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

by Beckenham Jane

  “What? You’re playing games with them.”

  His mouth thinned. “A deadly game, but one I intend to win.”

  Her brows shot up “Good grief. You’re mad.”

  “You don’t have to worry, Maggie. It’s all in hand.”

  “And don’t you be so condescending. I’m not some weakling.”

  His grim demeanor dissolved and he eyed her for a few silent seconds. “No you’re not. You’re a rather remarkable woman.

  His hands slipped to her shoulders and she looked up into his eyes. “I woke and you were gone.”

  Waking up alone, after not feeling alone since the moment she’d arrived at Bellerose had slammed home the fact that she really was alone and merely an employee. Nothing more.

  She was tired of being alone. Of coping. Of being abandoned by all those she trusted.

  Toby had gone to war. He’d been her childhood friend, like a brother in some ways, but she had loved him, though as the war had progressed she wasn’t certain it was the same sort of love that Toby had confessed to her the day he’d shipped out.

  He’d promised to come back to her—and hadn’t, lost on a battlefield to the vultures and mud.

  Then her father, the man she had thought would always protect her, had abandoned her at her darkest hour.

  The onset of sudden tears blinded her, and she only wished they would wash away the day, the fear and the uncertainty.

  “Maggie?”

  Clayton’s voice registered in her brain and slowly she woke back in the moment.

  “Am I forgiven?”

  “Only if you promise not to leave me out of what’s going on.”

  “You and I, Maggie, we are a team.”

  A team? That sounded pretty darn good.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Sherlock Holmes and Watson. It could be rather fun.”

  Clayton’s humor sobered. “What it is, is dangerous. Don’t ever forget that.” His gaze dropped to the blade nick at her throat and automatically her hand went to it.

  “No. I won’t forget.” She couldn’t. That moment would be with her for a long time.

  Clayton drew away from her then and shifted towards the bed. “Now for something far more enjoyable.”

  Maggie’s gaze locked on him as he stood beside the still unmade bed.

  His smile broadened. “Why, Miss Francis, I do believe you’re thinking rather shocking thoughts.”

  She shook those thoughts to the curb. “I am not.”

  He reached for a box from the bed. “I offer this in atonement.”

  “What?”

  “Because of me, you’ve lost everything.”

  Not quite. Working for Clayton had given her a new life, something to look forward to, but that was an emotion she kept close to her heart.

  He waved to the pile of boxes and bags on the bed. “It’s all for you.”

  Confusion scrambled her brain and she frowned at him. “What is?”

  “This lot.” He proffered the box to her. “Open it.”

  Still uncertain what was going on, Maggie reluctantly took it. It was oblong and white, tied with a white silk ribbon. Taking a seat at the chaise behind her she placed the box on her lap. The ribbon unraveled easily and she pulled the lid off.

  Her gaze shot up to Clayton’s, capturing the hopeful look in his eyes.

  “Do you like it?”

  “They’re clothes.”

  “I know. Whoever ransacked my flat was indiscriminate about what they destroyed. I’m replacing what you’ve lost.”

  “But this...” She glanced to the other boxes. “This is too much.”

  “It’s what you deserve.”

  “For losing a few clothes?”

  “Just payment. Now don’t argue, and open the rest.”

  Maggie did. The bags and boxes spilled open, offering an assortment of dresses, shoes, and gloves. “They’re beautiful.” She fingered the jacket in a deep copper shade.

  “A perfect foil for your hair.”

  An unabashed bubble of laughter rippled from her chest. “Perfect foil. Is that your description or that of the immaculately groomed young woman who delivered this lot?”

  He offered a sheepish shrug that said it all.

  “Never mind. Everything is beautiful, but you shouldn’t have.”

  “Too late. Already done, and we’re not going to argue on this point.” Clayton nodded toward the last small box at her feet. “You’ve one more to go.”

  Smiling with delight, Maggie retrieved it. “This is like Christmas for the next twenty years.”

  “Well, it’s nearly Christmas, so just imagine it’s come early.”

  Maggie tugged the soft pink silk ribbon that circled the box, and drew it loose. She lifted the lid and her breath caught in her throat.

  Silk and lace, ribbons and bows.

  Undergarments.

  Had Clayton chosen these for her?

  “You don’t need to worry, I asked the mademoiselle to choose them for me.”

  Relief profound, she quickly put the lid back on the box. “They’re lovely.”

  “You didn’t look at them.”

  “Later. I think we have a criminal to find.” Maggie stood and retrieved her coat for a second time.

  “Don’t you like them?”

  She didn’t want to look at him, didn’t like the thoughts running through her head.

  “Maggie? What is it? Have I offended you?”

  “It’s just...” She kept her gaze lowered, wanting to hide her true thoughts.

  “Look at me, Maggie. Please.”

  Swallowing back her embarrassment she lifted her gaze to his darkly green one, witnessing desperation in their depths. “The clothes are beautiful.”

  “I hear a ‘but’,” he said with a tight smile.

  She tried to return it, but failed. “People already think I’m you’re mistress.”

  “Who has said that?”

  “Oh, the conductor in the lift realized you’d left me, and then I came back alone. He offered me a ‘good time’.”

  “Why the bloody so and so.” Clayton took a step toward the door.

  “No, Clayton! Don’t do anything. It doesn’t matter.”

  “Of course it does. The man insulted you. You’re my employee.”

  “Exactly. So can’t you see how it looks? We arrive at a hotel. We’re not married, and have no luggage…and we’re in a room with only one bed.”

  “Something rather out of our control, unfortunately.”

  “I realize that, but others don’t.”

  “Well that's their damned seedy minds.” He captured her hands in his. “I’m so sorry I brought this on you.”

  “It wasn’t your fault.”

  “But I should have thought of the consequences.”

  “They aren’t really important. What is, is finding Edward, and finding out whoever is using your premises.”

  “And don’t forget about finding the diary and solving the mystery of Josephine and her emeralds.”

  Maggie suddenly brightened. “Josephine and her beautiful jewels deserve that.”

  “Right. So we’ve got all this sorted out. Why don’t you go and try on your new clothes?”

  Maggie looked at the boxes. They were beautiful garments. Exquisite in fact. The finest fabrics and designs. And very tempting.

  Not giving herself a chance to reconsider, she tossed her coat aside and scooped up two of the bags, and the small box of lingerie. “I’ll only be a few minutes.” Laughing, she raced for the bathroom, hearing Clayton’s laughter.

  “Thank God you’re not a woman who takes hours to get ready.”

  She peeked around the bathroom door. “Now that is a statement that could lead in many directions.”

  “Are you enquiring into my past, Miss Francis?”

  “Only if you’re willing to enlighten me.”

  He shook his head, mirth clearly written across his face. “Definitely no time for that. We’ve got a cri
minal to hunt down.”

  Maggie closed the door.

  Good grief, what had just happened?

  Oh, yes, she’d been angry with him, and had unjustly accused him of consorting with the opium dealers on flimsy information. She had been wrong and the relief she felt was immense. But this change—the clothes, the light banter, and the frivolity of it all did not feel like an employer chatting to an employee.

  He’d called them a team.

  She liked that idea, but what kind of team? And for how long?

  Though uncertain of what her future held, Maggie decided to forget the “what ifs” for the moment and concentrate on the here and now. She drew open the bags, spied the beautiful jacket and matching skirt and her day brightened a little bit more.

  Ten minutes later, she eyed her appearance in the bathroom mirror. She really needed to rejoin Clayton, but she wanted a moment or two more. She stared at her reflection. Didn’t they say clothes maketh the man? Well, it seemed the same could be said for a woman.

  The jacket and skirt fit perfectly, a fact that was a tiny conundrum she wasn’t quite certain how to handle.

  How had Clayton known what size she wore?

  Maggie shook her head. She didn’t want to consider that little mystery.

  Beneath the suit she wore the most delicious lingerie she’d ever worn. The peach slip with its lace and ribbon shoulder straps and stockings were so soft. Very decadent indeed

  Tucking a loosened strand of hair behind her ear, she gathered up the matching leather bag and inhaled a deep breath to steady the butterflies that were suddenly flying hither and thither in her stomach. She opened the bathroom door. Her gaze found Clayton immediately and she couldn’t help but smile at the play of nervousness in his expression.

  His jaw dropped, seemingly about to say something, then he second-guessed himself and something flitted across his eyes.

  Maggie’s butterflies came thundering back in her stomach. “Right, Mr. Abbott, I think I’m ready to go.”

  Still silent, Clayton opened the door, and with his hand at her elbow they made their way down the corridor to the lift.

  Maggie cast a glance at Clayton and witnessed a distinct and sudden change in him the closer they got to the lift. She patted his hand with her gloved one, and though he looked at her, neither of them uttered a word.

  Unfortunately the same conductor was on duty.

  “Morning, Mr. Abbott.” The man’s gaze slewed in her direction.

  Clayton offered him a curt nod.

  The doors closed and the conveyance began its decent. “Are you not going to say good morning to my companion?”

  The man reddened and coughed his embarrassment. “Morning, Miss.”

  “Her name is Miss Francis.”

  The man hesitated and he directed his gaze from Clayton to her and back again.

  Clayton’s expression remained stony.

  The beribboned uniformed man nodded to Maggie. “Morning, Miss Francis.”

  She offered him a slight smile just as the conveyance came to a halt. “Good morning to you, too.”

  Half way across the lobby, Clayton leaned into her. “Sorry, but I couldn’t resist.”

  “Thank you.”

  Out in the winter sunshine, Maggie lifted her face to the sun’s rays, and soaked up its gentle warmth. “It’s beautiful.” With a soft sigh her eyes opened. Clayton stood in front of her, staring at her, something intangible in his expression she had only seen once before.

  When he had kissed her.

  Just then a piercing wolf whistle echoed around the courtyard. Maggie and Clayton spun in the direction from where it originated.

  Several workmen recobbling a section of pathway stopped work. Leaning heavily on the handles of their picks and shovels they were all staring at her.

  One doffed his cap at her. “A lovely day for a beautiful lady.” The others nodded their agreement, then heads down, they continued with their work.

  Just then, a taxi drew up alongside them, and Clayton opened the door.

  Maggie bent to get in, but not before Clayton leaned closer, whistling too. “Sorry, I couldn’t resist either.”

  ***

  “Where to?” the cabbie questioned as Clayton pulled the door closed after him.

  “Limehouse.”

  The man’s surprise registered, his ginger brows rising. “You sure? Bit dicey down there these days with all them foreigners and their funny food. Do you know last time I was there I saw this dead duck hanging in some shop window. All red it was. Ain’t real food.”

  Clayton eased back in the seat. “I’m sure. Drop us off anywhere near the Chinese market, if you will.”

  “Right oh, guv, as you wish.”

  As the driver pulled away from the curb, Clayton cast a glance towards Maggie. She hadn’t spoken and he wondered if his admission and whistle should have remained unsaid.

  She took an intense interest in the passing scenery—at the London she professed to dislike.

  However, that wasn’t what was really troubling him. It was the fact that he’d kissed her and wanted to do so again. He’d lain awake during the night, fighting the urge to reach over and draw her to him and kiss her—and more.

  The urge hadn’t gone away.

  But if he had given into temptation, then what? He may have ventured out of his self-imposed exile this once, but he had already determined it would be once only. He saw the looks everyone gave him. Witnessed their pity and horror.

  Clayton bit down an oath, every muscle in his body taut, his burning frustration and bitter anger ready to explode. No. Once this business was finished, he’d stay in his own world at Bellerose.

  Alone.

  Better that, than risk what the world had to offer.

  There was one thing he was grateful for, however. Maggie did not believe he was corrupt. That meant a lot to him.

  But what about Edward?

  He had believed Edward to be honest and true.

  And now?

  Now he didn’t know what to think, which pained him. He’d thought they were friends with honesty between them.

  And then there were the dreams. Not the ones where he constantly saw the dead faces of the soldiers who had served under him. These dreams were relatively new and didn’t make sense. They inspired an intense urge to stop something, a faceless someone, only to be forestalled by a blinding light and pain.

  The dream reminded Clayton of the day he’d been shot. That sort of pain. Brutal. Unending. “Just like lots of things don’t make sense right now,” he muttered.

  Maggie shifted her gaze from the landscape. “Sorry, did you say something, I was just thinking.”

  “I think we’re both lost in thought. So much going on.”

  “There is.”

  “Right oh, ‘ere you are.”

  Clayton turned to face the building where the driver had pulled up. Pink-red ducks, plucked, but still sporting their heads and feet hung in a shop window. “I see you’ve brought us to your duck.”

  “As good a place as any around here. But make sure you’re careful of the food. Did you know they eat with sticks? Chopsticks or something they call ‘em. How the heck you cut ya food up with a tiny bit of wood I don’t know. Good luck to ya, is what I say.”

  Clayton exited the cab, paid the driver while a still quiet Maggie waited beside him.

  As the taxi left in a cloud of diesel fumes, Clayton turned to Maggie. Her face was white, eyes wide and fear-filled.

  Realization slammed home. “Oh, my God, I’m a fool.” He reached out for her and drew her closer. “You shouldn’t be here. I’ll flag another taxi and you can go back to the hotel. This is too close to yesterday for you. Go back and wait.”

  “No!” Maggie yanked herself from his hold and stepped back. “You said we were a team.”

  “I know, but...”

  “No buts, Clayton Abbott. It’s the two of us. Besides, you didn’t see that man. I did, so therefore, I’m the only one wh
o can identify him.”

  At the truth of her statement he scraped a hand over his jaw, trying to think it through. “Are you sure?”

  Sapphire eyes held fast to his and she tipped up her chin just that fraction in an action he’d become familiar with. Determination. “Never more so.”

  Clayton doffed his hat, offering a slight bow. “Well, I do believe Miss Bossy Boots just got another name.”

  “Really? And what would that be?”

  He scraped the rim of his trilby with the ball of his thumb, before putting the hat back on. “How about Miss Stubborn? I think that would sum you up quite nicely, Miss Francis.” But what he didn’t add was that she was rather beautiful too with that fire and passion in her eyes. And he’d liked the way she’d kissed him back.

  He glanced down the street and then turned to look the other way. “Where to first?”

  “It’s a bit of a maze.” Stalls littered both sides of the streets; the local Chinese population hawking everything from vegetables to already cooked food, to more of those ducks hanging with their beady, unseeing eyes.

  He reached for Maggie’s arm and hooked it through his. She didn’t resist, which he realized showed how nervous she still was, despite her admission that she wanted to stay. He could have kicked himself for not thinking how this would affect her. “How about we just walk around, perhaps keep an eye out for that insignia you saw. Have you got that scrap of paper?”

  She held her bag up a fraction. “It’s in here.”

  They wove their way through the throng of people going in every direction, a cacophony of voices speaking different languages, along with a form of broken English.

  An hour later, after traversing the main thoroughfare and several side alleys that were rather dubious, they’d found nothing.

  “It’s like looking for the proverbial needle in a haystack,” he said, disheartened.

  “Don’t you dare give up.”

  He held his hands up in surrender. “I wouldn’t dare, besides it’s nice to see you back to your fighting spirit.” He smiled at her, but he really wanted to kiss her. Leaning forward, his lips brushed across her cheek. His eyes shuttered and he inhaled the fragrance of her. Lily of the valley. Gentle and sweet. Just like her.