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

by Tara Kingston

  “He fancies himself a patron of the arts. Bond is particularly fond of sponsoring pretty showgirls. I’d like you to ferret out what you can about his involvement with Mary McDaniel. I also need to learn more about the man’s connection with Claude Harwick. There’s a history between them, but the root of their relationship eludes me. But promise me you will be careful. I’d never forgive myself—”

  “There’s nothing to worry about. My uncle George is well connected with society gents. He’s always considered Sir Lawrence a harmless sot. Rest assured I shall bat my lashes as much as necessary.”

  Eyes bright with enthusiasm, Sophie wasted no time heading off on her latest pursuit. Jennie latched the bolt behind her and sagged into a chair, as deflated as Sophie was buoyant. Of course, a night without sleep would leave anyone weary. But she couldn’t lie to herself. Physical exhaustion had little to do with the weight that had settled over her heart.

  Had it really been four years since she’d charged off on her first investigation? The passion to uncover the truth had been all-consuming then. Not even the prospect of marriage to a most suitable—albeit, staid—man had lured her from her quest. She’d avoided any complications. Allowed no distractions.

  Until now.

  Until Matthew Colton had unleashed passion unlike any she’d ever known, any she’d ever dreamed of.

  She’d never prepared a defense against a man like him. There’d been no other who compared. His rugged face played in her thoughts, eyes blazing with hunger—hunger for her. No man had stirred such an elemental response.

  Even now, she tingled with the memory of his skin’s texture beneath her fingertips. She’d wanted him so desperately. Her attraction to a high-ranking member of Harwick’s organization was madness. But she couldn’t deny her hunger for his touch, for his kiss.

  For him.

  The abrupt rap on the door seemed almost a relief, providing a brief distraction from her rebellious thoughts. What had Sophie left behind this time? The girl was clever. There was no doubt of that. But Jennie often gave thanks her assistant’s head was attached to her neck, lest Sophie leave it behind with the papers she’d managed to purloin.

  “Jennie, dear, are ye in? I’ll only trouble ye for a moment.” Mrs. O’Brien’s lilting voice permeated the barrier. Suddenly, a vein in Jennie’s forehead began to throb.

  She creaked open the door. “Yes, Mrs. O’Brien?”

  The matron’s eyes gleamed. “My, yer lookin’ quite presentable today. Expectin’ a caller, are ye?”

  Jennie hesitated for a heartbeat. “Actually, I was on my way out. I’m seeking a position in an office, something that won’t keep me out until the wee hours.”

  Mrs. O’Brien’s salt-and-pepper head bobbed a sage nod. “I’d sleep better if that were the case, dear. I worry about ye, runnin’ about at all hours like ye do. But that’s not why I’m here. Ye have a visitor.”

  Jennie’s pulse quickened. “Visitor?”

  “A man…a fine gent, he is.” The matron colored her words with a wistful smile. “It’s about time you got yourself a nice fellow. A pretty girl like you shouldn’t be spendin’ her life in a tavern, of all places.”

  Jennie kept her features tightly composed. “I’m not expecting anyone.”

  “The gent must have wanted t’ surprise ye. Mr. O’Brien liked t’ surprise me with a trinket now and then, before the good Lord saw fit t’ tear him from my arms.”

  “Did the gentleman give his name?”

  “Oh dear, what did he say? Colton? Yes, that’s it. If I were twenty years younger, I might give ye a little competition, dear.”

  Matthew.

  Jennie massaged the vein throbbing in her temple.

  “The gent’s waitin’ outside,” Mrs. O’Brien continued. “Mighty impatient. But I ain’t lettin’ him past the front steps.”

  Jennie studied the woman’s careworn features. “We are indeed fortunate you are so vigilant. It must be difficult to keep watch over the building all hours of the day and night.”

  Mrs. O’Brien’s fingers crept to a frayed silk flower at her collar. “I’m a light sleeper, dear. I’ve caught many a miss bringin’ her fellow into this buildin’. Believe me, they were seekin’ another residence the next morning.”

  “Is it possible someone might have let a man into the building last night? I heard a peculiar noise well after midnight.”

  “Probably one of the girls in her cups wanderin’ about. I hear them stumblin’ in at all hours.” Mrs. O’Brien tapped her forefinger to her chin. “I try t’ run a quality house, but loose morals are a plague these days.”

  “Of course.”

  “Ye can never be too careful. Did you forget about the gent, dear?”

  Jennie brushed a stray tendril from her face. “I simply must do something about my hair. It’s most uncooperative this morning. Please tell him I’ll be down in a moment.”

  “Don’t keep him waitin’ long, dear,” Mrs. O’Brien advised in a motherly tone. “I wouldn’t put it past him to try to come up here.”

  “But you’ll stop him if he tries, won’t you?” Jennie said with a soft laugh.

  “Let’s just say he’ll get to know my fryin’ pan better than he’d like if he starts up those stairs.”

  Jennie waited as the tap of the matron’s heels against each step marked her descent. Closing the door, she went to the window and peered down to the street below. She spotted Matthew, leaning casually against a lamppost just beyond the rooming house’s worn brick exterior. He cut a dashing figure in his charcoal wool sack coat, starched white shirt, black trousers, and deep gray slouch hat. His movements exuded confidence and strength. Masculine power, kept under a tight rein. Was it any wonder Mrs. O’Brien had carried on about the stranger at her doorstep?

  But why had he come after her? Could his appearance at the boardinghouse be somehow connected with the terrifying communiqué? Bracing herself to face him, she draped her cloak around her shoulders and moved slowly down the staircase.

  With a deliberate lack of haste, she walked to where he waited.

  His gaze swept over her, assessing, no doubt taking in her worn appearance. What did it matter? She could not pretend to have been unaffected by what had gone between them the night before.

  “I was beginning to think you didn’t care to join me.” Shadows rimmed his eyes, and the fine creases at their corners were more pronounced than usual. So, his sleep had been as fitful as hers. Perhaps that was some slight consolation.

  She glanced toward the building. As she’d anticipated, Mrs. O’Brien spied none too discreetly from behind her curtains. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

  “I needed to see you.”

  His intent expression spurred her pulse. “I did not expect to see you until this evening.”

  He placed his hand over hers. Gentle. Yet demanding. “This won’t wait.”

  “I don’t believe I can spare the time, Mr. Colton.”

  “Mr. Colton? The formality seems a bit out of place, all things considered.”

  Even breathing seemed a challenge when he stood so near. “I’m sorry, but—”

  “I won’t take no for an answer. Or do you want me to convince you?”

  …

  As soon as Matthew touched Jennie’s ungloved hand, he realized his mistake. The warmth of her satin skin triggered the hunger he’d so tightly restrained. For a heartbeat, he questioned his resolve. He should drag her home, peel the prim layers of clothing from her luscious body, and forget that the life he’d carved for himself didn’t permit the luxury of caring for a woman like Jennie, if only for a few precious hours.

  She’d felt it, too. The spark of her flesh against his. The rosy tint on her cheeks deepened to scarlet as she took one single step away from him.

  He didn’t permit her retreat. His fingers coiled over hers. She regarded him with a glacial glance beneath her lashes.

  “I have appointments this morning.” She clipped the words like shards o
f ice from a glacier.

  “They’ll wait. There’s a café nearby. It’s quite private.” He shifted his hand to clasp his fingers over her elbow. Her body went so brittle, she seemed ready to crack in two.

  Her eyes cast daggers, but she nodded her compliance. “I do not possess an appetite.”

  “I’m starving. Ravishing a woman does that to a man.”

  Her lips formed a luscious, indignant bow. If only he could keep his mind off that beautiful mouth.

  “I find no amusement in your comment,” she murmured. “A gentleman would not speak of such things.”

  “I keep telling you, I’m not a gentleman.” He drew her near. It hadn’t seemed possible, but she went even more rigid. Bloody hell, she looked like Joan of Arc marching off to a bonfire.

  “You have eliminated any hope I once held. Do we have much farther to go? This cold pavement has numbed my toes.”

  “With those flimsy stockings you wear, it’s no wonder.”

  “If anyone were to hear you—”

  He gave the crowded street a fleeting glance. “I don’t need to say a word. The blush on your pretty face tells the story.”

  “Oooh.” She gritted her teeth and shrugged out of his grasp.

  He recalled Jennie’s shapely calves sheathed in the transparent fabric. “I must admit I’m intrigued by those decadent stockings. I’m not sure I ever want to strip them off.”

  Lifting her chin defiantly, she marched with crisp strides. “I am quite certain you will never face that dilemma again.”

  He chuckled under his breath. Did she have any idea how her indignant pout tempted him? “Don’t be so sure. Unless you forego clothing altogether the next time.”

  “You’re impossible.”

  He gave a shrug. “You wear too many blasted garments. Ridding you of all those layers exhausts a man.”

  “You are definitely not a gentleman.”

  “We’ve already established that.”

  The tip of her tongue peeked out to moisten her lips. Without warning, a fresh wave of hunger consumed him. He wanted to kiss her senseless.

  And that would be only the beginning.

  He swallowed hard and motioned to the frosted glass doors of Café Susannah.

  “You’re wasting my time,” she said curtly. “We have nothing to discuss.”

  “You’re wrong, Jennie. I know you’re in danger. It’s about bloody time you tell me the truth.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Danger. Jennie mulled the word. Had Matthew planted the note to unnerve her? Did he think fear would induce her to tip her hand? She gave a little huff. My, how little the man knew of her, of her resolve.

  Clasping her hand, he led her to a secluded table. An immaculately dressed employee nipped at his heels like an agitated hound. “Sir, this table is reserved. I have a lovely spot for you. I’m sure you’ll—”

  Matthew cast a glare over his shoulder. “This one will do.”

  The waiter wiped his brow with a pristine handkerchief. “Sir, that table has been reserved.”

  Matthew riveted him with a cold stare. “Someone’s plans just changed.” He flashed a cold smile as he pulled out a chair and motioned for Jennie to take a seat.

  The gangly man’s Adam’s apple bobbed wildly. Looking as though his eyes might pop from his head, he huffed a protest and beat a hasty retreat.

  Matthew leaned closer, his mouth so near she thought he might kiss her. Utter insanity, the way her thoughts drifted to the carnal whenever he was near. His eyes flashed a warning. “I want to know what you were doing on the streets last night. Whatever game you’re playing, it ends now.”

  Apprehension twisted like a knife in her belly, but she’d be damned if she’d show it. “What I do when I am not at the Lancaster is none of your concern.”

  His mouth hardened. “You are my blasted concern. I’ve no desire to see your body fished from the Thames.”

  Dread slithered along her spine. “Why would you say such a thing?”

  “You are toying with men who’ll slit your throat and whistle while cleaning your blood from their blade.”

  “That was uncalled for.”

  His expression darkened. “Do you know what kind of men you’re dealing with? I presume you remember that scrawny wharf rat, Cathcart.”

  “The scarecrow from the tavern. Ah, yes, I made a bid for his attention by spilling ale in his lap.”

  “Your attitude toward the man warmed considerably the following night. What were you after?”

  “Good heavens, with your penchant for seeing lurid intrigue, you might take a turn at writing penny dreadfuls.”

  “What did you seek from him, Jennie? God’s teeth, you certainly weren’t drawn to the cur’s looks or good humor.”

  “This is ridiculous. I can’t give you the answers you want.”

  “Cathcart sliced his doxy’s throat. Ear to ear, I’m told.” Matthew’s quiet, matter-of-fact tone clashed with the blazing fire in his eyes.

  “Doxy? What are you talking about?”

  “A tart by the name of Ida Kenney. Word on the street was she’d taken a mind to sell more than the wares beneath her skirts. Cathcart saved his own neck by silencing her.”

  Ida. The world seemed to tilt. Jennie curved her fingers over the edge of the table. She drew in a breath to steady herself.

  “What has any of this to do with me?”

  “You’re in danger, Jennie.”

  “This is all quite preposterous.”

  Matthew tipped her chin, compelling her to meet his gaze. “If you loosened the bastard’s tongue, he’ll show you no mercy. Make no mistake, he will come after you. I need to know…I need to know how to protect you.”

  …

  The rosy flush drained from Jennie’s face. Her lush mouth transformed to a thin slash. Her hands knotted together as fear flickered through her wide green eyes.

  As quickly as the emotion flashed over her, it was gone. She composed her features, her mouth softening, the tension in her fingers easing. She was a fair actress. But she was trying to deceive a man who was as much a fraud as she was. Matthew knew a performance when he saw one.

  “Oh, I certainly did loosen the man’s tongue. The bloody dolt didn’t mind telling me what he wanted to do with it,” she said.

  “I will do everything in my power to keep you safe. But you must tell me the truth.”

  She swept a loose tendril behind her ear. She was tense. Her hands went to her hair when she was nervous. “The bloke offered vile propositions and nothing more. I’ve sought no further contact with him.”

  “You require my protection. You’ve never dealt with men like these.”

  Smoky lashes veiled her eyes. “You’d be surprised.”

  Matthew caught her hand in his. His thumb stroked small circles over her skin. Like satin, that delicate flesh. She lifted her gaze, her defenses seeming to soften. But she did not quite trust him. Not yet.

  Cruel images invaded his mind. Damnation, he’d seen so much carnage and pain and brutality inflicted on Harwick’s orders. He’d protected those he could, blunting Harwick’s anger and holding back the vile two-legged curs who acted as attack dogs when they thirsted for blood. He’d risked his own neck. But those he hadn’t saved, those who’d wound up floating belly-down in the Thames or left to die in some dank alley—the horror of their fates haunted his nightmares.

  If Jennie gave any of the bastards cause for suspicion, Harwick would have no mercy. He’d extinguish the threat, no matter how lovely that threat happened to be. The thought twisted Matthew’s insides, clawed at his soul.

  Dragging in a breath, he released her. “Jennie, you’re in danger.” The words came out, harsh and edged with desperation.

  She blinked and drew back. Was that fear in her eyes? Fear of him?

  Good God, he had to get her away from here. Far from London and the treacherous web of lies they’d constructed.

  But even then, would he be able to defend her from Har
wick’s brutal reach?

  He had to move quickly. She’d already attracted Harwick’s interest. Christ, what man wouldn’t be drawn to Jennie’s fresh beauty and subtle refinement? The cur’s heavily rouged mistress seemed a pathetic caricature by comparison. Banishing her from the Lancaster wasn’t an option. Any change would draw Harwick’s attention. He would ask too many questions. The last thing Matthew needed was to put the vicious bastard on alert.

  Matthew glanced up as the waiter returned. Clearing his throat, the man shuffled nervously on feet far too big for his scrawny frame.

  “I am sorry to interrupt, sir. Have you decided what you would like?”

  “Not yet.” He pressed a coin into the man’s palm. “I’d appreciate some privacy.”

  The waiter’s thin face brightened as he took in its value. “Thank you, sir. May I bring the lady a beverage?”

  “No, thank you.” Jennie plastered on a sweet smile and came to her feet.

  The waiter gulped in a breath. “Is something wrong, miss?”

  “Of course not.” She pivoted away from the table. “I can find my way home.”

  Matthew bolted from his seat. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  Her eyes blazed, brilliant as emeralds. The apprehension had vanished, replaced by a fiery resolve. “I am leaving. As I told you earlier, I have appointments to keep.”

  He caught her wrist. “Don’t make me do something we’re both going to regret.”

  “You already have.” Her softly spoken words pierced like shards of ice. “Unhand me at once. Or are you truly a ruffian?”

  He pulled her close, whispering against her ear. “I won’t stand by and let you get your pretty throat cut. I’m watching you.”

  …

  Skirts rustling like a whirlwind about her high-topped shoes, Jennie fled the café and boarded a tram to Oxford Street. With any luck, MacAlister Campbell would be comfortably settled at his usual table at the Boar’s Head, enjoying his customary cinnamon scone and surveying the crowd. Blast it all, she’d vowed not to be late this time. But accompanying Matthew to Café Susannah had been enlightening, if more than a bit disturbing.

  His warning played in her thoughts. Peculiar, how she felt no fright of the man. He would not harm her. Somehow, in ways she could not put into words, her heart knew he would never raise a hand to her in violence. But she could not deny the shiver that trickled down her spine. The look in his eyes had chilled her to the marrow. She’d seen fear there. Not for himself. But for her.