But Mr. Leonard’s intentions would not permit the luxury of caution.
The wench goes by Ida. We need t’ave a talk.
Waiting until morning to seek out the lightskirt was not an option. By the time Harwick’s hired thug finished with Ida, she would likely be far beyond communication. Jennie needed to uncover the truth behind Mr. Leonard’s keen interest in the prostitute and offer her fair warning of the danger she faced.
Clutching her reticule in gloved fingers, Jennie scanned the area for anyone or anything out of place. Vermin of the four-legged and two-legged varieties prowled the streets. A pair of gaudily dressed strumpets paraded their wares, raking her over with hungry, desperate eyes. The younger of the two, an unfortunate who looked to be little more than a girl, ogled Jennie’s bag while her heavily rouged companion fixed Jennie with an accusing stare.
“What’s a fine miss like yerself doin’ out on a dreadful night like this?”
Jennie steeled her insides. “I seek a woman named Ida. Take me to her, and I’ve a crown for each of you.”
The doxy’s lips puckered. “Wish I could, luv, but I ain’t seen ’ide nor ’air since she went off with that gent.”
The younger lightskirt tugged her cohort’s sleeve. “A fine lookin’ fellow ’e was. Why, the bloke’s carriage was quality. That it was.”
A shiver that had nothing to do with the November air slithered down Jennie’s spine. “A fine looking fellow, you say. What can you tell me about him?”
The doxy’s upper lip curled. “What’s in it for us? If Ida’s worth a crown, ’er fine gent should be worth as much.”
“Agreed. What can you tell me?”
“A handsome chap, ’e was. Couldn’t see much o’the fellow’s face in the darkness, but ’e cut a fine figure. Ye could tell ’e had money. Gave each o’ us a shilling just to show ’is kindness.”
Jennie’s gloved fingers dug into her palms. “Did he speak to you?”
The younger girl crept closer. “Aye, that ’e did. A more cultured fellow I’ve never heard in me life.”
The mixed cadences of Matthew’s voice played in Jennie’s thoughts. East End rhythms and inflections had a way of weaving through his speech but, when it suited his purposes, he convincingly played the part of a refined gentleman.
“Was he fair or dark?”
The girl shrugged. “With that hat ’e was wearin’, we couldn’t see much of ’is hair, but what I did see was dark. Just like ’is eyes.”
Dagger-sharp cold pierced the soles of Jennie’s boots. Her toes throbbed within the leather. A wicked gust penetrated the thin barrier of her cloak, and she clutched the wool tight to her chin. With a sigh, she willed her feet to move.
The doxy’s words played in her head. Dark hair. Dark eyes. An image of Matthew Colton’s deep brown irises flashed in her mind. Was he the handsome man with the carriage who’d escorted Ida away to an uncertain fate?
Another chill coursed along Jennie’s spine. The fine hairs at her nape stood on end. Had Colton followed her—again?
Bloody perfect.
She slid her fingers inside her reticule, curled her fingers around the grips of her Sharps Pepperbox, and concealed the pistol in the folds of her skirt. Turning slowly, she searched the darkness. “Mr. Colton?”
A man stepped from the shadows. Thick necked and broad faced, his lumbering gait reminded Jennie of a bull escaped from its pen. He eyed her greedily. “Where ye goin’ in such a hurry? Ye got time for one more tonight.”
She shook her head and backed away. “I do not entertain customers.”
Blocking her path with his massive lump of a body, he stunk of spirits and filth. Pale eyes gleamed in his bloated face. “I’ve got just the thing t’ warm ye up.”
Fear coiled in her belly. “I must insist you let me pass.”
A slow smile twisted his mouth. With surprising speed, he lunged, dragging her against his burly chest. Struggling to wrench free, she strained against the iron-strong bar of his arm.
“Release me. Now. I am armed, and I will shoot.”
His massive hand clamped her wrist. Blinding pain rippled through her arm. “Drop the gun, ye little bitch.”
He gave her wrist a sharp twist for emphasis. Tears pricked her eyes. The barrel of the gun angled against her leg as he pressed her to his body. His rough hand snaked beneath her cloak.
Terror overruled the pain. Jennie clenched her teeth and drove her elbow into the lout’s ribs. He grunted, but manacled his fingers against her flesh.
“Nothin’ but a tease.” He tipped her chin up, his rancid breath sickening her. “I’ve got a lesson for ye.”
The unmistakable click of a gun being primed cut through her terror.
“If I pull the trigger, I’ll take you out of this world forever.” Colton’s voice. Hard. Steely. Dangerous.
Her captor trembled against the pistol pressed to the underside of his jaw. His grip went slack.
Jennie darted away.
Colton’s eyes gleamed with contempt. “Do you make a habit of forcing yourself on women?”
The lout shook his head, his weasel eyes wild with fear. “I…I…thought…she was sellin’ her wares.”
“I could ensure you never accost another woman again.” The quiet calm of Colton’s voice intensified the menace in his words.
The man’s jowls quivered like an undercooked pudding. “I didn’t hurt the high ’n mighty harlot. Struttin’ about like she was—”
“That’s enough,” Colton said, a heartbeat before he slammed his fist into the drunk’s underbelly.
The big man crumpled to the ground in a heap. Colton nudged the oaf with the toe of his boot. “Get up. Get the hell out of here before I finish what I started.”
The drunk lumbered to his feet. Casting a scowl over his shoulder, he shuffled away, muttering under his breath about crazy women roaming the streets at all hours of the night.
Matthew scanned the dimly lit pavement. Retrieving Jennie’s pistol, he tucked the gun into her reticule, then drew her cloak around her body.
He cupped her chin and stroked the pad of his thumb over her swollen lip. “The bastard hurt you. I should have killed him.”
“I’ll be fine,” she managed, trying to ignore the sensation of warmth his touch evoked.
“When you shoot a man, aim for the gut.” He brushed his fingertips over the curve of her jaw. “Come with me. I’m going to get you out of this cold, and you’re going to tell me what the bloody hell is going on.”
Chapter Eight
“I want the truth, Jennie. What are you doing in this hellhole?”
Matthew studied Jennie’s delicate features. Moonlight danced over her cheekbones, giving her beautiful face an ethereal quality. Long charcoal lashes shuttered her eyes, and her gaze swept to the pavement, avoiding contact. What was she trying to hide?
“I had an engagement,” she said finally.
He tilted her chin up. What a shame he couldn’t trust a word out of her luscious mouth. She’d no more been headed for a rendezvous in Whitechapel than he’d spent the night taking tea with the queen.
“Tell me why you are here.”
She gave her head a little shake, even as her eyes glistened with unshed tears. “He was a vile man. I need to return to my room. I need to wash his stench from my skin.”
The tremor in her voice was real. Matthew’s gut clenched. Primal anger surged through his veins, and for an instant, he wished the bastard would come back. A man who’d seen the things he had shouldn’t be affected by a woman’s tears, or what it cost her to hold them back, yet each tiny quiver of her lip cut like a stiletto.
He gentled his voice. “You shouldn’t put yourself in a position where you’re vulnerable to his kind.”
“I am not accustomed to being rescued.” Her voice regained a bit of its strength.
“Actually, it’s become something of a habit these days.”
Indignant fire lit her luminous green eyes. “I do not bel
ieve I would go so far as to say that, Mr. Colton.”
“This is the second time I’ve gone up against an inebriated sot for the sake of your honor. If there is to be a third time, please show the decency to provoke a man who is not five stone heavier than me.”
“I doubt I shall trouble you with any rescues in the foreseeable future.”
And with that, she set her mouth in a perfect bow. Christ, he wanted to kiss her.
You need to keep her alive, not take her to bed.
“Come along,” he ground out as he captured her hand. “My driver is waiting at the Lion’s Den.”
She blinked. A flicker of comprehension registered on her features moments before that tempting mouth of hers settled into a placid line. What did the woman know of a gambling hell?
“I doubt my presence will be welcome.” Her bland tones contradicted the interest in her eyes.
“I’ve no intention of taking you inside. Every bastard in the place would throw down his cards for a chance with you. I’ve done enough battle for the night. We’ll meet the coach.”
“And from there?”
“That depends on you.”
…
Jennie peered into the eyes of a garish metal lion’s head. The massive brass knocker dominated the otherwise barren entry to a nondescript brick building. Light filtered through thick amber glass sconces, bathing the door in a golden hue. Colton raised the ring in the beast’s mouth and rapped against the wood.
The heavy panel creaked open. A hunched man poked his head through the opening. As his gaze swept over Jennie from head to toe, his leathered face creased into a toothless grin.
Matthew’s glare speared the old gent. “Have you finished ogling the lady, Turner?”
Turner’s smile broadened. “Jesus, but she’s a beauty. I take it ye’re wanting Bertram to cash in his chips and see to his duties.” The old man winked a bleary blue eye. “In a hurry t’get home, I see. Wouldn’t want the bed t’get cold, would we now?”
He jolted to the side as an even older, even craggier man jostled his stooped shoulders past him. His caped coat grazing the cobbles, the wizened fellow shot Colton a scathing glance.
“So soon, Matthew?” the man grumbled. “I’ll have ye know I had a full house.”
“An unlikely scenario, Bertram. If that had been the case, I doubt the flames of hell could have roused you from the table.”
“Ah, but my luck was about t’change. One more hand, and I’d have enough money to hire you on, my fine sir,” he said with a chuckle.
Poised for the icy rebuke she felt certain Matthew would issue, Jennie stood in stunned silence at the last sound she expected to hear.
Laughter.
“You’ve more chance of bedding the queen than besting these tables, old man. When have they ever been good to you?”
“Aye, truer words ’ave seldom been spoken.” Bertram turned to Jennie, appraising her with ancient eyes that had not lost their spark. “I see ye’ve had a productive night, my boy.”
A scowl that appeared more forced than genuine fell over Colton’s features. “Come along, you old lecher. We need to see Miss Danvers home.”
“Miss Danvers, is it? She’s not like the last one, is she?”
The last one?
Jennie breathed again at the sound of Colton’s curt, “No.”
Mumbling about luck’s fickle hand, the old man demonstrated surprising agility as he scurried aboard a gleaming black brougham, took his place in the driver’s seat, and stared down at Colton.
“So, where are we ’eaded?”
“Charing Cross. Mrs. O’Brien’s boardinghouse,” Colton replied.
Bertram’s pale eyes lit up. “Celia O’Brien? The ol’ bird’s still runnin’ that place?”
Colton’s mouth hiked at the corners. “Evidently.”
“I wonder if she remembers ol’ Bertram. She was quite a looker in her day.”
Jennie blinked at the reminiscence and regarded him with a reluctant smile.
“I’ll keep that in mind.” Colton extended his hand to Jennie. “Your chariot awaits.”
She slanted the old gent a glance. “Is he able to control the carriage? He appears to be well in his cups.”
Colton nodded thoughtfully. “He’s always like that. Cold sober, he’s even worse.”
Jennie bit back the questions that tickled her brain. Matthew Colton had sent a brute with a good five-stone advantage on a sniveling retreat. Why did he tolerate his ancient driver’s tart tongue?
Taking Colton’s hand, she entered the carriage. She slid onto the plush upholstered seat and peeled back the fringe-edged drapery that shielded the window. A few yards away, an underfed streetwalker staggered down the street, arm in arm with an equally wobbly kneed young man. A wave of disgust washed over Jennie. She allowed the curtain to fall back into place.
Colton settled into the single seat. The humor he’d displayed with Bertram vanished, replaced by the intent set of his chiseled features. He rapped on the roof, the crack of a whip bit the air, and the vehicle rattled through the night.
He turned to her, eyes dark as midnight searing her with unspoken questions. Jennie braced herself for an interrogation, but he reached for her. Her mouth went dry. She’d faced criminals without flinching and had uttered pretty lies to trick her way into the offices of corrupt officials, but nothing prepared her for the heady feel of Matthew Colton’s touch.
Sweeping his mouth over hers, he kissed her. He tasted of fine Scotch and a hint of mint, his caress by turns tender and desperate, intoxicating in its pure, undisguised need. His tongue darted within the warmth of her mouth in a sensual thrust and parry.
Teasing.
Coaxing.
Stoking the flames within to an inferno.
His hands slipped beneath her cape. He molded Jennie to his body. Delicious tingles coursed from her nape to her toes. Savoring every moment of precious contact, her flesh hummed with pleasure. She drank in his scent, a heady masculine blend of bayberry shaving soap and a unique essence so maddeningly familiar, it was as though she’d known him for an eternity.
He’s changed the game. Keep your head.
His indrawn breath sounded ragged to her ears. She melted against him as his heat and his strength bound her to him.
Caught in strong currents. Break free.
Lips parted in instinctive offering, she closed her eyes as the tide pulled her out, far beyond shore.
“So tempting.” The undeniable evidence of his masculine hunger pressed to her thigh. Hard. Demanding. “So delicious.”
A streetlamp’s meager rays streamed thin ribbons of light around the curtain. He caught the high collar of her shirtwaist and took a pearl button between his fingertips. Her breath hovered in her throat as he freed the closure, then another.
With a ragged breath, he stilled. His hands fell away.
Jennie caressed his stubble-roughened jaw, battling the urgent hunger. How she wanted to kiss him. Wanton, bone-melting kisses that had no place in her investigation.
A sigh escaped her. “I suppose you weren’t pretending to be a gentleman.”
His hand sprawled over her fingers. He held her close, the rough shadow of new beard grazing her cheek. A lump formed in her throat, and for a moment, she couldn’t think. Couldn’t speak.
“Devil take it, you’re enough to drive a saint to drink.” His rough-edged words betrayed the steep price of his self-imposed denial. “You need to tell me what you’re up to before you get yourself killed.”
She dug her hands into the seat cushion. Plush fabric crushed against her fingers. “You follow me like a hound on the scent. If I were involved in some nefarious scheme, I’d think you would have ferreted that out by now.”
“I haven’t figured you out. Not yet. But I will.”
She drew a slow breath, steadying her voice. “I am not a puzzle to be solved, Mr. Colton.”
He cocked a brow. “Ah, that’s where you’re wrong. I will learn your sec
rets. Every last one.”
“Secrets,” she scoffed lightly. “I assure you my life is quite ordinary. Rather boring, actually.”
“You’re a surprisingly poor liar.” His fingertips skimmed the curve of her cheek. “I will not stand by while you put your pretty neck in danger.”
He studied her for a long moment. Something in that dark gaze of his—something she couldn’t hope to put into words—penetrated to her soul.
She wanted to look away, but she held her chin high and met his eyes. “My pretty neck is none of your concern.”
“I’ve decided it is.”
“You have no authority over me,” she bit out between her teeth.
“I won’t have you walking these streets with a killer on the loose. You might as well giftwrap yourself for the bastard.” He raked a hand through his hair. “You fancy yourself an independent woman. But you’re easy prey for the vermin who roam these streets.”
“An unarmed woman is easy prey,” she countered.
“Have you forgotten so soon that your blasted pistol offered no defense against that filthy sot?” His words were low and measured, but he did not disguise the notes of anger blended with concern. “God above, Jennie, if I hadn’t come upon the scene…”
She allowed herself a few breaths to focus her thoughts. Matthew had come to her defense. Again. He had indeed interrupted the assault at precisely the right moment to prevent any enduring harm. But she knew better than to believe his appearance to be a fortuitous coincidence. By all rights, she should fear him.
Peculiar, how her instincts cried out that he would never harm her. Perhaps he was so skilled at deceit that he wore his defense of her like a mask. But the raw timbre of his voice betrayed a protectiveness that seemed so very real, and something deep within her refused to believe the emotion in his gaze was nothing more than a clever act.
She exhaled, a long breath like a sigh. For now, she could not betray the battle between her logic and the inner voice that whispered she had nothing to fear from him. There’d be time later to sort through the tangle of thoughts.
When a Lady Deceives (Her Majesty’s Most Secret Service) Page 9