With a reluctant groan, he released her. He took a shirt from his wardrobe and draped it over her shoulders. “I can’t think straight when you’re sitting there without a stitch on.”
She slid her arms into the linen sleeves and buttoned it to the rise of her breasts. Her toes sank into a plush carpet as she stood. She glanced at the cuffs hanging past the tips of her fingers and the meticulously stitched hem grazing her thighs. Amazing, how much smaller she was in frame, yet how powerful she felt whenever she touched him and he dragged in a tortured breath.
“I suppose I need to dress. I can’t stay here all morning. I’ve much to accomplish today. Besides, haven’t we already scandalized poor Bertram enough? What must the man think?”
“He’s most likely of the opinion that it’s about bloody time.” A smile quirked Matthew’s mouth as he shrugged on his shirt. “You’re not leaving yet. The cowardly blackguard who wrote those notes won’t come near while you’re with me.”
“The latest missive indicated you are now the target of his rage. He might be lurking about, waiting his chance to strike.”
He shrugged, though the slight narrowing of his eyes contradicted the nonchalance of the gesture. “Odds are the bastard knows I’ll put a bullet between his eyes before he can blink.”
“We cannot assume the threats are empty. He’s already attacked you once.”
“The man who knifed me in the alley did not write that note.”
“A connection between the notes and the assailant would seem only logical,” she said.
“Highly unlikely. I forced the blade from the bastard’s grip. I felt his bones snap. He managed to snatch up the blade with his uninjured hand but made no attempt to put it to use. It’s reasonable to surmise the hand that wielded his weapon is also the hand that holds a pen.”
“That might well be the case, but perhaps he’s working with a partner.”
“A cur who skulks in the shadows is not likely to attack an adversary who will strike back. You are his primary interest.” A muscle in his jaw clenched. He looped a tie around his neck and secured a loose Windsor knot. “That’s why I’m getting you away from London.”
His pronouncement knocked her off-kilter, if only a bit. She allowed a few beats of her heart to pass before acknowledging his words. She steadied her voice. “I won’t run. There’s no point. Who’s to say he won’t pursue me?”
Matthew flashed a scowl. “To the Continent? If the bastard’s that bloody bold, my conscience won’t trouble me when I put him in the ground.”
“I will not leave.”
He caught her hand in his. The darkness in his expression sent a silent alarm rippling through her brain.
“Why, Jennie? What is so bloody important to you that you’d put yourself in danger? Does this have anything to do with Trent?”
“I am not working with him, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Then tell me the truth—what was your purpose at the Lancaster?”
The question shot through her like a jolt of electricity. Surely he already knew her reasons. Had his seduction been nothing more than a ploy, a means of inducing her to reveal the truth? She pulled in oxygen, a slow, calming inhalation. Best to confirm the obvious and take measure of his reaction. From there, she’d decide her next move.
“I needed information on Harwick’s organization. Inebriated louts have loose tongues,” she replied, her tone deliberately cool.
“I need you to tell me the truth.”
She dropped her gaze to the worn floorboards. The look in Matthew’s eyes—the sudden shift from tenderness to interrogation—triggered a gut-deep alarm. Had he plied her with pretty lies, just as she’d coax a man with liquor and glances filled with false promise?
Bitter reality penetrated the bliss that had cocooned her throughout the night. The truth assailed her, brutal and unforgiving. Matthew was Harwick’s top lieutenant. Even if every endearment he’d spoken had come from the heart, words didn’t change a bloody thing. He could offer her nothing more than sweet, desperate moments in time.
And in the end, he was still a very dangerous man.
With a sharp indrawn breath, he released her and slowly walked to the window. He raised the shade and stared down to the street below, one hand pressed to the sash, his forehead resting against his fist.
Jennie went to him. She placed her hand over his, silent as the rhythm of their heartbeats blended. She didn’t understand why she joined him. She knew only that she needed to be with him. Whatever else Matthew did in his life, he’d never hurt her. Her heart understood this truth. Nothing would shake that conviction.
Outside Matthew’s town house, the Strand bustled with activity. People and carriages filled the pavement like ants come out to greet the morning sun. And yet, at this moment, the quiet in the flat overwhelmed her. Matthew seemed consumed—by distrust, by regret, by doubt, she couldn’t be sure.
Perhaps he deserved the truth. At least part of it.
“There was a murder several weeks ago,” she began. “I believed it might be tied to the Lancaster.”
His mouth tightened, grim and hard. “Murders are hardly a rare occurrence in London.”
“The woman killed was known to be Harwick’s mistress.”
He nodded his understanding. “Mary McDaniel. Who was she to you?”
“I knew her circumstances. Nothing more.” The untruth dripped easily from her tongue. “Given her public quarrels with Harwick, he seemed a logical suspect.”
“So all of this—your barmaid act, your smiles and batted eyes with the customers—all of that was intended to gather evidence on one murder?”
“Imagine the headline. A reporter’s dream.”
Or nightmare. He turned to her. “Do you still believe Harwick killed her?”
The brash script on the notes flashed through her mind. “I am no longer sure.”
Matthew’s hands draped her shoulders. “As I recall, her throat was cut.”
“Quite savagely.”
He shook his head. “That’s not his work. He prefers a bullet to the base of the skull.”
Another brutal image, though not as cruel as the gaping gash in Mary’s slender throat. “Perhaps he hated her.”
“Harwick likes things quick and clean. A finger on a trigger. That’s how he solves his problems.”
“And you’re a part of that horrid existence.”
“For the time being. I don’t expect you to understand. But you need to know the kind of man you’re dealing with. This investigation isn’t one of your stunts. It is not a bloody game.”
She blinked against the light of the new day. Radiant beauty against a backdrop of buildings and factories and scarcely controlled chaos. Jennie seldom saw the sun in its early morning brilliance, prone as she was to stay awake until all hours of the night. Strange how the dawn comforted her, even as she struggled against an unfamiliar sense of fear. She’d become a pawn on a chessboard, caught up in maneuvers over which she could exert little defense, from which there might be no escape.
And Matthew would be trapped as well. He’d try to protect her. In her heart, she knew that truth. He’d watch over her. And in the process, he’d risk his own neck. Blood ties meant nothing to Harwick. He’d stick a blade in Matthew’s ribs and join his doxy for dinner before the body was cold.
Matthew framed her face in his hands. “Jennie, I need to know you’re out of his reach.”
A bitter lump collected in her throat. “In that case, I suppose I should book passage on the next ship to the subcontinent. Harwick has connections throughout Europe and America.”
“He’d have to find you. I’d make sure he didn’t.”
“I’ve no intention of running like a fox chased by hounds.”
“I’m not giving you a choice,” Matthew’s voice hardened. “I want you out of London.”
“And if I refuse? Should I fear you’ll reveal the truth…about me?”
Bitter astonishment flickered in his e
yes. For a heartbeat, he looked as though she’d slapped him. “You think I could betray you? Christ, Jennie, I’d rather take a bullet to the gut.” The rigid tension in his features did not ease, even as his tone gentled. “I will protect you. But if something happens to me, you’ll be completely vulnerable.”
“Nothing will happen to you,” she whispered, as if her words could make him invincible. “Nothing.”
He brushed her lips with a caress. “I hope your faith is justified. I want to live long enough to learn all your secrets. But first, I need to get you out of London.”
“If I leave, Harwick will notice. As it stands, he has no reason for suspicion.”
“Have you gone daft?” He raked a hand through his hair. “Surely you don’t think I’d let you sashay around the Lancaster now.”
Bloody infuriating man, thinking he could tell her what she could and could not do.
“How better to lure the coward who wrote those notes into the open? It would appear Harwick, for once, is innocent. But there’s a strong chance one of the Lancaster’s patrons knows something.”
His dark gaze bore into Jennie with a possessive fury. “You intend to set yourself out as bait? I won’t have it.”
“The scoundrel won’t come near me at the Lancaster. And you’ll see to my safety after my shift is done. After all, it is a poorly kept secret that we are lovers.”
“Our secret has escaped with remarkable speed.”
“So, the astute Matthew Colton doesn’t catch every bit of gossip that flits through the tavern. Tongues have wagged since you carried me from the brawl. I doubt anyone will be surprised we’ve followed our attraction to its logical conclusion.”
“Logical conclusion?” He captured her in his embrace. “You never fail to amaze me, Miss Quinn.”
“Danvers, sir,” she corrected with a smile.
“I must be utterly mad to even consider your scheme.” His lips swept over hers, stirring a delicious, languid warmth in her core. “I’ll go along with this…for now. But the first sign of trouble, and you will be on your way to the Continent.”
…
“I will escort you to the Lancaster tonight.”
Standing on the pavement outside Mrs. O’Brien’s establishment, Matthew caught Jennie’s hand in his. A wicked smile tipped his mouth. “And then, I’m taking you home. You’ll spend this night in my arms. In my bed. By the time sunrise comes, you’ll know how much I need you.”
“A tempting proposition, indeed.” Jennie kept her voice even, but her knees went just the tiniest bit weak. Could Matthew feel the way her pulse raced at the prospect of learning more of his body’s delicious secrets?
“After tonight, there will be no doubts.”
He left her then. Jennie hurried to her room, changed into a presentable burgundy suit, and set off for her errands. She’d learned from Rose that Mary McDaniel had favored a perfume that bore the distinct aroma of lilies. Lawrence Bond expected to host Jennie the next day. Perhaps a drop or two of a similar elixir would stimulate Bond’s memory and stir his urge to reminisce about his lost paramour.
Beneath an oppressive midday fog, the Strand hummed with activity. Jennie clipped over the pavement, dodging harried pedestrians and elegant carriages in her path. Arriving at the perfumer’s shop, she found precisely the scent she sought. She tucked the small vial she’d purchased in her velvet bag and bustled off to meet with her editor at the London Library. It wouldn’t do to be tardy once again.
She’d made it to St. James’s Square when Jack Trent called out to her. A pleasantry, ordinary enough. But that didn’t change the fact that he’d conveniently turned up at the site of her appointment. Had Campbell requested his presence? Bollocks. Well, she’d have a word with her editor about that.
Turning, she met Trent’s greeting with a bland smile. “What a delightful surprise. I hadn’t expected to see you out and about so early.”
The cordial façade that served as Trent’s disguise slipped away. His eyes hardened. “You’ve been seen with him—with Colton. A rather intimate exchange, from what I’m told.” His words cut through the street sounds like a slap in the face.
She froze, even as her pulse raced. How dare he speak to her with such contempt. Good heavens, the man had no right. Stiffening her spine, she pulled in a calming breath. This was not the place to express her furious indignation.
He stood close enough to touch her now. Shoulders rigid, he kept his hands jammed in his pockets as if that was the only thing keeping him from reaching out to her.
She layered her voice with ice. “I beg your pardon.”
“I have an observant acquaintance at Café Susannah who appreciates a handsome gratuity. It would seem that you, my dear Miss Quinn, evidently possess little appetite early in the day. Of course, a lovers’ quarrel tends to have that effect.”
She whipped around and resumed her brisk march. He followed close at her heels.
“You’re not going to deny it?” he asked. “Perhaps my source is mistaken. It is possible Colton had a heated discussion with another lovely redhead.”
“I suggest you search for evidence rather than concerning yourself with where Colton prefers to dine.”
“You’re playing a dangerous game. He’s on to you.” Trent’s voice lost its arrogant edge.
“You have your sources. I have mine.”
“Has your time with Colton produced evidence of anything other than the man’s eating habits?”
She stared over her shoulder. How dare Trent interrogate her? “Nothing I am prepared to share with you.”
“Matthew Colton is not a fool. He’s baiting you to keep your interest. In the process, he’s enjoying whatever favors you’re willing to bestow.”
“Favors?” She battled the impulse to slap the smirk from Trent’s face. Her nails bit into her palm. “I assure you, I have no desire to continue this discussion.”
“He’ll hurt you, Jennie.”
“That’s not your concern.”
“Bloody hell it’s not.” His voice lowered to a near whisper. “Tell me you haven’t developed feelings for the man.”
“You are making a scene,” she gritted between her teeth. “I know what I’m doing. You’ve no need to worry about me.”
He reached out to her, resting his hand on her upper arm, gently this time. “You’re a shrewd reporter. You’ve got all the right instincts. But you don’t have the experience to deal with a deceptive rogue like Colton. No good can come of this.”
“In that case, I suppose I will gain the requisite experience the hard way.”
Trent studied her for a long moment. Grazing his thumb over her cheek, the harsh set of his features eased. The anger had fled his eyes, replaced by a profound weariness. “You may not believe me, but I’m half mad with worry over you. No matter what it takes, I won’t allow that bastard to hurt you. By the time I’m finished, he’ll be rotting behind bars with Harwick at his side.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Trent’s threat echoed in Jennie’s thoughts long after he’d walked into the distance. Hours later, his words still played in her head, drowning out the alcohol-fueled boasts drifting from the Lancaster’s boisterous patrons. Devil take it, she’d let the man rattle her. She had better things to do than dwell on his innuendo-laden warnings.
Balancing a tray of generously filled mugs on one upturned hand, she navigated the bustling crowd. A quartet of jovial gents offered enthusiastic thanks as they hoisted the steins to their mustachioed mouths. Smiling to herself, she gathered their empty glasses and hurried back to the bar.
“Miss Danvers, a word please.”
The polite request startled her so, she nearly tipped the tray to its side. Jack Trent. Again. Has the man gone utterly mad? He trailed her steps, so near she thought he might actually tread on her skirt.
Pivoting to face him, she kept her voice low and guarded. “What are you doing here? Surely you realize—”
“You need to get out of this pl
ace. Now.”
Jennie edged toward the bar. “You shouldn’t be here.”
His fingers closed over her forearm. “You need to come with me. Something’s happened.”
“Unhand me. You are drawing far too much attention.”
Jennie caught a glimpse of Matthew’s dark hair. Blast the luck! He cut through the crowd, heading straight toward them. The cold steel in his eyes reminded Jennie of the photos of his trial. A lethal edge, tightly leashed—but exceedingly dangerous.
“Keep your goddamned hands off her.”
Even as the tension in his grip dissolved, Trent regarded Matthew with a bland stare. “I don’t recall hearing the lady request your assistance.”
“You will keep your hands off her. Unless you intend to be carried out of here.”
Trent drew a cigarette from his pocket and struck a match against the wall. “You don’t intimidate me. If Scotland Yard doesn’t get you, Harwick will.” He dragged in a leisurely inhalation. “When it happens, I’ll be there to write the story.”
“Get the hell out of here before you write your next words from a hospital bed.”
“If that’s what it takes to get you locked away in a cage, it will be well worth it.” Jack turned, casting Jennie a glare over his shoulder. “Keep away from him. I’d hate to see your blood stain his hands.”
…
Jennie grabbed a rag and swiped at a spill on the counter while stealing a glance to the front entrance. Where in blazes had Matthew gone? He’d stormed out of the tavern not long after the exchange with Trent. Business matters, he’d explained tersely as the door swung shut behind his back. She could only pray his business had nothing to do with Jack Trent.
She was clearing a table when Matthew marched in, his charcoal overcoat unbuttoned and a black hat shading his features. He met her eyes for the briefest of moments, then headed straight for the bar. He exchanged a few brusque, quiet words with Harry. The frequent nods of the barkeeper’s head were clear indicators the conversation was not entirely social.
Carrying a tray laden with empty mugs, she approached the bar. Matthew stood with his back to her. Over his broad shoulder, she saw Harry’s usually jovial face creased with tension.
When a Lady Deceives (Her Majesty’s Most Secret Service) Page 22