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

by Beckenham Jane

  Clayton rubbed fisted hands over his eyes. “It’s possible.” He clearly still needed to be convinced.

  She tried harder. “He needs money.”

  “I pay him well enough.”

  “But well enough is never enough if he’s gambling. Let’s say he has big debts.”

  Clayton frowned, shaking his head. “No, I can’t believe it.”

  She shuffled closer. “Hear me out.”

  “We’ve known each other since childhood.”

  “Charlie said Edward’s father and grandfather were gamblers. Edward needs money. The diary talks of emeralds and he seemed rather interested in them.”

  “But no one knows where they are.”

  “Suppose he thinks he can find them, follow the clues, and so on.”

  Clayton leaned back against the headboard, folding his hands behind his head, his chest bared.

  Maggie’s lips suddenly felt deprived of moisture.

  His mouth turned downward. “Okay, so it’s possible.”

  That Clayton conceded offered her some relief, though it proved short lived as he again countered her argument.

  “It doesn’t mean he’s in with the opium dealers.”

  “But if he is in debt because of his gambling, he needs money fast. Maybe he’s letting them use Bellerose’s premises for a cash payment. Maybe Edward’s debtors put pressure on him. The only way out is to get money fast. That’s where the emeralds come in.”

  Dismay and hurt flittered across Clayton’s somber eyes, and for the first time Maggie felt sorry for him. Sorry that he’d been deceived by someone he’d considered a friend.

  She continued because he needed to understand. “The Chinese man mentioned tiger’s eyes and he wore a chain around his neck with some sort of symbol on it. I didn’t know what it was at first.”

  “But now you do.”

  She grinned, and then stifled it, because with each word she was condemning his friend. “Dead right, I do.” She pointed again to the paper lying in Clayton’s lap. “That stamp there, I know it’s hard to decipher, but I would bet—pardon the pun—my last farthing that the symbol is the same as what my attacker wore.”

  “So he represents the company. Nice company.”

  “Yes, well. It seems that your dear friend, Lord Hindmarch is using your premises to store opium for others. They pay him, and he gambles the money away. Like father, like son. Now one of the boxes has gone missing and the opium dealers are after him too. They want their box and Edward’s dangled the promise of emeralds in front of their greedy noses.”

  “That’s purely supposition.”

  “I know, but if we find Edward, and you put a little pressure on him, then I’m sure he’ll confess.”

  “You think it that simple?”

  She fixed her gaze firmly on Clayton. “No I don’t. Nothing in life is simple, but what else have we got? We need his confession to save the Bellerose name.”

  “There is a small link, but possible, but…”

  “Probable,” she countered with a sad smile.

  Clayton went silent for a moment, and then without warning he reached for her hands and held them in his. “Thank you, Maggie. You really are quite unique.”

  She didn’t pull away. “Is that a way of saying I’m odd?”

  He smiled then, and her heart did that funny little flutter again. “No, definitely not. Just rather wonderful. You come into my life and boss me around and then you set to solving a mystery that doesn’t really involve you.”

  “Of course it does. Besides, I want to read more about Josephine. She’s the unique one. I want the diary back.”

  He lifted her hands to his lips and her heart skipped more than one beat. He pressed his lips to her palms and her cheeks burned, excitement tangling in the pit of her belly.

  “I...I think you need to go back to sleep, Clayton.” Kiss me! Please!

  He sat back a fraction and she took the opportunity to gently pull her hands free of his, even though she didn’t want to. “You did say you needed your beauty sleep.”

  “Why, you little minx.” He made a grab for her but she scooted off the bed and went to turn the light out. She hesitated a moment. “Back on your own side of the bed, Mr. Abbott.”

  “Spoilsport.”

  “I thought my title was bossy.”

  “Exactly.”

  She switched the light out and eased back under the bedcovers.

  “Thank you, Maggie...and thank you for reminding me to be a gentleman.”

  “You’re welcome.” But what she really wanted to say was, it wasn’t okay, because right now she wouldn’t mind another kiss from Clayton Abbott, at all.

  Chapter Twelve

  In his entire life, slumber had never taken on such erogenous proportions. Clayton dared not breathe, or move, so comfortable was he with Maggie snuggled up to his back.

  Her left hand lay across his middle, her thumb idly caressing his belly. With each stroke she shifted lower and his breath hitched, along with another particular part of his anatomy.

  She was asleep of course. He knew that. He also knew that if she woke and found herself snuggled up to him, all hell would break loose. But he didn’t want to move either, because her feather-light touch aroused him further and...dear God, much more and he would not be able to resist.

  While he dared not make a sound, her breathing fluttered from her lips, a soft exhalation that teased the back of his neck.

  Temptation took over and he shifted slightly.

  Mistake!

  She awoke with a start. “You! What are you doing?”

  “Getting comfortable.” He turned to face her fully. Her hair was splayed out across the pillow, a stark contrast of rich auburn against the crisp white linen. His gaze lowered a fraction and he spied her décolleté that was not quite covered.

  Oh, hell!

  Clayton swallowed hard, determined for Maggie’s sake not to alert her to her state of dress–or undress.

  “You were touching me.”

  His mouth hitched. “Au contraire. The truth is, you were touching me, and very delightful it was, too.”

  “Oh, that is ridiculous.” But she blushed as she realized the veracity of his words, and shifted away.

  He wished she hadn’t. “Maggie.”

  She didn’t answer, but shuffled closer to the edge of the bed and kept her gaze lowered.

  He tried again. “Maggie, I’m sorry if you think I took advantage of our situation, but it is the truth. I awoke to your caress.”

  She linked her fingers together and he saw her visibly swallow. “It should not have happened.”

  “No. You are right. I promised to be a gentleman, but I will admit I do not regret waking to such temptation.”

  She said nothing. Her body rigid.

  “Turn around, Maggie.”

  Her gaze speared him, silently accusing and full of suspicion. “Why?”

  “Because morning is still some time away and I think we should go back to sleep.”

  Eyes darkened to the deepest sapphire, she hesitated a moment, her teeth scraping across her bottom lip. Several heartbeats passed, and then with a silent nod she turned her back to him.

  Clayton exhaled his frustration. How her body heat teased him. His resistance crumbled and he reached an arm across her, resting it gently at her waist. At his touch she stiffened and he waited for her protest.

  It didn’t come and after some minutes her breathing eased and she relaxed beneath his embrace and leaned back against him as sleep took her.

  Clayton usually fought sleep, for he did not want his tortured dreams, but with Maggie in his arms, for the first time in months he fell into a deep slumber, his dreams not daring to visit.

  ***

  Waking after the most refreshing sleep Maggie could ever remember, she raised her arms above her head and, her toes pointing south, stretched. Relaxed and revived, her arms dropped to her side, only to feel the pillow beside her. Her eyes widened, body heating
in an instant as she suddenly remembered where she was. She bolted upright, and then fell back down again and yanked the sheet up to her chin. She turned slightly and stared at the other side of the bed.

  The empty side of the bed.

  Clayton was not there and a surprising frisson of disappointment spiraled through her. She thrust it away.

  This cannot go on. No more fantasy. He’s my employer, that’s all.

  And he’d left her. After all she’d told him last night, the blasted man had gone off on his own. How could he?

  Tossing the covers back, she exited the bed, fuming as she stormed back and forth across the room, ranting about inconsiderate men while the sad, familiar feeling of abandonment overrode all sensible thought. She came to a halt in front of the full-length cheval and shook her head.

  Had she served her purpose? She’d given him the clues he needed to sort out this current disaster. So what else did he need Maggie Francis for?

  She spun away from her reflection, only to come face to face with the bed.

  Heat flooded her cheeks and her nipples pebbled beneath her clothing as she remembered his kiss. She swallowed back the lump in her throat and turned away. “Well, Mr. Abbott, there’ll be no more kisses.”

  Just then, there was a knock at the door. “If you’ve forgotten your key, Clayton Abbott...” She should make him stay outside, but instead she strode to the door and yanked it open.

  It wasn’t Clayton however, but a maid in a pristine black and white uniform. “Breakfast, Madame.” The young woman wheeled in a trolley decked out with silver service.

  “But I didn’t order.”

  “Mr. Abbott ordered it before he left.”

  Before he left.

  With efficiency the young woman set the trolley by the window overlooking a waking London and with a small smile, she left.

  She stared at the trolley and a sour taste swirled around her mouth. The thought of eating food right now turned her stomach. What she needed was some fresh air—and to figure out what she was going to do today.

  Running a brush through her hair, she tried to straighten her clothes as best she could, then grabbed her coat and hat, and slipped her feet into her shoes. She took a quick look out the window. It was a gray day, as gray and dismal as her mood. How appropriate.

  Then she spied him.

  Clayton stood at the corner of the hotel forecourt, arms folded across his chest, staring up the street.

  Maggie leaned against the window, a hand automatically held up as if she were about to wave to him, but then pulled back.

  She would go downstairs. She wasn’t about to let him go off and solve this mystery on his own. Definitely not.

  Going down the lift a second time did not diminish the exotic experience for Maggie. The same gentleman was operating the controls as previously. He nodded to her as she entered.

  “Morning, Miss.”

  “Good morning.”

  “Not with your...ah gentleman friend, then?” He eyed her ungloved hands and his brows rose a fraction, his expression clearly that he thought her a fallen woman.

  Maggie pushed her shoulders back and gave him a beaming smile as she put her gloves on. “No, he’s already left.”

  Heaven! That sounded worse.

  The bell pinged as the lift arrived at the ground floor. She nodded to the operator. “Good day to you.”

  He winked at her. “You too, miss.”

  Cheeks scarlet, but determined to hold her head high, Maggie walked across the lobby and headed out the main door. The doorman held the door open for her, tipping his gold braided cap at her. “A taxi, ma’am.”

  “No, My friend is just over there.” She glanced to the corner of the forecourt, but Clayton had disappeared.

  Maggie frowned. Where had he gone?

  She walked to the corner and was about to turn when she heard a voice. Her stomach soured.

  “Did the box get stored?”

  “Aye, all sorted, sir.”

  “Good.”

  Maggie strained to listen without having to come out from hiding.

  “There’ll be plenty more where that comes from and it’s worth a packet.”

  More? What does he want with more opium?

  Just then Clayton glanced over Charlie’s shoulder and caught sight of her. The cast of something hidden washed across his hooded gaze. “Maggie, what are you doing here?”

  She stepped forward and returned his inspection with a scathing glare. “Why? Don’t you want me listening in on your conversation?”

  Clayton went to speak, but she interrupted him before he uttered a sound. “The two of you should be ashamed of yourself playing with that poison.”

  Scarlet whorls stood out against Charlie’s pasty completion. “Pardon, Miss?”

  “Oh you both can play the innocent, but I heard you talking. Now you’ve got your hands on that opium, you’ve decided it’s a good deal. Easy money.” She sniffed her disgust.

  Clayton stepped toward her but she held up a hand to stall him. He glanced over his shoulder at Charlie. “I think it best you leave. Miss Francis and I have something to discuss.”

  “Well you can forget that, because I’m not discussing anything with you.”

  “Go inside, Maggie.”

  “And don’t you tell me what to do, Clayton Abbott.”

  He grabbed at her wrist, holding it in a vice-like grip. “I believe I’m still your employer. Let’s go back upstairs, and we’ll have a chat.”

  She held him off. “I don’t want to chat.”

  The Bellerose foreman looked decidedly unnerved and tipped his cap at them both. “I’ll keep what you said in mind, sir.” He spun away and departed as quickly as he could.

  “Ready?” Clayton leaned into her, but she spun from his hold.

  “The two of you seem to be hatching schemes.”

  “It’s not what it seems.”

  She sniffed her disgust. “That’s what the guilty always say.”

  Clayton followed her up the steps of the Savoy, the door opened once more by the doorman, and then he hesitated. “Go upstairs, Maggie. I’ll be there in a few minutes.” He walked over to the reception desk, offering the young woman behind the counter a beaming smile. The woman simpered.

  Maggie gritted her fury and headed to the lift.

  The moment she entered and spied the operator’s blatant inspection, however, she wished she’d taken the stairs.

  While he closed the dual door system, she kept her eyes fixed straight ahead and her mouth closed.

  Back up onto the fifth floor she went to step out of the conveyance.

  “Didn’t you find him then?”

  Her footfall stalled and she struggled to keep her tone bland. “That’s none of your concern.”

  “If you’re free, I finish at noon.” He offered her another wink.

  Maggie’s jaw dropped, but a heartbeat later she averted her gaze, said absolutely nothing and headed back inside her room, closing the door with a resounding thud.

  She tossed her bag onto the bed. Her coat and gloves followed and she sank down into a cushioned chair. She hugged her arms around her middle, because despite the radiator heating the room she felt chilled to the bone.

  A few minutes later the door to their room opened and Clayton boldly walked in. Maggie jumped from her seat.

  “You can’t fool me, Clayton Abbott. I’m not some weak-kneed female who can’t see the wood for the trees. I can see this forest quite clearly. You think you’re onto a good thing with this opium. Easy to take over where Edward left off and carry on importing that poisonous powder. Make a few extra pounds.”

  Fury darkened his face, his mouth grim and the whitened thread of his facial wounds stark. “Are you quite finished?”

  No, she wasn’t. “Opium, for God’s sake! And you had me believing Edward was the bad guy. Hah!” Her own fury burned deep, but mostly she was angry with herself for being duped, for wanting to believe she had found a new home, a new
start in life. A place she thought she might belong.

  Some fantasy!

  He’d destroyed her faith in him. She dropped her arms to her side and pushed her shoulders back. “There’s nothing left to say.”

  “I think there is.”

  “They’ll just be excuses, so don’t bother.” She reached for her coat, and about to put it on, there was a sudden knock at the door.

  “I think this might explain where I’ve been.” Clayton strode to the door and yanked it open.

  A woman dressed in the most elegant attire Maggie had ever seen, her blond tresses secured in a French knot, and mouth glossed in a cupid’s bow, stood in the doorway.

  French. Elegant, Chic. And perfect.

  Everything she wasn’t.

  Without thinking Maggie’s hand grazed down the length of her wrinkled dress.

  An assortment of bags and boxes were at her feet while she carried several notably expensive bags from couture houses.

  “I have been asked to deliver these, Monsieur.”

  Clayton stood back and the woman walked in while he gathered up the other boxes and deposited them on the bed.

  Maggie felt the woman’s eyes raze over her.

  “Yes, yes, I think everything will be perfect.” She nodded with a smile. “Just perfect.” She turned to Clayton, her smile that little bit brighter. “Will that be all?”

  “I think so. Thank you for such prompt service.” Clayton held out a hand and a tip.

  Her long lashes lowered seductively and she took the money. Her free hand rested on his upper arm. “Not a problem, Monsieur. It was a pleasure.”

  Pleasure!

  Maggie gritted her teeth. The woman was flirting with Clayton and he was lapping it up. But then why shouldn’t he? She had no hold on him.

  The woman left and Clayton turned to her. “You look shocked.”

  Maggie dragged her gaze from the closed door. “Shocked that you’re dealing in opium. I’d say that’s more than a shock.”

  “Don’t you trust me?”

  Did she? She thought she had.

  “I’m not dealing in the bloody stuff.”

  “But I heard…Charlie said there’s more. You have more.”

  “You heard only half a conversation. Of course there’s more. Those bastards will always have more. They’re hell bent on bringing in, what you rightly term poison, into England. But at least they won’t have this box. Charlie and I have stashed it. If they want it, they’ll have to come and get it.”