intriguing than fiddling about with Mr. Campbell’s correspondence and his oh-so-precise files.”

  “Undoubtedly,” Sophie agreed. “He is fortunate to have your assistance.”

  She gave a little sniff. “At times, I feel the fern on my desk receives more recognition.”

  So, Mac Campbell’s devoted secretary was not quite as selflessly devoted as she appeared. Interesting. Could it be that Miss Beddingham had developed a rogue feeling or two for the Herald’s inscrutable editor and the agency’s third-in-command?

  “He’s a hard man to know,” Sophie said. “I doubt even Jennie can read him at times.”

  “Indeed. I sometimes find myself wondering about him…about how he came to be so reticent. He’s scarcely a decade older than myself, but he carries himself as if the weight of the world is on his shoulders.”

  “He’s quite protective,” Sophie said. “I’m positive he values your contributions more than he has expressed.”

  Rebecca nodded. “It is refreshing to have a change of duties. Finally, someone has realized I can do something other than ferry messages and attend to the daily post.”

  They passed an hour or so making light conversation before the carriage turned onto a gravel-paved lane, and Sophie took in her first view of Hunter’s Folly.

  My heavens, Stanwyck had not exaggerated when he’d described his father’s country house as a fortress. The residence, if indeed that was the correct term for the massive structure, was an actual castle, built of stone and mortar that had withstood centuries of wind and rain.

  “Well, it certainly looks secure,” Rebecca said. “I cannot imagine anyone could breach those walls.”

  Sophie sighed. “If one can tolerate being cloistered within them.”

  Rebecca’s brows formed an upside-down vee. “Surely we will be able to explore the grounds. The foliage is magnificent.”

  “Soon enough. Colton’s agents are on the trail of the men who attacked Stanwyck. It won’t be long until the source of the threat is identified and apprehended.”

  The coach wheels clicked over the small stones as Bertram reined the horses to a stop. Sophie peered from the window, spotting the man at the reins of the second carriage. Fitzhugh had introduced himself as Bertram’s brother—younger by nine months, proudly in possession of three-fourths of his teeth, and evidently, still fancying himself a charmer with the ladies. He bounded from the driver’s bench with abundant energy as the door opened, the steps unfolded, and Gavin and Henry stepped from the coach.

  Moments later, Bertram opened their door, stepping aside as the younger men escorted them from the compartment.

  Gavin gestured to the castle. “As you can see, my father never did anything in a modest fashion.”

  “It seems a fascinating place,” Sophie said. “I trust your father had an interest in medieval history.”

  “No. Not at all.” Gavin smiled. “In truth, I believe he purchased it to irk my mother. She referred to it as ‘the monstrosity.’”

  “Well, I find it intriguing.” Sophie peered up at the north tower. “Exploring this structure shall be a grand adventure.”

  “Indeed,” Rebecca agreed. “I can well imagine a knight charging up to this castle on a fine Arabian.”

  Henry fixed his gaze on her. Was that a smile threatening to brighten his dour expression? “Shall I take yer bag, miss?”

  Rebecca flashed the handsome Scot a coy smile. So, the prim Miss Beddingham wasn’t quite so stuffy, after all. “I would be in your debt.”

  “No trouble at all.” Henry’s lips thinned as she motioned him past the tapestry bag in her hand to a sizable trunk at the rear of the coach. His shoulder and biceps muscles flexing against its weight, he hoisted the container onto his shoulder. “I see you’ve come prepared for a lengthy stay.”

  “One must be prepared for any eventuality.”

  “I’d say you’ve accomplished that.” His voice had taken on a tone of good humor, so very different from the agitated concern he’d displayed that morning.

  Gavin placed a hand on her sleeve, silently drawing her aside. “Was I ever so gullible? One crook of Miss Beddingham’s dainty finger and he’s off to do her bidding.”

  “I must admit I am surprised. I’d felt rather sure she carried a tendre for another man.”

  He cocked his head, observing the pair. “It wou
ld seem she’s decided to pursue a more promising interest. Henry seems to be quite taken with her.”

  “Perhaps,” Sophie said. “For the record, I am quite capable of carrying my own traveling bag.”

  Gavin’s attention dropped to the leather satchel in her hand. “Is there a trunk still on the coach?”

  Sophie shook her head. “I prefer to travel without the burden of too many possessions.”

  He reached for the bag. “In that case, I have no qualms about demonstrating that I am a gentleman.”

  “Ah, chivalry is not dead,” she said, handing him the traveling case. “With any luck, neither you nor Mr. MacIntyre will have further cause to demonstrate that trait while we are here.”

  He gave a shrug. “I’ve no doubt you will be able to count on Henry should a crisis arise.”

  “And what about you? I’ve seen your courage in action.”

  “As for me, my dear Sophie, I intend to find a secret passage in the dungeon and cower within it if we should come under attack.”

  He affected a serious demeanor, but he could not hide the mischief in his eyes. Bloody unsporting, really, employing his charm at precisely the time when she needed to guard against any undue emotion. This was not the time to indulge her decidedly irrational feelings for Gavin Stanwyck.

  “You have a dungeon?” she questioned, if only to focus her thoughts on something other than the subtle, spicy scent of his shaving soap.

  “Doesn’t everyone?”

  “You’re teasing me.”

  “Not at all. There is a chamber that served as a dungeon in its time. If you’d like, I can find out where I might acquire the proper equipment. I’d imagine a rack might be just the thing to ease the tension in my back.”

  “That will not be necessary.”

  “I must confess that is a relief. I can bloody well imagine how the tongues would wag if I went in search of such a thing.”

  “A place like this is full of secrets. I am already intrigued.”

  The amusement left his gaze. “Tell me, Sophie. What would it take for a man to learn your secrets?”