When a Lady Deceives (Her Majesty’s Most Secret Service) (31 page)

Fear traced an icy path along Jennie’s spine. She curved her fingers over the chain, gripping its end as if it were a whip. Taking a step back, she pulled Douglas with her.

“Her blood’s on your hands, Colton.” Dyson closed in, so near she could see the sapphire flecks in his blue eyes. Light glinted off his lethal blade.

Jennie clutched the iron links. Dyson studied her, as if trying to decide which feature he’d attack first. So, the bastard believed her helpless, incapable of wielding a weapon against him. He would find out how very wrong he was.

Pressing the lad behind her back, she lunged. The chain slammed against Dyson’s hand. A vile curse tore from his lips. She whipped the metal links again. Iron cracked against his knuckles, splitting the skin, breaking bone.

The American’s knife clattered to the floor. Jennie kicked it away with the toe of her leather boot. Still, he came at her. Rage burned in his eyes. She swung the iron links again. Metal crashed against his back. Baring his teeth against the pain, he lunged.

Muttering a foul epithet, he caught the links in his uninjured hand. He dragged her to him. “I’ll kill you, you little bitch.”

The door crashed open, the wall behind the heavy panel shaking with the impact. Air burst from Jennie’s lungs. Good heavens! Matthew’s driver—brandishing a long gun. Bertram set his sights on Harwick. If he pulled the trigger, the ruthless devil would be the first to go.

“Ye’d best call off yer attack dog, Harwick, or I’ll be scattering yer brains all over this place.” Bertram’s surprisingly powerful voice echoed off the walls.

Harwick’s features were unreadable. “Dyson, you know what to do.”

“Keep your hands off that woman,” Bertram ordered.

Jennie’s heart pounded against her chest, so violently it seemed a wonder her ribs did not crack. If the steel in Bertram’s gray eyes was any indication, he would prove a worthy opponent. But he was outnumbered by men who had no conscience to restrain their brutality.

Holding the hand she’d battered with the chain limp at his side, Dyson dug into her wrist with the other. “I’m shaking in my boots, old man.”

Despite his contemptuous words, Dyson had gone tense. He might use her as a shield, but the man towered over her. The discrepancy in their heights left him vulnerable. And that fear deep within would make him all the more dangerous.

With a powerful twist of her body, she plunged an elbow into the scoundrel’s ribs. He grunted, loosening his hold as she fought his control. Jennie drove her heel down hard, pounding his instep. His cry of pain echoed in her ears, hoarse and ugly. His grip went slack.

She darted away, pulling Douglas into her arms.

Dyson righted himself, meeting the challenge in Bertram’s eyes with a perverse smile. “I’m going to enjoy cutting that bitch.”

Bertram’s expression was grim. “And that was a bloody mistake.”

A shot roared in Jennie’s ears. Dyson bellowed in agony. He collapsed, doubling over the bloody remains of his knee.

Bertram cut his aim back to Harwick. “Move and I’ll put a bullet in your belly.”

Harwick’s icy tones cut through Jennie’s shock. “Well done, old man. So, you are good for something besides driving that carriage like a maniac. God above, I didn’t think you had it in you.”

“East India Company, Afghanistan.”

“You’re a brave one, I’ll give you that. But I’m holding all the aces in this game.” Harwick’s words dripped acid. Light glinted off the Webley leveled at Matthew’s chest. “Drop your weapon.”

Bertram’s eyes narrowed. He held his chin high and defiant. “Not if Her Majesty gives the order herself. I’ll end ye now, ye bastard.”

Jennie’s pulse thundered in her ears. Gaslight glinted off Dyson’s discarded blade, not far beyond arm’s length. Douglas followed her gaze. Understanding flashed in his eyes. Partly concealed by Jennie’s voluminous skirt, the lad crouched low and snatched up the weapon. As Bertram goaded Harwick, keeping the attention on himself, Douglas clutched the knife against his chest and crept behind Matthew.

“Stand down, you old fool,” Harwick commanded. “I’ll send Colton straight to hell.”

“Touch that trigger, and ye’ll regret it.” Bertram edged his words with flint.

Keeping his gaze fixed on the driver’s long gun, Harwick edged into a retreat. His steely eyes were alert. Calculating. But there was no surrender.

Bertram met Harwick’s cold stare. “My hand is steady, my aim still keen. That’s what’s got ye soilin’ yerself.”

Harwick cocked his head toward Dyson. “End this. Now,” he gritted between his teeth.

Beads of sweat lined the American’s forehead. Leaning hard on one leg, he’d set his jaw in a grimace of misery. Blood pooled beneath his wounded leg. He aimed a pistol with his good hand—Matthew’s confiscated revolver.

Dear God.
Jennie screamed in warning. “Bertram!”

Gunfire erupted—the thunder
crack
of the revolver blurred with the long gun’s powerful report. The stench of gunpowder choked Jennie. Her heart beat a frantic tattoo. She spotted the lad, still but very much alive, hunkered against the floor behind Matthew.

Dyson gasped. Eyes wide and unseeing, he collapsed, lifeless limbs splayed on the floor, fingers still coiled around the gun.

The driver’s cap tumbled from Bertram’s balding head. His mouth opened and closed, soundless. The old gent sank to his knees, and he stared up at Matthew. “I’m sorry, my boy.”

His balding head pitched forward, and he went still.

“I will send you to hell,” Matthew vowed to Harwick.

“In time. But first, I know how to bring you pain the likes of which you’ve never known.” Harwick’s mouth slid into a slow, serpentine smile. He shifted his aim.

Jennie stared down the barrel of his gun.

Chapter Thirty

Douglas bolted from his hiding place behind Matthew, putting his scrawny body between Jennie and Harwick. He cocked his chin. “I’m not scared o’yer kind.”

“Dirty little blighter.” Harwick muttered. His hawklike gaze lit on the child. “Tell him to run, while he still can. Don’t think I won’t put a bullet in his gut.”

“Douglas, do what he says.” Jennie calmed her voice, even as fear drove bile to her tongue. She gave the lad a brisk shove. “You’ll be of no help to me if he hurts you.”

With a grim nod, he shuffled to the side.

“Go. Now.” She wove strength into her words, but the child shook his head.

“I won’t leave ye.”

“Do as I say.” As she spoke, Jennie slanted Matthew a glance. He nodded, the gesture nearly imperceptible. Lengths of rope curled beneath the chair—the bonds Douglas had severed.

“Let her go, Claude,” Matthew said. “This is between us.”

“I’ll walk out of here. Alone.” Harwick trailed a fingertip over Jennie’s cheek. “Such a beauty, this one. You shouldn’t have betrayed me. I think I’ll splatter her pretty face all over this wall.”

“Let the woman and child go.” Matthew’s voice dropped to a steely rasp. “It’s your only chance.”

Harwick slowly shook his head. “When I’m through with this bitch, her parents won’t even have a pretty corpse to—”

With a cry like an ancient warrior charging off to battle, Matthew surged from the chair. His full body weight slammed into Harwick.

But the brute was fast, his responses well honed to violence. He reared back. A shot exploded, plowing wildly into the wall. Missing his target.

Light glinted off the knife in Matthew’s hand. He plunged the blade forward. Sinking it deep into Harwick’s throat. Twisting the razor-honed steel with lethal intent. He wrenched the gun from his cousin’s hand.

Desperate gasps escaped Harwick’s mouth. He sank to the floor, twitches wracking his body, even as life drained from his wide, shock-dulled eyes.

Douglas cried out, his young voice hoarse with fear. Choking back nauseating bile, Jennie shook off her own terror and forced her weighted limbs to move. She gathered the trembling lad in her arms. “It’s going to be all right. He can’t hurt us now.”

Jennie rubbed soothing circles on Douglas’s back, pulling in long, calming breaths the boy might emulate. His young heart pounded a fierce rhythm, but his taut muscles relaxed as though the fear ebbed from his small body.

Yard men milled about, gathering evidence as Sophie made her own cool-headed inquiries regarding the brutality that had occurred in the warehouse room. A petite general in the midst of men who clearly did not know what to make of her probing questions and observations, she jotted notes on a pad she carried in her dainty velvet bag.

Matthew knelt at Bertram’s side. The old gent had opened his eyes and pushed himself to his elbows, amazingly agile for a man who’d just suffered a gunshot.

Bertram stared down at the ragged, drenched hole in his jacket. “Filthy rotters, destroying a man’s hard-earned property.”

He fished a small, silver vessel from an inner breast pocket—a flask marked with a slug embedded in the metal. Jennie’s knees went weak with relief. Good heavens, she’d believed the spreading stain to be the old man’s blood.

The lad in her arms wriggled free and bolted to Bertram’s side, staring in fascination at the ruined container. A smile lit Douglas’s face. “I knew that bloke didn’t kill ye.”

With a scowl that might’ve frightened the devil himself, Bertram tipped the ruptured container to his lips, spilling the last few drops of liquor into his mouth. “A waste of damned fine Scotch.”

Relief spread over Matthew’s features. “I’ve plenty of tin to buy you all the liquor you can drink. I’m grateful you’re still alive to mutter about it.”

Bertram’s craggy scowl deepened. He fished a small, thick volume from the pocket. A scorched hole marked the cover. “Ye don’t understand, my boy. The bugger blasted a hole in my good book.”

Matthew cocked a brow. “You carry the Good Book with you?”

“Aye,
my
good book. I can’t tell ye the joy it’s brought this old sot over the years.” Bertram thumbed through the pages. He shook his head in dismay. “It’s bloody useless now.”

Jennie peered over his shoulder. There was not a scripture to be found on the ruined pages. Rather, the book was filled with women’s names. The cagey hound.

Bertram smiled, a knowing hike of his thin, creased mouth, as if he’d read her thoughts. “This is my guide to my special ladies. How else is a gent to keep up with birthdays and such? It’s the little things that bring ’em back to ol’ Bertram every time.”

Matthew merely shook his head. “I should have known. You’ve always been an alley cat.”

“An alley cat who’s never lacked for companionship.” Bertram cast Jennie a sly glance. “But you won’t be needin’ a book like this to keep up with yer women, now will ye, Matthew?”

Matthew shook his head. “I’ve no need for a book such as that.”

The unfettered emotion in his eyes washed over Jennie, warming her even as it stirred a deep-seated craving for his touch. And another feeling, utterly unexpected. A sense of loss. Wanting Matthew seemed as natural as the beat of her heart. She’d longed for him even when she believed him a criminal, even when doubt had cast a long shadow over the bliss she’d experienced in his arms. But now, the possessive fire in his gaze signaled a turning point, one she was not prepared to face. He’d want to rein her in. He’d expect her to abandon all she’d sacrificed for, the experience she’d gained and the contacts she’d made through the course of her inquiries. How could she walk away from the thrill of the hunt, the stir of excitement that accompanied uncovering a promising lead, the accomplishment of seeing justice brought to fruition through the pen rather than the sword?

If Matthew wanted a woman nestled safely by the hearth…she’d not consider that. Not now. For this moment, she’d savor the precious gift of trust she’d been given—Matthew’s trust, hard-won, a rare thing, indeed, and her faith in the man she adored. She loved him. Even when it seemed a madness, she’d loved the man she’d glimpsed beneath the hardened veneer he wore as a disguise. Her instincts had insisted Matthew was a good man. Even when her logic argued with her heart, somehow, she’d always known the truth.

And now…now that she knew the true nature of his character, she’d embrace that joy and pray he would not force a choice that would shatter their souls.

“Inspector Colton, I’ll be needing a word with you.”

Jennie recognized the speaker immediately. Detective Inspector Carlton Smythe, Matthew’s former colleague at the Yard, had maintained a conspicuous silence during Matthew’s trial two years ago. Now, he stood ramrod straight, addressing Matthew with the title he’d long abandoned.

Matthew gave a brisk nod and stepped from the room. At her side, Bertram thrust out his hand, distracting her from Matthew’s unexpected exit.

“Help a fellow to his feet, will ye?” Bertram tossed her a wink. He was certainly able to right himself without her assistance, but she humored him. The old gent’s wily grin was a welcome sight.

“Yer friend…the pretty one…” He gestured to Sophie. “Her grandmother wouldn’t happen t’be a widow now, would she?”

Ah, the man was incorrigible. “Matter of fact, I believe she is. Last I’d heard, she’d taken up residence with her son.”

Bertram’s eyes took on an eager glint. “I shall need an introduction.”

“Of course.” Jennie nodded. “What do you know of that man who summoned Matthew, the detective?”

“More than ye do, obviously.” The Cheshire Cat had nothing on Bertram with his cheeky grin. “But it’s not my place t’be carrying tales. I’ll leave that t’Matthew.”

Within a quarter hour, Matthew returned. Saying little, he led them to a pair of waiting carriages. Sophie helped Bertram into the first carriage, Matthew’s spacious brougham. He’d need proper evaluation by a physician, but given the gent’s spry manner and his delight at Sophie’s interest, he looked forward to many more years of putting his battered
good book
to use. Douglas jumped inside, eager to hear Bertram’s increasingly elaborate tales of his adventures while serving in the queen’s expeditionary forces. A hired driver sidled onto the bench.

Matthew led Jennie to a smaller phaeton. After assisting her onto the bench, he took the reins and commanded the carriage horse to a brisk pace.

Finally alone, Jennie leaned into the warmth of his body. They rode in comfortable silence until she finally asked the question that had been playing in her thoughts.

“So, Inspector Colton, do you intend to tell me what is going on right under my nose?”

He slanted a glance. “Are you telling me the intrepid reporter hasn’t figured it out for herself?”

“I have my suspicions. But I want to hear the truth from your lips. Why did Smythe refer to you as
Inspector
?”

“The truth can be ugly, Jennie.”

“I deserve to know—I love you.” She traced a fingertip along the strong line of his jaw. “Nothing will change that.”

He gripped the reins more tightly. “I never left behind my duties at the Yard.”

His words stunned her, even as they confirmed her faith in him. For so long, she’d been unable to reconcile the man she’d come to love with Harwick’s ruthless lieutenant. In her heart, she’d known Matthew was a man of honor. Of integrity.

“Would you care to explain?” she asked softly.

“Harwick was growing bolder, his reach spreading past England’s borders. I was offered a rare chance, the opportunity to infiltrate Harwick’s organization. Operating from the inside, I worked against Claude and his thugs. For the good of the queen’s empire, as the Home Secretary put it.”

The pain in his eyes dug into Jennie like talons piercing her belly. She placed a hand over his. “All this time, you’ve been sabotaging him.”

He nodded. “He was evil, and I wanted revenge. Claude Harwick tried to destroy me. Because of him, my partner is in his grave. His wife and children were robbed of a good man, and my life—Claude ruined me. He thought he’d kept me from the gallows. He believed I owed him a debt. But the trial was little more than a sham, a drama with my sins on center stage. The Home Secretary ensured I’d be released. But that deception guaranteed I’d have reason to infiltrate Claude’s organization.”

Even though the danger had passed, the reality of the risks Matthew had faced clawed deeper into her insides. “But the danger—surely you understood he’d kill you if he found out.”

“I sought vengeance. I always knew there’d be a cost.” He dragged in a long breath, then let it go. “I only regret I couldn’t spare you from the price of my retribution.”

“We’re safe now. You protected me…protected
us
.”

Leaning against his shoulder, she savored his warmth and his essence and his strength. She swallowed against a sudden lump in her throat. Unexpected tears sprang to her eyes. She blinked them back. She’d fallen in love with a man who’d given almost everything for his country. For his honor. For her.

“And now, you’re mine, Jennie. For the rest of our lives, if you’ll have me. I love you.”

He reined the carriage to a stop just outside the door to his residence. Reaching out to her, he wiped away a rebellious tear with the pad of his thumb, soft as satin against her cheekbone. Those dark eyes of his watched her. Reading the doubts she did not know how to voice. Seeing the conflict that tore at her heart.

“I do love you, Matthew.” She caught his hand in hers, drinking in his warmth. “More than I’d imagined possible.”

“But…” His rich baritone had gone low and quiet. “You have doubts. Not that I could blame you. After the things I’ve done…”

“No.” She shook her head, willing him to understand. “That’s not it. You are a good man with a valiant heart. You’ve endured so much…so much to see Harwick reap the justice he deserved, to protect me and all the others Harwick’s ruthlessness endangered. I adore you.”

“Then what…what’s holding you back, darling Jennie?”

As he studied her, she searched for words that would convey the conflict between her heart’s desires. Matthew. And the life’s work she’d pursued with a fierce zeal, a passion she’d never sate by running a gentleman’s household, closeted with correspondence and passing her evenings knitting by a hearth.

“What is it, Jennie? You can tell me. Whatever it is.” Despite his question, a hint of understanding flickered in his eyes. Ever skilled at deduction, had he read her features so easily?

She pulled in a breath, battling the lump in her throat. Blast it, she would not cry. She would not weep while declaring her independence. “I do not believe I can be the woman you want for a lifetime, Matthew.”

He crooked his head, thoughtful, even as his fingertips skimmed the curve of her face. “You believe I’d want to cage you. Is that it, Jennie?”

“Yes.” Amazing—the difficulty in uttering that one syllable. She choked back a wave of emotion. “What man would not expect a wife to conduct herself…respectably?”

“Now, where would the fun be in that?”

She blinked. “I do not understand…”

Cupping his hand around her nape, he drew her close. His breath warmed her lips. “I love you, Jennie Quinn. I will do everything in my power to see you safe, but the rest of it…well, shall we say that’s up for negotiation?”

“Negotiation, you say?” A smile tugged at her mouth, fighting against the emotion that scalded her throat.

“Intense negotiations,” he murmured, his eyes growing impossibly dark. “The kind I suspect may well take days. Sequestered, of course.”

Warmth washed over her, delicious and soothing. Oh, how she loved this man. “Sequestered in your bedchamber, I imagine?”

A slow smile spread over his sensuous mouth. “And any other room that might prove…interesting.”

“Indeed.” She coiled her arms around him and allowed herself a sigh. They’d never shied away from a challenge. They’d shown courage in the most difficult of fixes. This love they shared would only grow stronger as they faced any doubts, any fears. Their love would conquer all obstacles. In her heart, she knew this to be true.