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

by Tara Kingston

  “We’ve known each other for so long. It never occurred to me to be on alert with you.” The words felt like a lie.

  “But you don’t know me at all, do you now, Jennie?” An emotion she couldn’t read transformed his handsome features to an unfeeling mask. “You’ve always been a clever girl. But not as clever as you think.”

  She edged away from him. “What are you talking about?”

  He met her question with a thoughtful nod. His eyes went cold. Hard. “I must admit, I am in your debt. Finding that book has made my task considerably easier.”

  She slid one hand inside her cloak, seeking the feel of her pistol against her fingertips. “We work well together.”

  “Don’t bother. It’s not there.” One corner of his mouth lifted with cool amusement. He dangled her weapon in front of her face.

  “You couldn’t possibly think I’d use it on you.”

  Trent emptied the chambers and hurled the gun at Mary’s portrait, shattering the glass. “I don’t believe in taking chances. I’ll have that book now.”

  Jennie retreated, inching toward the dressing room. She dug her fingers into the leather binding. “We don’t even know what we have yet.”

  “I do.” He prowled toward her, barricading her against the wall. “I need that journal. Now. For a clever girl, you can be tiresomely slow.”

  Jennie forced her fear to a dark corner of her mind. No sense giving him that advantage. “Good heavens, Jack. What’s come over you?”

  “I’m not sure you really want an answer to that question.” His eyes gleamed with a darkness that seemed foreign to him. “Blasted shame how many people had to die because Mary McDaniel made her confessions in that book instead of church.”

  Jennie’s insides twisted like a writhing serpent. “My God, it was you. You killed her.”

  He met her accusation with a nonchalant rise and fall of his shoulders. “The lying bitch gave me no choice.”

  The world swayed beneath Jennie’s feet. “Please tell me this is a horrid trick.”

  He drew his finger across her cheek in a travesty of a caress. “She didn’t trust anyone.”

  “Why?” Jennie demanded. “Why would you kill her?”

  “Ever curious, Jennie. Or should I call you Virginia?”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  “You…you wrote those notes.” Jennie took a step back, then another. She’d trusted Jack Trent. How very foolish she’d been.

  “Ah, you finally figured that out. Good for you.”

  “I never dreamed you were so theatrical.” She kept her tone calm and steady as she studied him. What was his next move?

  “Those messages added the perfect element of drama to our thickening plot.” His words dripped with mockery. “A madman running about, killing pretty, defenseless women. I might even parlay this story into my own Ripper sensation. Pity I couldn’t frighten you off. I thought the notes would set you into a stir.”

  “I don’t run from threats. You should know that.”

  “And that, precisely, is why you are a problem. I’d hoped you wouldn’t have to join the others.”

  The walls began to spin. Jennie pulled in air, bracing herself against the horror and shock. “You killed all those women.”

  He nodded. How she yearned to slap the smug half smile from his face.

  “Mary was the first. And that pretty waif who lived in your building. Sally, I think, her name was. The little strumpet actually thought I might keep her around.” He stared at his hands. His fingers clenched. “I strangled her, but the bitch wouldn’t die. She seemed small. Frail. But she was a fighter. Still, finishing her off wasn’t as much a challenge as silencing Mary. I suppose the first is always the hardest. I don’t enjoy the feel of blood on my hands.”

  An invisible vise clenched Jennie’s lungs. Each breath seemed a labored gasp. “And the girl I worked with at the tavern, Lizzy Stewart—”

  Trent’s raw laugh cut through the quiet. “Mary McDaniel was quite the talker. She spent hours at the Lancaster running her mouth. Lizzy knew too much. So did the harlot from the Palace. I couldn’t have them carrying tales.”

  “So you butchered them.” She could scarcely hear her own words for the blood roaring in her ears.

  “They didn’t suffer. Except for Mary. I must say, I made rather a mess of that one. I hadn’t planned to kill her.” He rubbed his jaw, his other hand balling into a fist at the recollection. “She brought it on herself. The bitch cut me.”

  Good for her. Jennie swept away the thought. “Why would she do such a thing?”

  “I knew Mary planned to meet you that night. I’d been in London for a few weeks, and we had come to an arrangement. But the tart thought to betray me. I intended to rough her up, just enough to scare her.” He stared past Jennie, as if he was replaying the scene in his mind. “She had a knife, a ridiculous little blade. If she thought I’d skulk away, she was wrong. I took it from her dainty hand and slit her throat before she even had a chance to scream.”

  The cold hatred in his eyes chilled Jennie even more than his confession. A nauseating bitterness seared her throat. “And Bond?”

  “Harwick thought Bond had the diary. The lying sot led us on. If he knew where she’d hidden it, he kept her secret. Even when he had a gun to his head. I didn’t have a choice with that one. If I’d let him live, the Yard would have fished me out of the Thames by now. Harwick doesn’t care for loose ends.”

  Jennie’s stomach clenched. Much more, and she’d cast up the few bites of food she’d managed the night before. Trent sounded so reasonable, so logical. How could she have known him for years and never detected this ruthlessness?

  Casual as a beau on a Sunday stroll, he threaded his fingers around a tendril of hair that had escaped Jennie’s haphazard coif. “Such a damnable shame you couldn’t keep your nose out of this ugly business.”

  She jerked away. “You murdered those people. Because of a diary.”

  “No, Jennie. Over a fortune. Harwick has promised me a king’s ransom.”

  “Good God, what is in that book?”

  “I don’t know, and I don’t give a damn. I offered Harwick a service. He accepted my terms.”

  She took a step in retreat. “Once he gets his hands on it, he’ll silence you.”

  He slowly shook his head. “After I collect payment, I’ll embark upon an extended holiday on the Continent. I’ll wire him the location of the book once I’m safely out of his reach.”

  “Harwick agreed to that?”

  “Those were my terms. If you’d been more…cooperative…we might have taken the spoils of my misdeeds and enjoyed them together.” He shackled her wrist within his strong fingers and dragged her to him. “There’s passion beneath that prim veneer. You spent enough time in Colton’s bed to prove you’re not the cold fish you pretend to be.”

  She wrenched against his hold. “Take your hands off me, you blackguard.”

  “I really should thank you,” Trent went on. “I hadn’t planned to set up Colton. When the two of you ventured into Bond’s home, it seemed Christmas had come early.” His fingertips traced tiny circles over the pulse point beneath Jennie’s ear. “An anonymous tip to the Yard was all it took to set the police on Colton’s trail.”

  “How fortuitous for you,” she gritted, wriggling away from his touch.

  “Now that bastard is out of the way. I considered implicating you, but I needed to learn what you knew.”

  “You would have found the book on your own.”

  “Undoubtedly. But your insight sped the process considerably. You knew how the trollop thought.”

  Steeling herself against another violent lurch of her stomach, Jennie scanned the dimly lit corridor for something—anything—she could use to defend herself. Trent would tire of his confession soon enough. And then, he’d silence her.

  His mouth hitched at the corners. “You keep looking at an unloaded pistol as if it’s the key to your salvation. Do you think to bash my brains
in with it?”

  Actually, she’d smash the cur’s nose first. Disable him with pain. But Trent was quick-witted and strong. She stiffened her spine. Any sign of fear was dangerous. He was enjoying himself too much to end this ugly game. As long as he was talking, she still had a chance.

  “You could leave. I’m in no position to stop you. You have what you want.”

  He slowly shook his head. “I’ve wanted you, Jennie. For so long. But you didn’t know I was alive. You dirtied yourself with that piece of filth.”

  “It doesn’t have to be that way. I’m here with you now.” The words tasted foul on her tongue.

  “It’s too late for that.” He withdrew the knife from his pocket. Evil amusement lit his gaze. “You think I’ll cut you?”

  “The possibility had occurred to me.” She infused her voice with ice.

  “I’ve no intention of spilling your blood. I’ll prove it.” With that, he sent the knife clattering down the corridor behind him. “Better?”

  Her palms went clammy. Biting her bottom lip, she forced herself to meet his gaze. “Yes.”

  “Liar. You don’t trust me. Not that I blame you.” His hands moved to the fastener that secured her cloak. “Perhaps I should have a taste of what you gave that thug.”

  He tugged on the closure and sent her cape pooling to her feet. The harsh set of his mouth quirked. So, he’d expected her to recoil. As she moistened her lips, his eyes followed the small movement. She pressed her palms against the hard center of his chest, willing herself to be still. Willing herself not to push him away. Not yet.

  His scent washed over her. So similar to the bayberry shaving soap Matthew favored. Yet somehow, so very different. His hands coiled around a skein of her hair, violently yanking her back. Tears of pain and fear and anger pricked her eyes, but she blinked them back. Damned if she’d shed them for this duplicitous jackal.

  “Is this how you turned Colton into your lapdog?” His contempt-filled words unleashed a fresh wave of fear.

  She shoved him then. Hard. The heels of her hands slammed into his chest. She drove the toe of her boot into his shin. With a growl of anger and pain, he released her. She ran, but he chased her down, dragging her backward against his long, lean body.

  “People saw me leave with you,” she murmured.

  He coiled one hand around her throat. “You have a known penchant for roaming about late at night. Your excursions are not a secret. Your death will make the front page. Intrepid reporter killed by a madman. I’ll even write the story.”

  The calculated evil in his tone thrust like a dagger through her entrails. The scoundrel was enjoying every minute of this game, toying with her like a cat with a captive mouse.

  He released her. Stripping off his scarf, he looped each end over his hands. An evil twist curved his mouth as he advanced on her. “I would have savored the chance to get you on your back. But I can’t let you go carrying tales.”

  She edged toward the dressing room. The lamp she’d left on Mary’s desk would serve as a weapon. If she could reach it.

  Steps from the room, he caught her. Forcing her to face him, he coiled the scarf around her neck. The fabric went taut around her airway. Each breath became more futile. She clawed at the garrote. He studied her, as if she were a specimen in a macabre experiment. A malevolent smile curved his mouth. “I didn’t want it to come to this, but now, I believe I will rather enjoy watching you die.”

  He pulled the cloth tighter. Tighter. Stars exploded behind her eyes. She had to get away before unconsciousness pulled her under.

  Her fingers brushed the lamp. He yanked her away from the desk. “Always the clever one,” he said, each word laced with contempt.

  Keeping the constricting fabric around her throat, he slid one hand into his pocket, withdrew a folding knife, and opened it. Lamplight flickered off the curved steel. Madness flashed in his eyes.

  “I lied to you, Jennie. I do intend to shed your blood. That other knife…a mere toy compared to this one. If I’d had this the night I killed that theater wench, the event would have been even more memorable. You, my dear Miss Quinn, will be a work of art.”

  Terror slid through her veins, icy and sharp and agonizing. He’d acquired a taste for killing. She must get away.

  She flailed against his hold. Her elbow crashed into metal—the knight’s costume Trent had bumped into when they’d first entered the chamber. The clang vibrated in her ears. A glint of light caught her eye. The blunt stage sword, propped against the wall behind the armor. Stretching to reach it, she worked her fingers around the handle. A weapon of desperation.

  Clutching the prop in her clenched hand, she drove the thick, dull blade into his belly. Ummmph. He loosened his grasp on the scarf around her throat and grabbed at her hand.

  Dragging in air, she plowed the sword forward into his gut. Harder. Then again, she slammed the prop into his body. Lower, this time. Into that most vulnerable part of a man’s anatomy.

  Doubling over, he cried out. She broke away.

  His voice hoarse with pain, he called after her. “You will regret that, you little bitch.”

  Jennie didn’t look back. She ran. Down the stairs. Through the lobby. To the door. She’d blend into the crowd outside the theater and get away.

  Heavy footsteps closed in. Damn these skirts!

  Large, strong hands clamped over her shoulders. She clawed for the door latch, but her fingertips only grazed the metal. Powerful arms yanked her back.

  “No!” The word tore from her throat.

  Unyielding fingers over her mouth silenced her. Hard. Rough. “I’d kill ye right here if Harwick didn’t want ye breathin’. Now stop yer flailin’ about.”

  The man known at the Lancaster as Mr. Leonard dragged her along. Behind them, Trent’s uneven strides grew louder. Closer. Mr. Leonard stilled. Clutching Jennie in the vise of his arms, he turned to face him.

  Anger darkened Trent’s eyes. “What the bloody hell are you doing? I had the situation well in hand.”

  “Harwick sent me t’follow ye. In case ye found yerself in need of assistance.”

  Trent’s lip curled in derision. “I have the book. I don’t need your bloody assistance handling a woman.”

  “Ye were goin’ t’kill her.” Jennie couldn’t see Mr. Leonard’s face, but she heard the cold disgust in his voice. “Harwick ain’t gonna like that.”

  “The bitch didn’t give me a choice.” Apprehension permeated Trent’s explanation. Was the note of fear genuine? Or merely another disguise?

  “She’s no good t’anybody if she’s dead. Ye know what Harwick wants.”

  “She knows what I did…she knows everything.” Trent snatched a revolver from beneath his jacket. “Step away from her. I’ll take care of this problem.”

  Mr. Leonard shook his head. “I’m not gonna do that. Not for a sniveling dog like yerself.”

  “You cannot let her walk away from this place. What she knows will destroy us.”

  “Bugger off.” Mr. Leonard pulled Jennie toward the door.

  “I can’t let you do that. The bitch needs to die.” Trent leveled the pistol at her torso. Desperation blazed in his eyes.

  A violent current of fear whipped through her. Trapped in Leonard’s arms, she was an easy target. Trent would kill them both. He’d do whatever it took to preserve his own miserable hide.

  Her palms went clammy. A bead of moisture trickled between her breasts. For his part, Mr. Leonard laughed, a harsh, brutal sound.

  “Ye think to threaten me, do ye? Bloody Christ, do ye have manure filling that head of yers?”

  “Walk away,” Trent ground the words between his teeth. “Before I put a slug in your gut.”

  Mr. Leonard went still. “That’s not going to happen.”

  A shot exploded in Jennie’s ears. Her knees buckled. Only the hulking man’s iron grip kept her from collapsing.

  Jack Trent’s mouth gaped open. He stared dully at the blotch of red on his chest. His gaze d
arted to the gun in his hand. The pistol clattered to the floor.

  He pitched forward. Blood pooled around him. The slight twitch of his feet offered the only sign of life.

  Jennie gulped in air. Around her, the world seemed to tilt. A foul taste assaulted her tongue, and she struggled to retain her dignity.

  The redheaded scarecrow from the Lancaster stepped from the shadows. Cathcart squatted beside Trent’s body and searched his jacket. Confiscating the diary, he flashed a grin.

  “Harwick’s gonna be real happy about this. And now he’s got one less son of a bitch t’pay.”

  “Keep an eye out while I get her to the carriage,” Mr. Leonard bit out the order. He dipped his head, speaking against Jennie’s ear. “If ye want to still look pretty when Colton shows up, ye’d better cooperate. Harwick wants ye breathin’. He didn’t say nothin’ about not hurtin’ ye.”

  An immense black carriage shuttered with heavy curtains waited at the curb as the thugs led Jennie from the theater. Her conveyance to a fresh hell at Harwick’s hands, no doubt. So, they intended to use her as bait to lure Matthew into a trap.

  “Get in.” Mr. Leonard barked the words against her ear. He’d taken his hand from her mouth, keeping one thick arm linked with hers like a manacle.

  “He won’t come after me.” She met his shark-dull eyes. “He escaped last night. He’s probably on his way across the Channel by now.”

  Mr. Leonard shrugged his massive shoulders. “That’s for Harwick to figure out. All I care about is getting ye to him.”

  “So you’re Harwick’s servant? I’d think a man like you would have his own enterprises rather than taking orders from a cur like Harwick who doesn’t like to get his hands dirty.”

  He gave his head a grim shake. “I’ll knock ye flat, missy. Now shut yer trap and get in the coach.”

  “I won’t go along with this. You’ll have to kill me. After all, that’s what’s going to happen in the end.”

  “Bloody hell, the bastard deserves ye,” he muttered. “Ye’re just making it hard on yerself.”

  With that, he caught Jennie in his arms and hauled her off her feet. A scream escaped her, only to be stifled by the pressure of his hold against her mouth. A fresh bolt of fear energized her. She had to escape this brute and his wharf-rat of a partner.