Saving the Soldier's Heart (The Emerald Quest Book 2)

by Beckenham Jane

Her brows creased, exhaustion after her fearful encounter overriding her brain’s ability to comprehend even the simplest of sentences. “One...?”

  “Bed.”

  Reality hit. “Oh...”

  “Exactly and since we have both realized the foolishness of our, ah, earlier escapade, I think one bed is not a good idea.”

  His emerald gaze bored down on her. She could feel his heat, remembered his touch on her. His lips. Suddenly, it was as if the devil took hold of her. “Are you afraid that I will seduce you?”

  His brows rose and a prickle of heat shimmied up and down her spine.

  Good grief, had she really said that? It must have been exhaustion, or...stupidity, but she didn’t seem to be able to shut up. “Surely a big solider like you can protect himself from a mere female’s advances.”

  His head tipped sideways, the light in his eyes back. “You would make advances?”

  Her breath caught. “I…No. No. I certainly would not and you know that is not what I meant.”

  “Which was what, exactly?”

  “That we are two adults. Surely we can be...”

  “Adult about it.”

  Maggie clutched her handbag between them. Surely she could. Couldn’t she? “Yes. Yes, that’s what I meant.” Actually she wasn’t quite sure what she meant and wondered if she would regret her brazen words.

  “Absolutely.”

  Though Clayton agreed, Maggie heard the slightly hitched tone to his voice and she wasn’t quite convinced, which did nothing to dissolve her revived nerves. What made her more nervous was the reality of that moment. That she had liked Clayton’s kiss—and if he kissed her again she wouldn’t say no.

  This did not bode well.

  A few minutes later they made their way up in the lift. Maggie gripped the mahogany handrail as her stomach flip-flopped, seeming to be left behind. “Oh my.” She clamped a hand to her stomach, unable to contain a bubble of laughter. “It is rather an unusual sensation.”

  “Does that to all the first timers,” the lift operator advised. Dressed in a dark jacket decorated with enough gold braid to outdo a military general, he undertook his task with utmost proficiency. A few moments and then the conveyance eased to a halt. The metal door rolled back, followed by a wooden sliding door with its brass porthole styled window. The operator stood back. “Fifth floor, sir, madam. Your room is to the right.” He frowned, glancing to the carpeted floor. “Your luggage?”

  “We have none.”

  His heavy brows shot up, and Maggie clamped her jaw tight, refusing to disengage eye contact. The man thought she and Clayton were having an assignation.

  He offered a rather knowing look towards her. “Enjoy your stay.”

  “I’m sure we will.” Clayton’s tone was once more clipped. Obviously, he too had caught the man’s innuendo.

  Maggie followed Clayton down the hallway, marveling at the lush carpet underfoot and the elegant fittings and artwork. Such beauty she’d never seen before—except at Bellerose, and there it seemed to be hidden, shut away as if beauty were not allowed. Just as Clayton had shut himself away.

  As the door to their suite opened, Clayton stepped back. Determined not to show how nervous she was, she kept her back ramrod straight and her gaze fixed steadily on the room in front of her. And on the very large, and grandly appointed bed.

  She swallowed her renewed uncertainty. “It’s very beautiful.”

  “Large enough.”

  She rounded on him. “For what?”

  He glanced toward the bed. “For two people.”

  “Oh, no, no, no that is not going to happen.”

  “Really? So what do you expect me to do, Maggie?”

  “Sleep on the floor, of course.”

  Clayton snorted. “I’ve had my share of sleeping rough and vowed if I got out of those bloody trenches alive, I would not do so again.” He strode over to the bed and pulled the coverlet and sheet from the right side of the bed, tossing them to the left. “There! You use that as covering to keep your modesty intact and I’ll sleep here.”

  “But you’ll be close.” Far too close.

  He threw up his arms, frustration riding across his exhausted expression. “I’ll be dressed for god sake. Look I’m sorry. I’m tired, confused and more than a bit bloody furious. We’ve dug all day into this disaster and are no closer to figuring out what’s going on.”

  “Isn’t that the police’s task?”

  “True. But if Edward is behind this I want to get to him first.” He shrugged off his overcoat and dropped it onto a bentwood chair by the window, tossing his hat and his thick scarf with it. Sitting on the chair opposite he tugged at his shoelaces and slipped them off. “I can’t find him. Who knew we were staying at my place in Hanover Square, and why target me? And who the bloody hell are they anyway?”

  “You said they were trying to frighten you off. Is this the first time you’ve been back in London?”

  “Since my encounter with German shrapnel? Yes it is. And it sure bloody looks that way, doesn’t it? It seems my sudden appearance is going to put a hiccup in their operation.”

  “Hence their need to get rid of you.”

  “I didn’t fight four damned years in the trenches to run at the first whiff of trouble. I’m not going anywhere until Bellerose Trading is cleared. I’ll not have my name or my family’s business tainted.”

  Maggie tugged at her gloves and went to tuck them into her coat pocket, when the tiny metal button again rolled against her fingertips. She curled it into her palm and drew it out. “I meant to show you...” She clammed up. She had found something that at the moment meant nothing definite. Just suspicions. Intuition. Better to wait until what she thought could be a clue could be proven. She stuffed the button back in her pocket and taking her coat off, hung it up in the armoire provided. She slipped off her shoes.

  “Maggie?”

  She turned to him and his emerald gaze pinned her to the spot.

  “If there’s something I know about you, Miss Francis, it’s that you normally don’t hold back when you want to say something.”

  “You can’t call the last twenty-four hours normal.”

  “All the more reason to be straight with each other.”

  Hesitation held her captive for a heartbeat. “You’ll think me foolish.”

  “You? I very much doubt that. You’re the sanest person I know and forthright to boot, which I can certainly attest to since I’ve been on the receiving end of it many times in our short acquaintance.”

  Maggie overrode her indecision. “Very well, but don’t laugh.”

  Clayton’s mouth curved and he held his hands up in surrender. “I wouldn’t dare.”

  “You’re already starting.”

  “No, you’ve got me entirely intrigued.” He dropped his hands to his sides, shoving them into his trouser pocket. With his tie off and the top two buttons of his shirt undone, it gave him a rather swashbuckling appearance. Dashing and daring even.

  Her tummy did a tandem of flip-flops. Clayton Abbott was a soldier, brave, true…and haunted. Realizing she was simply staring at him, she tamped down her silly imaginings and walked to where she’d hung her coat up. She reached into the pocket and drew out the button, turned and held it out to Clayton. “I found this.”

  Clayton took the button from her, turning it around in his hand several times, and then gave it back. “It’s a Dinner Club jacket button. Have I lost one?"

  “No.”

  His brows creased. “So where did you find it?”

  “At Bellerose right beside where I’d left the diary.”

  “I thought you couldn’t find the diary.”

  “I couldn’t, and that’s the point. Whoever took the diary must have lost a button. It’s evidence.” Seeing Clayton’s skepticism, she pushed her point. “It has to be. It’s not from your jacket.”

  “Look, Maggie, I know you were enamored with Josephine’s diary, but right now I’ve got a bigger problem on my hands.
”

  Maggie’s fingers curled over the button and she stepped closer to Clayton, head back as she stared up at his somber expression. “I’m aware of that, but that’s the thing I’ve been trying to figure out. Somehow, the diary and the button and everything that has been going on are all linked together.”

  Clayton shook his head. “That seems highly improbable, and really you are stretching something to fit your fantasy.”

  Her fist curled over the button. “Fantasy! It’s no fantasy that a man held a knife to my throat earlier.”

  Clayton reached for her, hands resting on her shoulders as remorse darkened his eyes to the color of a winter forest. “I know and I’m so very sorry. I should never have brought you into this. Tomorrow, I’ll go out on my own.”

  Her idea dismissed as improbable, Maggie bit her tongue. She knew she was right. Call it intuition, or a hunch. All she had to do was figure out how the button, the diary, and Edward all fit together.

  He nodded toward the door that led to the bathroom. “You use it first. It has all the modern conveniences. Running hot and cold water, electricity. First hotel in the world, I believe, to be entirely electrified.”

  “Mod cons. How wonderful.” She walked to the bathroom, but halted before entering. She turned to Clayton. “There’s one thing more. Before that...that man attacked me, I went upstairs.”

  Clayton fixed tired eyes on her. “But I’d already searched the rooms upstairs.”

  “I know, but something told me to go up and look, too.”

  “Did you find anything?"

  “I did, though I don’t think you’ll like it. Edward’s Dinner Club jacket had been put atop a mannequin. It has a button missing.” On Clayton’s shock, Maggie closed the bathroom door, but for several minutes she couldn’t move and simply leaned against it. Intrigue. Danger. Knife attacks. Too much in one day.

  And then there’d been Clayton’s kiss.

  If only he hadn’t kissed her. And if only she hadn’t kissed him back, then these silly fantasies riding through her brain wouldn’t exist.

  Oh, yes they would.

  Those little flutters of fantasy had begun after she’d pushed Clayton to take walks to strengthen his leg, and to get him used to being outside. Once he had relaxed he had begun to talk, and laugh and suddenly the grumpy, angry man that had met her at the door that first evening, had dissolved. He had become human, almost. But in truth, it was only when no one else was around. The moment others entered his sphere, he would tense, wary of their reaction and he would tighten his scarf once more.

  But mostly she had begun to understand him, and like him, more than just a little.

  Knowing she couldn’t stay in the bathroom all night, she at last pushed away from the door, stripped and took a quick bath, forced to redress in the same clothes since everything had been destroyed in the flat. Tomorrow she’d need to buy a few things. Thankfully, she’d saved some of her wages, though she’d need to be frugal to make it last.

  Exhaling several short breaths to gain control of her nerves, Maggie opened the door to the bedroom. Clayton stood by the window staring out into the London darkness. He glanced at her over his shoulder.

  “I’ve finished.”

  He remained mute, and Maggie found herself increasingly unconformable. She quickly deposited her stockings into the armoire and made for the bed, tucking herself into the folded over blanket.

  Her heart hammered as if it were about to explode. She was not totally innocent. She had kissed Toby. She squeezed her eyes closed and clutched the coverings to her chest. She tried to remember him. His smile and laugh. His kisses.

  She remembered nothing.

  What she did remember, however, was Clayton’s kiss. The memory wouldn’t go away. She remembered the taste of his lips on hers. Remembered it, and wanted more.

  She tensed as the other side of the bed dipped and he got in.

  “You’re safe, Maggie. I’m not a beast about to deflower you.”

  She turned briefly, noting immediately that Clayton had removed his shirt, his chest bare and broad, muscles defined. Heat rampaged through her veins. “You are no beast Clayton Abbott. Neither in face, nor in temperament.”

  “Tell that to the child who screamed at me at the train station, at the pitying looks cast in my direction.”

  “Oh, Clayton. Don’t do this to yourself. You’ve got too much to live for.”

  “But I could lose it all if I don’t sort out this trouble.” He reached over to the lamp and flicked the switch, plunging the room into darkness.

  Maggie’s breath caught in her chest. She waited. Waited some more, then at last her anxiety abated and she relaxed, breathing steady.

  Beside her, she felt Clayton turn away and roll onto his side. “Good night, Maggie.”

  “Good night, Clayton.”

  But sleep didn’t come and Maggie shifted from the bed to walk on silent feet over to the window. She drew back the drapes a fraction and stared down at a sleeping London, taking comfort in the familiar chimney stacks and the towering edifice of St Paul’s Cathedral outlined in the inky night sky.

  Her mind whirred.

  The button. The diary. Tiger’s eyes. The Chinaman with his vicious blade.

  On the small mahogany table beside the chaise was the button. After Clayton’s rather dismissive comments on her basic detective work, she’d not bothered putting it back in her coat pocket, but had left it lying on the table.

  Now, she picked it up, fingers tracing the fine tooled detailed. Her nail tip caught in an indentation on the reverse side she’d not noticed before.

  She turned it over and peered at it, but there wasn’t enough light. Wanting to know what the indentation was, she retreated to the bathroom, closing the door as quietly as she could, and then turned on the light, never more grateful for modern trappings.

  Holding the button up to the light she again traced the carvings on his reverse side.

  They were initials. EHD!

  She was right! The initials were clearly visible.

  Joy bubbled in her chest and there in the silence of the bathroom, under the glare of the incandescent bulb, she did a little jig.

  A giggle fluttered from her lips and she quickly clamped a hand over her mouth. She didn’t want to wake up Clayton yet, not until she had it all figured out, because there had to be more.

  Opening the door, she peered across to the bed. He lay on his back, still deeply asleep and she exhaled her relief. Again she thought of her father and his belief in her intuition.

  It was a shame she hadn’t been intuitive the night he’d taken his life, or that he realized she would live. But no, he had thought all was lost and so he had left too, abandoning her.

  She shook those thoughts off. She couldn’t deal with that now. It hurt too much. Still.

  Beneath her coat was her bag. She grabbed it and headed back to the bathroom.

  Sitting herself on the tiled floor, she leaned against the bath with her legs out in front of her and emptied the piles of invoices Clayton had passed to her to read through. There had to be something there.

  Edward.

  The button.

  The diary.

  The opium.

  The Chinaman.

  It was a puzzle with missing pieces, or more like the dots that connected it were jumbled. Maggie, however, was determined to figure it out.

  For the next hour she went through the paperwork. Nothing seemed unusual. Invoices for boxes and boxes of tea. Then there were the two new companies and the dates Clayton had copied from the back of the notebook. Then she saw it. A faint ink mark, like a stamp on a piece of paper. It wasn’t an invoice, but a piece off a label and folded inside an invoice from one of the regular clients.

  Retrieving it, she held the paper up to the light, peering at the strange insignia.

  The lines were not quite distinct. She traced it with a fingertip several times trying to envisage what was missing.

  Her breath caught. T
here it was. A tiger!

  Her blood ran cold and the scrap of paper fell from her fingertips.

  She had been so determined she would find the link to all this mess, but now fear crawled up her spine.

  She was right. It was like A, B, C, all connected to reach the same answer.

  She snatched up the scrap of paper and raced from the bathroom and across the bedroom, jumping onto the bed. “I told you, Clayton Abbott. I told you. Wake up.”

  Clayton bolted upright, and even in the dim rays of the moonlight sneaking in from the partially drawn curtains his expression morphed instantly into fear. “Maggie, what the hell.”

  Contrition took hold and she reached out to him, caressing the length of his bare arm. Heat scalded her fingertips and she pulled away.

  “Bloody hell, woman, what are you playing at?”

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to alarm you. But I’m solving the crime, that’s what.”

  “In the middle of the night?”

  “Oh don’t be a stick in the mud, it’s only gone midnight.”

  “And I need my beauty sleep.”

  She shoved the paper toward him. “I told you I would sort it out. I told you.”

  A sleepy-eyed Clayton stared at the papers in his lap. “And?”

  She offered a satisfied grin. “I have.”

  “When did you do this?”

  “Just now. I...um, I couldn’t sleep.” She glanced away briefly because she certainly wasn’t about to tell him why she couldn’t sleep. Okay, so it was partially to do with trying to figure out the entire goings on, but really, truly, it was because of the man who had been lying next to her. Because she’d liked his kiss.

  “It’s like ABC, or 123.”

  Clayton frowned, clearly not understanding.

  She leaned closer and held out the paper with the tiger stamp mark. “See.” She pointed to it. “This was hidden behind an invoice. It’s one of the companies you said were written in the back of the notebook.”

  “And?”

  She had to make him understand. “Edward is gambling.”

  “Apparently so.”

  “Remember the state of his home. Antiques missing, artwork missing. Do you think he could have sold them off?”