Colton’s mouth slid into a rigid line. “You’re a good liar. But not good enough.” He caught her arm above the elbow. “I need a moment of your time.”
“Take your hands off me. This is not amusing.”
“It’s not meant to be.”
He led her to the end of the corridor, ushered her inside his dimly lit office, and locked the door behind them. “Put down that tray and stay quiet. These walls are thin. But I suspect you already know that.”
Complying with his instruction, Jennie settled her mouth into a placid line. Her pulse pounded in her ears like storm waves beating against the shore. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t lie to me. That wide-eyed look doesn’t work.”
She added a defiant tilt of her chin. “Mr. Harwick will not be pleased. I’ve already kept him waiting.”
“I don’t give a damn about that. I heard someone in the hallway. I’d bet my last shilling it was you.”
“I won’t deny it. I heard raised voices. I did not wish to interrupt your discussion, for lack of a better word.”
“If that were the case, you would have carried your pretty little rump right back down the stairs.”
“How dare you speak to me in such a manner.”
His gaze lingered on her mouth. Temptation flashed in those dark eyes. That, and something more. The merest flicker of suspicion. Of inquiry. Of warning. He didn’t trust her. Had he heard her searching the bookkeeper’s office? Did he suspect the truth?
A lazy smile curved his full mouth. “I’ve touched enough of your body to imagine every inch is beautiful. Perhaps more exploration is in order.”
Did he think to camouflage his distrust with carnal interest? She twisted away. But he was quick. Matthew captured her with one whipcord strong arm. Long, nimble fingers toyed with the tiny fastenings on her bodice.
“You wouldn’t dare,” she bit between her teeth.
“We both know I would.”
Jennie gulped. Hard. His touch unnerved her. Her breath quickened as he freed a pearl button, then another. The flicker of triumph in his eyes should have infuriated her. Yet excitement coursed through her veins. He’d proven a worthy adversary. Indeed, perhaps too worthy. One more button, and he’d likely discover the incriminating slip of paper she’d tucked within her cleavage.
His fingers trailed the edge of her bodice. The pad of his forefinger slid over the fabric, tracing a taut circle around one pebbled nipple. The sensitive bud strained against the fabric, seeking his caress. Her defiant flesh betrayed her.
If only that was the worst of it.
Her pulse hammered in her ears. She had to keep her wits about her. She had to get away before his clever fingers came upon contraband she could not possibly hope to explain.
The heat of his body seared her. The proof of his hunger pressed to her belly.
Colton wanted her. He couldn’t deny that.
Pity his actions had nothing to do with seduction.
He dipped his head, his breath warm against her ear. “Do you like that?”
Her lashes shuttered her gaze as the truth crashed over her like a rogue wave. My, he was brazen. He’d read her body’s innate responses like the skilled detective he’d once been. If only the rasp in his voice did not heat her blood with wanting.
Do you like that? How very absurd. He knew full well she did not welcome the deep-seated need that overtook her when he held her. She did not like the way her senses came alive when he was near. Even now, the crisp scent of his shaving soap blended with his clean, natural essence, stirring a hunger she had no choice but to deny. She did not like the way her heart pounded when he touched her. Not in fear. Not in revulsion. But with a longing that threatened to eclipse reason.
She drew in a calming breath. She must rein in her rebellious yearnings. Such madness, really.
Her mouth went dry even as a tiny whisper of denial escaped her lips, and she extricated herself from his touch.
“You’re not nearly as good a liar as you like to think.” The wicked gleam in his dark irises made it clear he assessed her every reaction. “What are you up to? Do you plan to enlighten me? Or shall I toss you out on your shapely little arse here and now?”
Jennie met the threat with an exaggerated huff. “If Harwick has to wait much longer for his whiskey, he’ll save you the trouble.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Colton gritted out without a trace of humor. “Tell me the truth. Have you taken a notion to blackmail him?”
“More ridiculous accusations? Really, this is growing quite tiresome.”
“I should give you the sack tonight. But this way, I can keep an eye on you.” He turned toward the door. His hand closed around the brass latch. “Get back to the bar. Some sot must be bawling for another round by now.”
Jennie met his words with an exaggerated huff. “Harwick—”
“At this point, I don’t give a damn.”
When he opened the door, Jennie hiked her chin with as much dignity as she could muster and stepped calmly past his long, lean body. She pulled in a low breath. Calming her strides. Slowing her pace. It wouldn’t do to rush from him like a prisoner who’d escaped the executioner’s block.
He trailed her steps as they descended the stairs. He followed her to the bar. Close as a lover, he rasped against her ear. “You’ll find I don’t miss much.”
Indeed. Other than the damning evidence she’d hidden between her breasts. The ever-so-brazen Matthew Colton wasn’t quite the scoundrel he fancied himself to be. Thank heavens.
“In that case, you will find your surveillance quite tedious.” Spotting an upended stein in the far corner, she grabbed a clean rag. “In case you are interested, I will be cleaning a spill.”
Eager to flee Colton’s disconcerting nearness, she spun on her heel. A tall, long-limbed man seemed to materialize in her path. She froze, avoiding the near collision.
The dandy stared down at her. Bloodshot gray eyes blinked, and he shook his head, as if puzzled. Only then did she take in his carved features, his somehow familiar mop of unruly wheat-blond hair. An ill-chosen pattern of vertical white stripes woven into the superfine of his well-tailored suit exaggerated his lanky form and confirmed his identity. Her brother’s Oxford roommate had always displayed bold taste in attire.
His broad grin bisected a face that was all sharp angles. Recognition flickered in his gaze.
Bloody wonderful.
“Jennie Quinn, as I live and breathe. What in the name of Zeus are you doing here?”
Smoothing her skirts, she composed her features. “I’m sorry. I’m afraid you’ve confused me with someone else.”
The dandy braced one hand against the bar. “No, no, I’m quite positive. Jennie, it’s me. Ian Kirkbride. Surely you haven’t forgotten.”
“Sir, I’m entirely certain I’ve never made your acquaintance.”
He gave his head an adamant shake. “Jeremy and I shared quarters at Oxford. I accompanied him to your family’s country home.”
Indeed, she’d never forget the brash dolt’s roaming hands. Her brother never made the mistake of extending the fumbling dullard another invitation.
She slanted Colton a glance. He watched from behind the bar, appearing to take in every detail. Sickening tension roiled her stomach.
“Sadly, my brother barely learned to sign his name. He swabs decks in Her Majesty’s navy, far from Oxford. Might I bring you a drink, sir?”
The dandy lunged, catching her leg-o-mutton sleeve in his grasping fingers. “Blast it all, Jennie, this is not humorous. What are you doing in a place like this? Does Jeremy know?”
Colton stepped forward, seizing the fop by his lapels. “You’ve had enough for one night.”
The dandy’s hand dropped to his side. His face colored. “I say, this is most uncalled for.”
Colton dragged him to the door. “Your business here is done.”
“This is an outrage!”
The doo
r slammed in the dandy’s face with a decisive thud. Colton fixed Jennie in his sights as he strolled back to the bar.
“That was rather unnecessary.” She forced a layer of frost into her voice. Best to keep control of the situation. “I had the matter well in hand.”
“An Oxford man? Several steps in the social register above Duncan Poole, I’d say. You’re moving up in the world.” His dark eyes hardened even as his mouth hitched at one corner. “I’ve matters to attend to. Try to keep yourself out of trouble until I return.”
…
Midnight passed with no sign of Matthew Colton. Jennie bustled about, pretending she hadn’t noticed his absence. She finished her last-minute tasks, bid the barkeeper a good night, and set off in search of some clue to the missing lightskirt’s whereabouts. Ida had not dissipated into the fog. Someone knew her fate.
The unnatural stillness of the night proved startling. Even at this late hour, Jennie expected the usual sounds and sights—a streetwalker trolling for tin, a drunk seeking one last drink, a well-attired gent skulking from a gambling hell. Her pace quickened as she made her way through the eerily quiet avenue, past ill-kept buildings of brick and stone shrouded in shadows.
Approaching a boarded-up building that had once been a grand theater, she slowed. Now reputed to serve as one of Harwick’s storehouses, the place would normally lurk vacant, cloaked in darkness. Yet a dim light—a lantern, perhaps, gleamed in the alley just beyond the barred doors.
A chill coursed along her nape. She swallowed her apprehension and turned toward the lamplight. Taking her pistol from her reticule, she concealed it beneath her cape. She’d keep her distance. With any luck, her presence would remain undetected. But if she were discovered…well, that was a chance she’d have to take.
Glass shattered. A piercing crash. The lantern went dark. A moan, so soft it might have been the wind’s echo, drifted to her ears. Tasting fear, Jennie tightened her grip on the Sharps.
The clip of boot heels against the cobbles betrayed movement. Stealthy. Even. Consuming the span between them with each stride.
Jennie shied away from the streetlamp, concealing herself in the shadows. She recognized Colton even before the light touched his face. He edged closer, his eyes focused on the pistol.
“Why are you here?” he asked, advancing on her.
“I could ask the same. I heard a sound…someone in pain. What have you done?”
“Not a damned thing.”
“Tell me. Before I feel a need to pull this trigger,” she said, her words surprisingly steady.
Near enough to touch her now, he slowly shook his head. The pistol in her hand did not seem to concern him. And then, he lunged and pinned her to his length. With quick, sure movements, he wrested the gun from her grasp.
“Shooting me isn’t a good idea. Especially not tonight.”
Chapter Eleven
Terror banished reason as unfettered instinct took the reins. Strength fueled by fear propelled Jennie out of Colton’s arms. Her heels slammed against the pavement. Each footfall echoed in her ears. Each breath was a harsh gasp against the silence.
Strong hands hauled her back. Colton captured her, unyielding as steel. A scream wrenched from her lungs, but his calloused fingers muffled her cry with a surprising lack of violence.
“Damn it, I’m not going to hurt you.” As if realizing the contradiction between his words and his actions, he eased his hold. “You must not run. I am not the person you should fear.”
His words offered no comfort. To the contrary, the rawness of his voice twisted her terror into a barbed knot in her belly.
She felt his chest expand as he dragged in a breath. A small voice deep within urged her to free herself and run, but she stilled. When he released her, she turned to him, desperate to read the darkness in his eyes.
His hands closed lightly over her upper arms, and he brought her closer. “I want to protect you. But you make it damned difficult.”
She felt it then. Warm and liquid against her shoulder. Jennie drew back. In the lamplight, a thick stain spread over his sleeve above the elbow.
Blood. His blood. Horror rose to her throat, bitter as lye.
He nodded, confirming her suspicion. “Nothing to be concerned about.”
“You’ve been wounded.”
A muscle in his jaw flexed. He spared his sleeve a glance. His hands clenched into loose fists, his mouth hard with regret. “I interrupted the blighter trying to gain access to this building. I should have gone after him.”
The image of a blade slashing into Colton’s body clawed at her insides. “He might have killed you.”
Devil take it, she couldn’t mask her feelings. Not with him. His eyes flashed, but he showed no other reaction to the way her voice betrayed her.
“I didn’t get a good look at the cur. He struck fast and ran. Sodding coward. But I can’t chance you wandering into his path. God only knows you make a ripe target, out on these streets at all hours.”
If the harsh cadence of his words was to be believed, he was genuinely angry with her.
Angry she’d put herself in danger once again.
Strange, how his tone comforted her. Wild relief permeated to the bone. Of course, she could not permit him the luxury of seeing her terror ebb.
She breathed in a calming breath. “And so you accosted me and took my weapon?”
“You were going to shoot me.”
“You might have explained,” she protested.
“I have no intention of taking a bullet, even from that puny thing.” Stepping back, he retrieved her Sharps from his jacket pocket, pressed the pistol into her hand, and closed her fingers around it. His mouth curved into something not quite a smile. “This should make you feel more secure.”
The cool metal against her palm offered no comfort. She tucked the weapon into her reticule.
“I had to take the gun,” he went on. “I’ve no doubt you would have pulled the trigger.”
She pulled in a slow breath and hiked her chin just a bit. “My response to the situation was entirely justified. I assure you my emotions were under control. I was not unduly frightened.”
“There’s nothing wrong with fear. It can keep you alive.”
“Peculiar words from a man who appears to fear nothing.”
“Appearances can deceive.” His voice grew quiet and raw. “The way you roam this city scares the hell out of me.”
His words triggered a twinge of doubt, the slimmest thread of apprehension. He didn’t trust her. He made no secret of that fact. He’d questioned her motives for sashaying about the Lancaster, hauling overfilled steins of ale on pewter platters. How much had he learned? Had he followed her tonight?
Did he seek to protect her?
Or to stop her?
“I will replace your cloak,” he said too casually, given it was his blood that marred the fabric.
“A few stains on this scratchy rag are of no consequence. We must summon a physician.”
He gave his head a decisive shake. “Doctors ask too many questions. I will tend it myself.”
“The wound needs to be properly cleaned and bandaged.”
“I’ve had worse. I’ll live.”
“Are you always so stubborn?”
“Yes.”
“I believe you. You also refused a physician’s care after that vulgar sot, Poole, drew blood. Sadly predictable, really.” Jennie planted her hands on her hips and conjured an air of authority. “You are losing blood, and we must take precautions against infection. I keep a bottle of antiseptic at the Lancaster. There’s no shortage of clean cloth to fashion a bandage. If I tend the wound and believe you require a physician’s care, you will agree.”
“Perhaps.”
She hiked her chin. “You fancy yourself my protector. I cannot have my protector disabled with a raging infection.”
A hint of amusement gleamed in his eyes. “Ever the practical woman.”
“I usually consider myself quite
sensible.”
Practical. Sensible. So near to him that she drank in his essence, she marveled at his words. At the moment, with her heart stuttering ever so slightly and her lips craving his touch, she would not have chosen those words to describe herself. A part of her she never imagined existed wanted nothing more than to be carried to a warm bed and ravished. Thoroughly. Decadently. Deliciously.
Most impractical, indeed.
His brows rose as though he thought to contradict her, but instead, he traced the curve of her face. Currents of awareness shot from the tips of her toes to her scalp.
“Very well. We will return to the tavern. Keep alert for any sign we’re being trailed.” He touched her shoulder, his fingers barely grazing her arm. “If the bastard spotted you, you may be his next target.”
…
“Do your worst, Miss Danvers.”
Straddling a plain wooden chair that had definitely seen better days, Matthew propped an elbow against the back and rested his chin on his hand. His torn shirt hung loose, baring his left arm to Jennie’s studious gaze.
The backroom at the Lancaster was one of the coldest areas of the tavern, but damned if he didn’t welcome the frigid air’s bite against his skin. God only knew he needed a distraction from his body’s hunger.
Brow furrowed, Jennie examined his injury with the attention of a detective inspecting a vital clue. Before his eyes, she’d transformed into a veritable model of nursing efficiency, gathering medicinal supplies as if she tended wounds on a daily basis.
This close, he could smell the faintest hint of lavender perfuming her skin. Traces left behind by her soap, most likely. Such a subtle enticement. Yet she seemed unaware of the effect she had on him. The ache in his upper arm proved no match for the relentless throbbing in his groin. Even as little lines of concentration formed between her brows, he wanted nothing more than to forget this nonsense about bandages and antiseptic and strip her bare.
God’s teeth, how much torture could he endure? His imagination pondered the luscious curves she concealed beneath layers of wool and cotton and silk. He’d be content if they stole away to his residence and kindled the sparks her touch ignited. If he bled to death, so be it. At least he’d die a happy man.
When a Lady Deceives (Her Majesty’s Most Secret Service) Page 12