When a Lady Deceives (Her Majesty’s Most Secret Service) (5 page)

“I trust your evening has been uneventful, Miss Danvers.”

Matthew Colton’s baritone snatched Jennie from her thoughts. She pivoted on her heel to meet his lazy half smile. “As a matter of fact, it has been most pleasant.”

His dark brows arched. “You don’t look pleased to see me. I’d hoped for a more enthusiastic greeting after what we shared last night.”

Her cheeks flamed. Heavens, she must be absolutely scarlet. “What we shared?”

“You haven’t forgotten so quickly, have you?” He advanced on her, leaning so close she could feel his warm breath against her lips. “Shall I refresh your memory?”

Her heart skipped a beat. Surely he didn’t intend to kiss her again. Here. In full view of everyone in the tavern. Had he taken leave of his senses?

She retreated just enough that she could breathe again. Grabbing a glass, she swiped at it with a clean cloth. “That will not be necessary, Mr. Colton.”

“I prefer Matthew. Mr. Colton seems so formal.”

“I prefer formality, Mr. Colton.”

A wicked gleam danced in his eyes. “Perhaps I need to change that.”

“You wouldn’t dare.” She backed up a step. “I thought you were a gentleman.”

“I told you I wasn’t.”

Her lips tightened. “Mr. Harwick dismissed a barmaid last week for flirting with the patrons. I can’t take that chance.”

“You’ve no need to worry about that.” He leaned in closer, lowering his voice. “You might want to put down that tumbler before you rub a hole through it. Do I make you nervous?”

“Nervous? A ridiculous notion,” she said, even as her fingers gripped the rag a little tighter. She set the glass on the counter and reached for another. He stilled her with a gentle touch.

“Not now.”

Harwick strolled toward them, his attention fixed on Jennie. As Colton trained his gaze on the man, he shifted his stance, edging closer, a deceptively casual posture. Yet somehow, Jennie sensed the protectiveness of the gesture. Colton’s expression hardened, his features settling into a mask she couldn’t read.

“Keeping this one to yourself, eh, Colton?” Steel flashed in Harwick’s eyes as he regarded his lieutenant, contradicting his jovial tone.

“Miss Danvers has already distinguished herself among the barmaids for her…spirited manner with the customers.” A subdued smile played on Colton’s lips.

Harwick’s gaze roamed over Jennie before settling on her face, studying her, a collector examining a potential acquisition. Beneath the crisp fabric of her blouse, disgust rippled over her flesh. “The Lancaster is known for its beauties. But you, Miss Danvers…there’s something…something special about you.”

“Not at all, Mr. Harwick,” she said, affecting a coy, modest tone. “I count myself fortunate to be employed in such a fine establishment.”

Harwick shook his head, his eyes like molten silver. “You’ve got class. You hold your chin high. I like that.” He reached out, then lowered his hand, as if he wanted to touch her but had thought better of it. “If any of these sots gives you a hard time, you will inform me.”

“Yes, sir. Of course.” The words were leaden on her tongue.

“I mean what I say. Any trouble, you let me know. It won’t happen twice.” Harwick’s mask of civility evaporated as he turned to his lieutenant. “We’ve got a problem. I need you to fix it.”

Jennie placed a heavy tray on the bar, wincing as the thick glass steins clattered against the metal
.
Pity the ache in her weary arms did not pose a distraction from her bowstring-taut nerves.

Had it only been a quarter hour since Harwick summoned Colton to his office? Somehow, it seemed time had slowed. Whatever solution Harwick sought to his
problem
, Jennie had no doubt the desired outcome would be violent and most unpleasant.

The sound of brisk steps on the stairs signaled that Colton had emerged from Harwick’s office. As she reached for a clean drying rag, Jennie looked up, meeting his gaze. The wicked amusement that had danced in his eyes earlier that night was gone, replaced by a look of grim resolve.

His long strides made short work of the distance between them. He placed his hand over hers for a deliberately possessive moment.

“I’ll be back at midnight to escort you home.”

The words sent a little thrill coursing through her. Midnight. Alone with this man. Perhaps not the most sensible course of action. Not when her heart sped at the mere thought. But she could not dismiss his intention to play the chaperone. If only for purely logical reasons that had nothing to do with her racing pulse and the decadent images dancing in her suddenly wanton thoughts. Matthew Colton would prove a valuable source. If Harwick’s gang of thieves had played a part in Mary McDaniel’s death, the crime lord’s chief lieutenant would know. But Colton was dangerous. And ruthless. She’d no doubt he’d seduce a woman one night and coolly decide she was a problem he needed to solve the next. She’d need to be vigilant and maintain her defenses, no matter how tempting the man’s kiss. This was no time to indulge her passions. She’d glean what the man knew, but she’d keep her distance. As much as was practical, at least. Still, it was best not to seem too eager.

“I don’t think that would be wise.”

He lowered his voice to a gravel-roughened rasp. His eyes darkened to onyx. “I
will
be back for you. We have some matters to discuss.”

…

Matthew Colton was most definitely punctual. He marched into the tavern at the final stroke of the witching hour. The gray sack coat he’d bundled Jennie into the night before fit his broad shoulders and long frame to perfection, while a casually tilted black slouch hat lent an air of danger to his chiseled features. A current of anticipation rippled through Jennie like electricity before a storm.

“Do I merit a greeting, Miss Danvers?”

He stood close. Too close. Jennie marshaled her logical, reasonable defenses for a battle she couldn’t afford to lose.

“Good evening, Mr. Colton.” She left him standing at the bar and hurried to clear a recently vacated table. The barkeep, a barrel-chested man who enjoyed drinking beer as much as serving it, leaned over the counter. Harry’s boisterous laugh piqued her suspicion he’d sampled a generous portion of the tavern’s wares.

“She’s none too fond of you. An ice princess, she is.” Harry accented his observation with a hearty chuckle.

Jennie met his words with a halfhearted glare.

Colton leaned an elbow against the bar. “She hasn’t had a chance to become acquainted with my chivalrous charm.”

“The usual, Mr. Colton?” Harry poured two fingers of fine Scotch into a crystal glass in response to Colton’s brisk nod.

“My thanks.” Colton fixed his attention on Jennie as he downed a healthy draught. “Miss Danvers, you’ve worked late enough. I’ll see you home.”

“Your shift is done. Go on, now,” Harry agreed a bit too eagerly. “Don’t keep Mr. Colton waiting.”

Her heart stuttered. She should keep her distance until the memory of his touch faded. Did she dare tempt fate? The very thought of his kiss made her weak in the knees, like some daft virgin straight out of the schoolroom. Sophie was right. Matthew Colton was exceedingly dangerous. Her assistant didn’t know the half of it.

Colton stepped into the back room and returned with Jennie’s burgundy cape. Closing the span between them, he draped the garment over her shoulders. His fingers grazed her nape. Little tingles shot down Jennie’s spine. She squared her shoulders and wove her arms together beneath the heavy wool and shot him an accusing glance.

“How did you know this was mine?”

“If I had any doubt, the aroma of lavender confirmed my choice.”

God in heaven, had the man taken in every detail? He knew her clothing, her touch, her scent.

Harry’s face sagged, his expression that of a guard surrendering a prisoner to the executioner. “Night, Jennie.”

She halfheartedly returned the barkeeper’s farewell as she followed Colton’s lead from the tavern. Devil take it, there was no graceful way to rebuff his offer to play the gentleman.

“You did not need to come here tonight,” Jennie said. “I do not require an—”

Suddenly, his hands clamped around her middle. A little cry burst past her lips as he lifted her off the pavement and dragged her back, caging her in his arms.

“What in heaven’s—” Her breaths came in little gasps.

A phaeton careened across the pavement, the massive steed that powered the carriage trampling the spot where she’d stood a moment earlier. A ruddy-faced young man decked out in a flowing black coat and top hat swiveled on the driver’s bench. He babbled a slurred apology. A crack of the whip followed, and the sleek carriage rattled into the distance.

Colton’s hands rested at the curve of her hips, his long fingers nearly encircling her waist. “Do you always attract trouble?”

“That would seem to be the case.” Her pulse pounded a brisk cadence in her ears, the aftereffect of the startling incident. Or so she tried to tell herself. The strength in Matthew Colton’s firm, protective hold had nothing to do with the way her heart raced. Still, she offered silent thanks for the heavy wool barrier between his body and hers as she swept her gaze from one masculine hand to the other. “You may release me now.”

Making no effort to heed her request, he scanned the street as if searching for more dangers lurking in the darkness.

“Is something wrong?” Jennie kept her voice steady despite the tiny tremors that wracked her core.

“No.” His hands slid away. “I’ll call for a hack to take you home.”

She stilled his arm before he could signal a driver. “I prefer to walk. The exercise clears my head.”

Jennie expected him to disagree, but he drew nearer. He smelled of shaving soap and whiskey, the pungent aromas teasing her senses.

“You’re shivering.” He removed the scarf from his neck and coiled the soft cloth around her throat, then silenced her murmur of protest with a single finger pressed to her lips.

Ducking his head, he met her eyes. What was it about the man that seemed to see right through to her soul? And then, his mouth took the place of his fingertip. The soft, sensuous brush of his lips might have seemed chaste had he been any other man.

He deepened the kiss. Jennie’s lids fluttered shut, and she drank him in, savoring the vibrant flavors of Scotch and peppermint and an essence uniquely his. She couldn’t identify it. Couldn’t describe it. But after one taste, she craved more. At that moment, enveloped in his arms, nothing mattered but his gloriously gentle caress.

She opened her eyes as he traced a path along the curve of her face.

“You are a beauty, Miss Danvers.” He swept his fingertips over her cheek, even as his gaze hardened. “You’ve learned to use it, haven’t you? Men are such fools for a beautiful woman.”

His touch suddenly scalding, she jerked away. His seductive tone had transformed, cold and cutting as a razor’s edge. Putting an arm’s length between them, Jennie tugged her hood over her head.

“I can find my way home.”

She forced her feet into motion. Her heels clicked against the pavement with each determined step.

He caught her arm, his touch unyielding yet surprisingly gentle. “You need to be careful, Jennie. Even if you can lead a man around by his nose, he’ll catch on to your act sooner or later. And you’ll be the one to pay the price.”

Chapter Four

Jennie composed her features into a placid mask. Matthew Colton was too smart to fool for long, but he hadn’t puzzled out her secret. Not yet. If he knew she’d come to the Lancaster seeking clues to Mary McDaniel’s death, he wouldn’t be wasting time trying to shock her into betraying herself. No, if he knew the truth, he’d be a dangerous man, indeed.

The hardness in his eyes bore into her. She was not defenseless. Far from it. The derringer strapped to her thigh offered some measure of reassurance. But how agonizing it would be to pull the trigger.

Dismissing the tug of apprehension, she narrowed her eyes and fixed him with a cold stare. “Is it your habit to see intrigue where there is none?”

“Don’t play the innocent with me. Most of the women parading their wares at the Lancaster seek a man with blunt, a bloke who’d keep a mistress in style. But you’ve no interest in men who might actually do you some good. So, what are you after?”

Ignoring the knot in her belly, she met the questions in his eyes. “Should I prefer to toil in some hellhole of a factory from dawn to dusk? Or secure a position as a governess, at the mercy of the master of the house? The establishment is clean, and Harwick pays well.”

Turning, she stalked away, managing only a few steps before he blocked her path.

“You shouldn’t toy with Duncan Poole and his
associates.
” His words were sharp as steel. “He didn’t come back. But his partner did.”

“The scarecrow?”

He nodded. “Cathcart. Are you going to tell me you took the runt’s order and had no other business with the man?”

“You will be most relieved that tonight I fetched his drink without dousing him with alcohol.”

His jaw tensed. “By the time you served his last shot of whiskey, I doubt he would’ve taken notice if you dumped a tankard over his head. The sot was too deep in his cups to hold his tongue. What do you think to gain from the drunken ramblings of a lowlife?”

“More intrigue, Mr. Colton? Since you’ve taken such a keen interest in my dealings, perhaps you’ll be so kind as to inform me when you’ve deduced the answer.”

“This is not a game.” His voice was calm, even. Yet his gaze hadn’t left her mouth. “He’s not a man you want to tempt.”

“Tempt that spindly sot? Do you believe I lack a sense of smell?”

His mouth etched into a grim line. “You don’t want to toy with that man. The runt’s fond of his knife, he is. He’ll be as quick to cut you as to lift your skirts. He took a blade to the last woman who spurned him, made sure she’d never catch another man’s eye.”

The knot in her belly twisted, but she hiked her chin. The arrogance of the man, daring to suggest she’d drop her knickers for a revolting wharf rat like Cathcart. “This conversation has been most enlightening. I’ll be on my way now.”

Colton stood as a barricade. “I intend to see you home.”

Her chest tightened as he moved so near.

Breathe.

“I do not need an escort. I am entirely capable of avoiding both Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.”

He shook his head slowly. “I won’t leave you. Not after what happened tonight.”

A shiver of warning prickled her skin. “What are you talking about?”

“A woman was murdered, near Waterloo Bridge. I won’t chance you wandering into the butcher’s path.” He took her by the arm, his touch commanding yet devoid of violence.

A chill snaked its way along Jennie’s spine. An image of Mary’s savaged corpse invaded her thoughts. She dug her nails into her palms, as if the small twinges of pain might drive away the horrifying memory.

“Very well,” she managed. She wanted nothing more than to be away from him, but Colton had left her little choice in the matter. True, she could create a scene. But she couldn’t afford to cast a valuable source of information to the gutter. Best to accept that his motives held no malicious intent.

After all, if he planned something other than playing the chivalrous escort, she’d come prepared. Along with her derringer, she carried a leather-sheathed dagger she’d tucked away in a secret pocket of her skirt. The knife was compact and easy to conceal, but as deadly as a more flamboyant blade.

Still, every cell in her body hummed with tension. As Colton led her along the Strand, she twisted her hands together and stared dully at the towering walls of brick and mortar and glass. Rows of houses and shops without so much as a weed between them stood cloaked in gaslight and shadows.

A sudden noise—metal clashing against pavement—tore through the silence. A current of alarm rippled through her. The hair at her nape stood on end. Had they been followed?

She heard muffled cries. Urgent. Distressed.

A child’s voice.

Good heavens.

Colton tilted his head toward the hushed sounds. “Stay here.”

He charged around the corner. Ignoring his edict, Jennie followed close behind. In the shadows, a slight figure squirmed frantically within the grasp of a much larger tormentor.

Colton stormed toward the pair. Seizing the thick-necked brute by the collar, he jerked him to attention. “What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?”

The thug’s bulbous eyes shifted wildly, giving him the look of an enormous cornered rodent. “What business is it o’ yers, guv’nor? He ain’t nothin’ but a thief. Next time, the cutpurse’ll think twice ’bout takin’ money from an honest man.”

Colton hauled the ruffian up to his toes. “An honest man wouldn’t be roaming these streets this time of night. Get out of here. Now.”

The man nodded with rapid, jerky movements. “Anythin’ ye say, mister.”

Colton released his hold. The stocky thug took off with a plodding gait, his panting breaths punctuating each thud against the pavement.

The smaller figure crept out of the shadows. Colton met a young boy’s wary regard. “What’s your name, lad?”

Uncertainty flickered in the child’s wide eyes. “Douglas.”

“Do you have a last name, Douglas?” Colton softened his tone.

The boy wove a dirt-crusted hand through a mop of greasy blond hair. “Yessir.”

“Do you care to tell me what it is?”

“Fitzgerald.”

“A good, strong name. What are you doing out here at this hour, Douglas Fitzgerald?”

The boy’s shoulders rose and fell. “No place else t’go.”

Seeming to mull over the statement, Colton retrieved an object from his pocket and pressed it into the child’s small hand. The urchin’s pale eyes widened, full as a witches’ moon.

“Ye want me t’ do somethin’ for ye, mister?” His narrow shoulders squared in a cautious stance.

“As a matter of fact, I do.” Kneeling eye to eye with the lad, Colton uttered instructions in a whisper-soft voice Jennie could scarcely discern.

The boy’s mouth twisted. Confusion marked his features. “Ye want me t’give ’er this?”

Colton nodded. “On your way now. I don’t want to hear that you didn’t do as I told you.”

Why, the heartless audacity of the scoundrel! Utilizing the boy as a courier. Bringing a child into his vile doings. Angry words perched on the tip of her tongue—words that made it clear what she thought of a man who’d stoop so low as to allow a lad to do his dirty work.

The boy’s head bobbed up and down. “Yessir.”

“Remember what I said.”

“I will, guv’nor,” the boy called over his shoulder as he took off running.

Colton thrust his hands back inside his coat pockets. Unable to bear the sight of his handsome face, Jennie stepped past him. She needed to hold her tongue. But the rancor swirling like a toxic brew in her belly would not permit her silence. Not for long. She had to get away from him before she said something she might well regret.

“I can make my way from here, Mr. Colton. I’ve no further need of your company.”

He caught her arm, stilling her. “Not so fast. I will not allow you to fall into some cutthroat’s hands. Especially since I was seen leaving the Lancaster with you. I’ve no plans to face the hangman for some other bastard’s crimes.”

She let a little sigh escape. “I suppose you have enough crimes of your own to keep you looking over your shoulder. I do not need the protection of a man so low as to involve a child in his criminal endeavors. I will be on my way now. Good night, Mr. Colton.”

Shrugging from his hold, she showed him her back. Before she could take three steps, the lad named Douglas barreled toward them, tugging along a sweet-faced urchin Dickens might have depicted in one of his more heartrending works. A mop of curls cascaded beneath a shabby wool cap, framing the little girl’s cherubic, dirt-smudged features.
What in blazes is going on?

Raising his gaze to lock with Colton’s, the lad trembled—whether from fear or the cold or both, Jennie couldn’t be sure. Douglas thrust his unencumbered hand forward and unfurled his clenched fingers, revealing a shiny coin. A sovereign. The coin no doubt represented a fortune to the child. Yet, he shoved it at Matthew Colton as though he couldn’t bear to hold it one moment longer.

“I can’t take this from ye, guv’nor.” Douglas offered a sad-eyed shake of his head. “I can’t go to no roomin’ house and leave me sister behind t’freeze. Me mum told me t’take care of Sally, no matter what. I got t’stay with her.”

As if for emphasis, the curly-haired moppet in the hat rubbed sleepy eyes with a small fist. Shock coursed through Jennie’s veins, even as emotion clogged her throat. The sight of the young boy clutching his sister’s chubby hand might have melted even Scrooge’s heart.

Jennie shot Colton a glance beneath her lashes. How mistaken she’d been. He’d acted as the boy’s benefactor, not as one who’d employ the child to accomplish some sinister goal.

Most unfair, surprising me so.
She’d expected many things of Matthew Colton. This was not one of them.

As if he’d read her thoughts, the harsh set of his mouth softened. He produced another coin from his pocket and placed it with the other in the child’s still outstretched hand.

“Mrs. Callahan will have room for you both. This will pay young Sally’s board. Are there any others I need to know about before you run off again?”

The boy shook his head and gave his sister’s hand a squeeze. “It’s just Sally and me. Thank ye, sir.” The lad shifted his sibling a look, then met Colton’s penetrating gaze. “Why, guv’nor? Why are ye doin’ this fer us?”

“Let’s just say I was in your shoes a long time ago.”

A band tightened around Jennie’s chest. As the children headed toward the boardinghouse, Colton’s gaze trailed after them. A distant sadness flickered in his eyes.

“Mrs. Callahan will find chores to keep them busy,” he said in a low voice. “She could use some help in that rambling house.”

A burning lump lodged at the base of Jennie’s throat. “You said you’d been in his shoes.”

“That was a long time ago.” The raw words lowered a curtain over his past.

She ached to reach out to him, to touch him, if only to ease the pain that swept over his visage. The glimpse of long-buried sorrow had been fleeting. He’d closed off that part of him, hidden it as surely as if he’d locked it away. Why did she long to comfort him, to somehow soothe the scars of his past?

But she had to keep her wits about her. His momentary kindness to a child didn’t change a thing. Matthew Colton was still Harwick’s chief lieutenant.

Despite his kisses. Despite the gentleness of his touch. Despite his benevolence to a street urchin.

Still, she’d misjudged him, at least in that one harsh moment. “What you did was very kind,” she murmured.

A haunting sadness flashed in his eyes. “I might need absolution for my sins someday. This could be considered a small down payment.”

“I am safely home. You may find another damsel to rescue now,” Jennie announced as they approached Mrs. O’Brien’s Boardinghouse for Quality Women. “Your business here is done.”

“Where you are concerned, I’m far from finished.” A blend of masculine hunger and unveiled suspicion marked his expression.

So, this is how a mouse feels looking into the eyes of an alley cat.

She drew her cape tight to her chin. “Good night, Mr. Colton.”

He met her cool dismissal with a rake’s smile. “Good night, Jennie.”

Without so much as a glance behind, she rushed up the stairs to her room, tossed her cloak onto a wobbly chair, and sank to the edge of the bed. Against her better judgment, she touched his scarf to her cheek. She closed her eyes. Traces of Matthew Colton’s scent conjured all-too-vivid sensations—the warmth of his kiss, the unexpected tenderness of his powerful hands.

It was as if she’d known him for a very long time.

Jennie sprawled over the bed and pulled the quilt around her. Matthew Colton could destroy her investigation. He could destroy her.

She didn’t want to think about Matthew Colton.

She didn’t want to drink in every nuance of his essence.

She didn’t want to hunger for the heat of his body.

When the scarf fluttered to the floor, she didn’t retrieve it.

…

Matthew lingered in the street beyond the boardinghouse. A lamp illuminated a window on the third floor. Jennie’s room, most likely. If she was as sensible as she was clever, she’d bolt the door, pull the covers around her, and dream of a man who could offer her far more than the shards of his shattered soul.

He’d been harsh with her. He’d gone too far. Hell and damnation, he’d kissed her, then uttered insinuations even a harlot would not deserve. But she hadn’t shrunk from him. She had not retreated. To the contrary, she’d squared her shoulders and faced him directly, spirited and uncowed, regarding him as if he’d gone quite mad.

Indeed. Perhaps this was a form of madness. The thought of her drawing the eye of a lowlife ruffian like Cathcart had triggered a protectiveness in him unlike any he’d ever known. Not that his wariness of the man was not justified. The scrawny sot was unpredictable and volatile. Could Jennie fathom the risks of tempting a man like that with the sweetness of her smile?

He’d never experienced this overpowering need to shield a woman. Pretty barmaids flounced about the tavern, swinging their hips and flashing painted smiles every night of the week. Why was this woman different? What was it about Jennie that made him want to keep her out of reach of brutal men and their ruthless ways? What was it about her that made him give a damn?