When a Lady Deceives (Her Majesty’s Most Secret Service) (30 page)

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Matthew stepped from the carriage and surveyed the dock. The stench of the London waterfront at low tide assailed his senses. A fitting place for human vermin, indeed.

Harwick’s main warehouse appeared deserted. Nothing unusual there. Most of the stolen cargoes were trafficked after dark, out of view of seamen and dockhands. Perched on the driver’s bench, Bertram fixed him with a grim stare. “Ye might be walkin’ into an ambush. Ye’re sure ye want t’do this?”

“There’s only one way to deal with Harwick and his kind.” Matthew eyed the rifle at Bertram’s side. “Reinforcements should be here shortly. Miss Atherton is tenacious as a terrier pursuing a rat. Between that and that face of hers, she’ll have the Yard men here soon enough. Stay put. But if pressed, don’t hesitate to put some lead in the bastards.”

His tweed cap tugged low, Matthew blended in with the workmen milling about the dock and ducked behind Harwick’s warehouse. Making short work of the lock at the rear entrance, he slipped inside the building. His hand tightened around the grips of his Webley as he navigated the familiar maze of dark corridors and storage rooms.

“Lost yer way, Colton?” Mr. Leonard dug the barrel of his gun into Matthew’s ribs.

“Where is she?”

“Cathcart wants a bit o’fun with ’er. Then Harwick plans to soften ’er up a bit with opium. She’ll fetch a bloody fortune in the trade. Amazing ’ow cooperative the stuff makes a woman.”

Matthew’s fingers tightened around his revolver, then stilled. The shot would bring attention he didn’t need. He couldn’t take that risk. Not yet.

“You’re talkative. Harwick doesn’t like that.”

Leonard scowled. “I don’t give a damn about what that bastard likes and doesn’t like. Ye’re a dead man and ye know it. The only reason you’re still breathin’ is Harwick has something special in mind for you, what with you being family.”

“Is that so? What’s that about blood and water?”

“Throw down yer weapon,” Leonard commanded.

“I’d have thought you would have put a bullet in me by now,” Matthew taunted. “Lost your nerve, have you?”

“In time—”

Matthew plowed his elbow into the big man’s gut. An uppercut slammed into the bastard’s jaw, while a right hook careened into his mouth.

Leonard staggered against the blow. A blood-splattered tooth dribbled out of his mouth. Matthew slammed the butt of the revolver against Leonard’s skull. He crumpled at Matthew’s feet. One squeeze of the trigger would rid London of this human refuse.

Sounds—hushed and desperate—echoed through the corridor.

Jennie’s voice.

He had to get to her.

He trailed the faint protests to a room at the end of a dark passageway. Jennie’s pleas tore through Matthew like a rapier.

“Leave him be, you monster,” she implored, courage lacing every note. The harsh
crack
of a blow drifted to his ears. Who was with Jennie, suffering at Harwick’s hands?

Fury surged through his veins. God above, he needed to employ restraint. All of his training urged stealth and strategy. But if Harwick and his thugs had left so much as a bruise on Jennie’s delicate skin, there’d be no mercy left to give.

Behind him, the
click
of a revolver sounded an alarm. Bugger it, Leonard should have given up while he still had that option.

Matthew spun around, facing the behemoth. Swaying like a puppet on ragged strings, Leonard braced his tree-trunk legs wide. He raised his weapon with unsteady hands.

The gunshot roared through the corridor. A bullet slammed into a wall, missing Matthew by several inches. Damnation! Any hope of utilizing surprise was gone. Leonard had seen to that.

Another shot. Closer, this time. Too close.

Matthew took aim and fired. Leonard’s thick mouth gaped open. A moan escaped, and he collapsed. “He’ll kill you. And your bitch.”

The occupants of the room behind the door had gone silent. Ducking low, Matthew drove his shoulder against the panel. Gunfire rang out. Shots peppered the door at the level where his head and heart had been moments earlier.

The door buckled beneath the impact. Matthew pinned Harwick with his revolver. One wrong move and his cousin would receive the brutal death he deserved.

Cathcart held Jennie, her back pressed to his chest. She’d gathered a young boy against her—Douglas, the lad they’d encountered that cold, windy night. Good God, they’d taken the child prisoner.

Shielding the boy in the circle of her arms, Jennie blinked away unshed tears. The invisible fist in Matthew’s gut burrowed deep. Cathcart would pay for what he’d done, tormenting a woman and a helpless child. He held no weapon in sight, but undoubtedly, the cur had his blades within easy reach.

“Well, well, if it ain’t Colton chargin’ to his doxy’s rescue,” he sneered.

“Touch her again—you’re a dead man.”

The pasty-faced weasel shrugged. “I’ll be dumpin’ ye in the river, just like yer partner.”

Standing at Cathcart’s left, Harwick regarded Matthew with a predator’s gaze. A vein bulged over his brow. “You dare threaten me? Your own kin. Your own blood. Get that soddin’ gun out of my face.”

“Jennie leaves this hellhole now.” Matthew kept his words low and steady. “The boy goes with her. Don’t take too long to make your decision. I’ll send you straight to hell where you belong.”

“Bloody Judas, right under my nose. And after all I’ve done for you.” Harwick made no move to slink away.

Matthew’s aim didn’t waver. “Let her take the child and go. I’m the one you want.”

Harwick slowly shook his head. “Tell me this, Matthew—do you think the runt will suffer when Cathcart snaps his neck? Or should he start with your pretty whore?”

“No, please, don’t do this.” Jennie held the lad in her arms. Her distress pierced Matthew’s soul.

He steadied his aim. “Command him to release the woman and the child. Or I swear to God, Claude—I will send you to hell.”

“Kill the brat,” his cousin ordered as calmly as he’d request afternoon tea.

Cathcart released Jennie. He lunged for the child. Jennie clutched Douglas against her heart, fierce as a mother bear protecting her cub. “Get your filthy hands off him.”

Matthew shifted his focus. Cathcart jerked away from Jennie. So, the scrawny bastard had spotted the small movement. His eyes went wide as Matthew put a bullet in his chest. Jennie’s scream mingled with the gun’s report.

Eyes glazed, Cathcart dropped to his knees. His hands frantically gripping the spreading stain on his shirt, he stared at Matthew. “Bloody bastard.”

Cathcart’s head slumped. He crumpled into a heap. Pivoting on his heel, Matthew raised his weapon and settled his aim on Harwick.

“Release them, and you’ll walk out of here in one piece.”

Harwick merely shook his head. “I’m not finished with them yet.”

In his side vision, a warning flashed. Jennie’s cry echoed through Matthew’s brain.

He saw the blackjack in Dyson’s hand. Saw it arc toward him, lightning fast. He shifted to avoid its brutal path. Too late! The bludgeon collided with his temple. Pain exploded in his skull. He struggled to stand. Staggering, he blinked to focus his vision. Another vicious blow.

Fog enveloped him. Heavy. Suffocating. Stripping away sensation.

Only Jennie’s desperate scream permeated the miasma as darkness closed in.

…

Jennie held Douglas in her arms, murmuring words of reassurance even as gooseflesh peppered her skin. The lad trembled against her and sucked in his lower lip, but proud to the bone, he jutted his chin in an act of defiance. Harwick shot the boy a razor-edge glance before turning to his American henchman. Dyson crouched behind a chair, securing the ropes that bound Matthew in place. Still unconscious, Matthew’s head slumped forward. Dyson’s vile laughter permeated the room.

Harwick paced the room like a caged beast, thirsting for blood. “We’ll rid ourselves of this insolent whelp after we’ve finished with Colton.”

She gave Douglas a comforting squeeze. A bitter lump filled her throat. What devil’s spawn could contemplate hurting a helpless innocent?

Dyson stood. He slid a folding knife from his coat pocket, laughing as he gave their prisoner a violent shake. Matthew’s head jerked up. He opened his eyes. Struggling against the heavy rope that secured his wrists behind his back and his ankles to the legs of the sturdy chair, he fought to free himself.

“Ain’t so cocky now, are ya?” Dyson’s lips drew back as he flicked open the blade with a casual motion. He prodded the base of Matthew’s throat with the tip. Impatience gleamed in his eyes.

“Don’t get any ideas,” Harwick muttered. “We need him alive. He’s going to pay for what he’s done. A slit throat is too good for the likes of him.”

Harwick’s threatening words sickened Jennie. Waves of fear mixed with bitter anger. Matthew was here and vulnerable because he’d tried to protect her. She’d brought this misery upon him. Her throat burned with tears she refused to shed. She had to be strong. For Matthew. For the quivering lad in her arms. Dear God, let her find a way to save them.

Her hand drifted lower, to the chain coiled twice around her ankle and tethered to a bolt on the floor. The lock was crude, a simple device—one she’d have no trouble opening under less scrutiny. Perhaps, if she waited her chance…

Matthew faced Harwick’s mocking stare. A surly mask fell into place. “Surely you don’t intend to kill me in full view of a woman and a child? For Christ’s sake, show some decency.”

“This might serve as a lesson to the boy.” Harwick regarded Matthew as if calculating his choice of torment. He retrieved a cigar from a silver case and struck a match against the wall. “A lack of loyalty can be a dangerous thing. Do you think I haven’t been watching you?”

Matthew’s gaze darted to Jennie and the child in her arms. “Release them and I’ll tell you everything.”

Harwick took a leisurely drag off his cigar. The tip blazed red hot. “I’ve a task for you, Dyson. There’s one way to be sure he tells us all he knows.”

“Aye, only one.” The American’s sadistic grin seemed wildly out of place on a flawless face. With one slice of the monster’s knife, Matthew’s shirt fell open.

Jennie’s teeth sank into her bottom lip. The coppery taste of blood flooded her mouth. She forced her attention to the fetter around her ankle. Heaving a distressed sigh, she lowered her lids as though she could not endure the scene unfolding before her. Tearing her fingers through her hair in a show of anguish, she fished a hairpin free of the unruly waves. Lifting her gaze, she ensured no one was watching. Her fingers closed around the pin, concealing her makeshift key.

A single tear rolled down her cheek. No need to manufacture the salty drop. If only she were acting. If only this were a nightmare from which she could awaken.

Harwick watched her then, his eyes darkening to the color of sin. A dirty smile curved his mouth. Oh, how her distress must please the scoundrel.

Dyson hovered by Matthew’s side. “By the time I’m finished with you, you’ll beg for death.”

He spat at Dyson’s boots. “Go to hell.”

Dyson motioned to Harwick. “Looks like we need to warm him up a bit.”

“Let’s see what he can take.” Harwick pressed the cigar’s glowing tip to his captive’s bare chest.

Every muscle in Matthew’s body went taut. He surged against the bindings, his jaw clamped shut against the torture. A low groan rumbled from deep in his throat.

Biting back a cry, Jennie shielded Douglas from the hideous scene. Harwick leaned back on his heels and took another drag from his cigar.

“Impressive. Let’s see what it takes to break you.”

“Get the boy out of here.” Matthew gritted out the words. “You can’t…do this…in front of a child.”

“No pleas for yourself?” Harwick goaded.

“No point. Let them go.”

Dyson turned to Jennie. “Cat got your tongue? No pleading for your lover?”

“I won’t amuse you,” she whispered.

“That’ll come later,” Dyson said, his voice as rough as his intentions. He took the cigar Harwick offered. “Let’s get the bastard talkin’. I’m of the opinion he has a taste for cigars.”

Dyson circled his captive, taunting him. With a coarse, ugly laugh, he pressed the blazing tip against Matthew’s flesh.

Matthew’s eyes slammed shut, the only sound from his lips a low groan. Jennie clutched Douglas in her arms and sank to the floor. A sob welled in her throat. Her stomach quaked, and her knees trembled. God above, she couldn’t crumble now. There’d be time for that later.

As the men focused on the object of their torment, she slipped a hand under her skirt and grazed the length of the chain. The pin slid silently into the lock.

“Stubborn son of a bitch,” Dyson muttered. The flash of light against his knife seized Jennie’s attention. “Let me cut his damn throat and be done with it.”

Harwick met Matthew’s cold stare. “Pa had you figured for a weakling all those years ago. There you were, the brat of his whore of a sister. Wouldn’t the old man be surprised t’see you now? Stoic. Like some bloody hero.” Venom filled his words. He turned to Dyson. “This is only the beginning.”

Jennie’s fingers quivered like twigs in a gale. Uttering a silent prayer, she rotated the makeshift key.

The hasp sprang open. Thank God. Another tear—of joy—trickled down her cheek. She eased the chain from the lock. Uncoiling the length binding her ankle, she slipped out of the fetter and tested the weight of the links in her hand. The heavy iron chain would provide an improvised weapon. Clumsy, perhaps, but surprise was on her side.

Dyson flashed the razor-honed blade. “I’ll take his ear. That should loosen his tongue.”

“I won’t tell you a goddamn thing…until I see them walk out of here,” Matthew ground out.

Harwick shook his head. “You need a different kind of pain. Your treacherous shrew won’t be near so pretty after Dyson takes his knife to her face.”

“Don’t do this. For Christ’s sake.” Matthew’s words were edged with agony.

Dyson toyed with the blade. His smile betrayed a soul as devoid of mercy as a rabid wolf. His attention shifted. His gaze lit upon the discarded lock. “Clever little bitch.”