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

by Tara Kingston

  “That can be arranged, Mr. Colton.” With that, she pivoted on her heel and stalked toward her hired carriage.

  With any luck, she’d keep going. Far from the tavern. Far from Harwick. Far from him.

  And never look back.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Jennie stared out the window of the hansom, hearing little beyond her own thoughts. The confrontation with Matthew had left her unsettled. Her heart’s rhythm had slowed to its normal cadence, but each breath carried the echo of his warning. Her palms moist and clammy with tension, she stripped her gloves from her hands. Questions battered her brain. Was Matthew concerned about what she might uncover about Harwick? Or about his own crimes?

  Departing the carriage, she bustled up the front steps of Mrs. O’Brien’s house and through the entry. Jennie saw the girl then, a sweet-faced blonde, more waif than woman. She recognized her at once, knew the chit shared a first floor room with another young factory worker. Sally, she believed was her name. She peered down from the top of the stairs, her pale eyes widening. Without so much as a word of greeting, Sally bustled past Jennie as though the devil’s minions nipped at her heels.

  Apprehension crept through Jennie’s veins. Her pulse quickened again. She rushed to her room, her heart pounding as she made short work of the two flights of stairs.

  A missive lay at her door. The same fine ivory stationery. The same harsh slashes of black ink.

  Closing and bolting the door behind her, she pulled in a lungful of air. Had Sally delivered the message? No matter. She’d deal with that question later. First, she’d see what the coward who hid behind anonymous threats had for her this time.

  She lifted the envelope with trembling fingers and retrieved the carefully folded paper within.

  I’ll carve out his heart if he touches you again.

  She heard herself gasp, felt her pulse stutter. She allowed a few heartbeats to pass, steadying herself, then tucked the letter into her reticule, set the bag beside her pistol, and pinched her cheeks to restore the color she knew had drained away. She’d be damned if the coward would see how his vile threat had twisted her belly into knots.

  Tension clawed at her. Invisible talons that shredded her courage without mercy. Studying the words beneath the gaslight lamp, she was struck by the aggression in the strokes. Each bold mark against the page seemed more erratic and filled with more fury than the last.

  But who was the object of the coward’s threat? Did the cur refer to Matthew? Or perhaps the bastard had observed her with Jack Trent. Or even Campbell in one of his atrocious disguises. No, her interactions with Trent and Campbell had been brisk and lacking in any semblance of passion.

  She could not say the same of her time with Matthew. From the first, a flame had pulsed between them, drawing them in. This message was clear in its vicious intent. And its target.

  She had to get word to Matthew. While he was used to dealing with London’s underbelly, he would not be prepared to defend himself against what might well be a madman—a madman who might have already struck out at him. Would the vile blackguard’s aim be truer next time?

  There’d be no need to reveal her secret. Two women with ties to the Lancaster had died at a butcher’s hands. Matthew would make that connection. These threats had no evident tie to her investigation. Confessing the truth of her identity would serve no purpose.

  Concealing her pistol within the folds of her cloak, she emerged from her room. Despite the heavy wool wrapper, a shiver coursed the length of her spine. No telling whether the scoundrel who’d penned the note lurked nearby. The feel of the gun within her hand offered some measure of reassurance. If the coward dared to come after her, he’d soon regret it. A bullet would prove a most unpleasant surprise indeed.

  …

  Matthew tore off his tie and slumped on the edge of an overstuffed wingchair. A fire blazed in the hearth of his study, and the tumbler of Scotch on a marble side table beckoned him. Tension filled every bone, every muscle, every cell. Rubbing his neck, he aimlessly studied the worn Oriental rug beneath his feet, mentally tracing the detailed patterns. The threads had been woven so intricately, the design seemed a maze, complicated and interconnected, like a puzzle that could not be solved.

  Like his life. Damn the questions plaguing him. His life had become so bloody complicated since Jennie had fallen into his arms. Now Jack Trent was nosing around the Lancaster. Matthew didn’t know why the bastard had returned to London, but in his gut, he knew the yellow dog’s reappearance was tied to Jennie. Blast it, Trent had already drawn Harwick’s attention. How long would it be before Matthew could no longer keep the rabid cur at bay?

  The hall clock chimed. Another hour gone. Another sleepless night ahead. His pulse throbbed against his temples. How could he protect a woman who didn’t trust him? Jennie believed him to be a thug. She’d accused him of defending Harwick. What the hell did he expect? He’d lived a lie for so long. And now, the woman he wanted, more than any he’d ever touched, believed him the vilest of brutes. Her contempt cut deep.

  If he had any sense, he’d drag her away from London, tell her the truth, and get them both so far away from Claude Harwick, the bastard would never find them.

  So exhausted he could scarcely see straight, he collapsed against the chair and closed his eyes, allowing a dreamless fog to drift over him. Not quite awake. Yet not asleep. Through the haze of shadows, Jennie called to him. His name on her lips. Faint as a murmur. Colored by fear.

  Bloody hell. He wasn’t dreaming.

  She stood in the door to the study. Gaslight swept over the soft contours of her face. Cloaked in a hooded gray cape, she was deathly pale. Her emerald eyes blazed against the cream of her skin while her mouth pulled into a stricken line.

  Bertram hovered behind her, a dressing gown tied haphazardly over his nightshirt, his bony legs exposed from the knees to his slipper-clad feet. His features drawn and stark, he displayed no trace of his cantankerous self. “You have a visitor. She indicates it is a matter of some urgency. I lacked the strength to deter her. It seemed a futile effort, given recent events.”

  “Indeed.” Matthew’s gaze flicked to Jennie. Her lips seemed to have stretched tauter since she’d entered. What in blazes was going on? What had happened to drain the color from her cheeks and instill such distress in her eyes?

  He rose and came to her. With a nod to Bertram, he dismissed the old gent. Grumbling under his breath, Bertram turned on his heel and thudded along the corridor. A door thumped against its frame.

  Jennie clutched an envelope in her hand. White-knuckled, she looked as if she wished to crush it between her fingers. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to draw you into this.” Her voice hushed, she pulled the door closed behind her. “I’ve reason to believe you’re in danger.”

  Possessive anger welled deep in his gut. “Has someone harmed you? Tell me, Jennie.”

  “No. Not yet. But soon.” The words sounded torn from her throat.

  She placed the letter in his hand. Expensive linen paper, meticulously creased. He unfolded the missive. Each death brings me closer…

  He bit back a savage epithet. “Where did you get this?”

  “Someone left it at my flat…that night when you were wounded.” She slipped another note into his palm. “When I returned home from the Savoy, this was at my door.”

  He read the threat scrawled against the paper. The stationery was of quality, the writing bold. Large letters formed with harsh, angular lines. A man’s hand, most likely. Damn the rotter who’d set out to frighten Jennie. These macabre communiqués weren’t Harwick’s work. The bastard didn’t waste time on theatrics.

  “Do you suspect anyone—a man you’ve spurned, perhaps?” Matthew swept back her hood. The quiet terror in her eyes carved invisible furrows on his heart.

  She gave her head a miserable shake. “No. No one. You’re the only man I’ve…been close to in a long time.”

  He skimmed the curve of her cheek. As he threaded his fin
gers through her silken auburn waves, primal instinct filled every cell. “If someone tries to hurt you, he’ll regret it.”

  “You may be in far greater danger than me.” She stripped off her cloak and draped it over the back of a chair. “There’s something else, something rather peculiar.” She tapped a finger on the envelope. “Whoever wrote these has knowledge of my given name. Quite peculiar, really. Even my dearest friends call me Jennie.”

  “Jennie, I know the truth. Who you are. What you do. Someone else has uncovered your secret. Amazing how little tin it takes to get answers in this hellhole.”

  Her gaze locked with his. Direct. Unflinching. Did she intend to continue her charade, even now?

  “It’s too late for lies,” he went on. “It doesn’t matter if you deny it—I know the truth. And so does the person who wrote these threats. You were born Virginia Jeanette Quinn, the youngest, and evidently, most adventurous child of Sir Peter Quinn and his Scottish wife.”

  Her lips formed a taut seam. “A fanciful story. Nothing more.”

  “I uncovered your identity in one night. A crown seemed a small fortune to the apprentice who revealed your secret.”

  She blinked. “An apprentice?” The word sounded like a gasp.

  “After the lad confirmed my suspicions, I slipped the night watchman a few bob. Once I got into Campbell’s files, I found everything I needed to know.”

  The defiant set of her chin eased. In defeat? Or in relief that her masquerade had come to an end? Her eyes flashed with something that looked like admiration. “Clever, Matthew. It seems I’d underestimated you. So, what happens now?”

  The wary edge in her tone seemed a dagger to the gut. She still didn’t trust him. Not entirely. Damn shame he couldn’t bring himself to blame her.

  “You think I would betray you to Harwick?”

  He watched her, taking in the way she shadowed her gaze with her lashes as she considered the question. After what seemed a lifetime, she met his gaze.

  “No.” She turned away for the briefest of moments. When she looked at him again, she seemed different, as if she’d shed the veil of her disguise. A low sigh escaped her, and her eyes softened. “I cannot explain it, and perhaps I’ve gone quite mad, but I do trust you, Matthew. More than you know.”

  I do trust you. The words slammed into him. Jennie had granted him a pardon he’d neither expected nor deserved. Devil take it, it would be better for both of them if she feared him, if she fled both him and London and never looked back, and he intended to see she did just that.

  He lifted the envelope from her hand and studied the name etched in angry, black scrolls. “Someone knows who you are. He may have discovered your identity. Or he’s known you in the past. In either case, the blackguard wants to ensure you know of his cunning, of his deviousness.”

  Her shoulders sagged as though an unbearable weight had been placed on them, even as her lips pursed, as they tended to do when she was puzzling something out. “At least I’m confident it wasn’t you.”

  He cocked a brow. “I should think so. I don’t go about leaving notes like some crazed lunatic.”

  “That goes without saying. Oh, and I have examined your handwriting. Your strokes are far more controlled and contained than these rough slashes. There’s an element of violence here. You can imagine the harsh movements of the pen in hand.”

  “You’ve seen samples of my penmanship? Good God. Perhaps I was wrong about your connection with the Herald. Are you with the Home Office?”

  She graced him with a smile like the Mona Lisa, soft and secretive. “No, but I also have highly useful acquaintances.”

  “I suppose that’s how you located my residence.”

  She gave her head a little shake. “I followed you. After you began spying on me, I decided a little surveillance of my own might be in order.”

  Clever minx. Jennie had intrigued him since the first night he saw her. Now, she was bloody irresistible.

  He forced himself to consider something other than the perfect temptation of her mouth. His attention trailed back to the envelope. “You’re assuming this is a man’s writing.”

  “There is a slight chance a woman wrote this. After all, one cannot be entirely confident of these suppositions, but I’d wager a man is behind this.”

  “Who is aware of your past? Who would know you as Virginia?”

  “Campbell, of course.”

  “The Herald’s managing editor.”

  Jennie nodded. “Macalister Campbell was my father’s protégé following his studies at Cambridge. I’ve known him for the better part of a decade.”

  “He may be the connection.”

  “No, that’s not possible.” She firmed her chin, though the slight quiver of her lower lip betrayed how deeply his words had shaken her. “Campbell would never do anything to hurt me.”

  “The files in his office would disclose enough facts to discern your identity. Given the watchman’s eagerness to give a bloody tour of the offices in exchange for a bit of blunt, anyone with coin in his pocket might have gained access.”

  She pressed her lips back into a tight line. “I must have a discussion with Campbell about the trustworthiness of the staff.”

  “At this point, it’s too late. Someone knows who you are and where you lie down to sleep at night. They are aware of your vulnerabilities. We must locate the courier. How well do you know the women who live in your building?”

  “I’ve spoken with them. Idle pleasantries, nothing more. Most toil in factories from sunup to sundown. But I spotted a girl near my door when I returned home. She lives downstairs.”

  “Depending on her motives, she may be a threat.”

  Jennie shook her head with slow deliberation. “If she knows who wrote this message, she’s in danger. I must warn her.”

  “You’ll do nothing of the sort. I intend to get you on the next train out of London. If the coward behind these threats is connected with the murders of those women, God knows what we’re dealing with.”

  “I can’t run. If there is a link, how many more women will perish if I don’t lure this madman to reveal himself?”

  Slipping an arm around her waist, Matthew drew her near. Even in the face of danger, she held her chin high. Her courage enchanted him. His lips brushed the curve of her cheek, and she relaxed against him. He inhaled her sweet essence, the subtle fragrance of lavender soap and rainwater.

  “Once you’re safe, I’ll go after him. I have resources even you don’t have at your disposal.”

  She gazed up at him. “We are dealing with a predator. If you hunt him, he’ll strike first.”

  “That’s the least of my worries.”

  “I cannot say the same.” She watched him, the green of her eyes deepening. “You may not believe this, but I’ve grown a bit fond of you.”

  An emotion so unfamiliar he wasn’t entirely certain how to classify it flooded his veins. In a thousand lifetimes, he didn’t deserve her. But he’d justify her trust. He’d earn her faith. God above, he’d go to hell and back before he’d lose her.

  “In that case, I’ve all the more reason to keep you safe.” Could Jennie hear the raw truth in his voice? “You will stay here. With me.”

  Her eyes widened, but she didn’t retreat. “How very scandalous.”

  “Do you think I give a bloody damn?”

  “I suppose it is a bit late to worry about such matters. Heaven knows how many people saw me rush to your doorstep.”

  “Does that concern you?”

  “It would have, once. But so much has changed,” she said, scarcely louder than a whisper. Rising on her toes, she brushed her lips over his. Did she have any idea how much her innocent touch aroused him?

  “My heart trusts you.” Her words were a confession. “I’ve tried to convince myself I shouldn’t. But my heart wins out every time.”

  …

  Jennie rested her head against Matthew’s shoulder. His body’s heat comforted her even as the sleek, powe
rful meld of flesh and muscle stirred her most carnal instincts. Trailing over the hard lines of his chest, she explored the contours beneath her fingertips.

  His tightly leashed hunger thrilled her. He wove his fingers through her hair, baring her throat. Each whisper-soft press of his lips to the sensitive column radiated shivers of pleasure to her womb.

  And then, she was in his arms. Anticipation coursed through Jennie’s veins. Sweet and heady. She would be his tonight. And he would be hers. Every heartbeat seemed another note in a joyous sonata.

  Carrying her to the bed, Matthew pressed a kiss to her brow. “Do you have any idea what you do to me?”

  Intense longing flavored his gravelly voice. Powerful and primal and enduring. No simple desire that might be quenched by a night of passion. No, the need that drew them together might never be fully sated. He wanted her, just as she wanted him. Not only for this night. For all the nights they might face the darkness together.

  A rush of heat ignited in her core. Jennie twined her arms around his neck and kissed him with fierce abandon. “You’re not like any man I’ve ever known,” she whispered against his mouth.

  “Is that to my benefit?” His question was sly and teasing.

  She smiled. “Most definitely.”

  He placed her on the feather mattress and stretched out his long body beside her. Propping himself on his elbow, he studied her as if he’d discovered a rare treasure. Sweeping a rebellious tendril behind her ear, he drew his fingers along the curve of her face.

  “I want to see you, Jennie. All of you.”

  She ran her tongue over her lips. Why did her hands tremble so? After all, it wasn’t as if she didn’t fasten and unfasten her blouse every day. But she’d never undressed for a man. Any man. And now Matthew watched her, his gaze reverent and intent, his expression betraying his own sense of wonder.

  They were strangers, really. And yet, something deep within their souls had forged an instinctive bond. Hungering for sustenance. Bound together on a level far deeper than their secrets.