When a Lady Deceives (Her Majesty’s Most Secret Service) (11 page)

“What in bloody hell are ye blabberin’ about?” Harwick’s angry tone slipped into the rough cadences of his youth.

“This girl is a dead ringer for your previous nightingale.”

“You’re seeing things.” Harwick’s tone cooled. “Let’s get on with our business.”

“She’s not painted up like Mary. But you can’t deny the resemblance.” Bond turned to Jennie. “He doesn’t want to admit it because he knows I’m right.”

Harwick’s eyes narrowed in warning. “We need to get on with this. I don’t have all night.”

“Don’t pretend you’ve forgotten her so soon.” Swaying on unsteady legs, Bond backed away. “She was a beauty. Ah, so lovely. Before someone took a knife to her.”

“You’re too damned deep in your cups. It’s time for you to get the hell out of here.”

Bond threaded his fingers through the sparse strands on his balding pate as he made his retreat. “Claude, always such a temper.”

Jennie turned to Harwick. “Shall I bring the Scotch, sir?”

“Later,” he replied crisply. “After we’ve concluded our business.”

Jennie nodded her acknowledgment and swiveled on her heel. She bit back a cry when strong, bony fingers bit into her wrist.

“Mary had a fondness for me,” Bond stammered. “She was—”

His words dissolved in a gasp. Harwick clutched the collar of Bond’s pristine white shirt. “Take your bleedin’ hands off her. This is a quality establishment.”

Harwick accented his words with a shake that rattled the gangly man’s teeth. Bond’s hold relaxed. His eyes trailed Jennie as she backed away.

“My apologies, my lovely—”

“Bloody hell, Bond. You never could hold your liquor.” Harwick’s voice went low and harsh. “Now shut your mouth so we can get this over with. I don’t intend to spend the evening listening to your babbling.”

“Temper, temper.” Bond smiled. “You forget, I’m the one holding the cards this time.”

Harwick released Bond, thrust his hand inside the sot’s jacket, and withdrew an elegantly engraved gold watch. Tapping the glass with his forefinger, he eyed him with tightly leashed rage. “Ten minutes. I won’t waste any more of this night on the likes of you.”

“We’ll do things your way.” Bond teetered on his heels. “You always were an impatient bastard.”

“My office. Now.” Harwick ground out the words. He turned to Jennie. “Bring Gloria anything she’d like.”

Stepping to the side, Jennie offered a nod. “It will be my pleasure.”

Bond’s attention landed squarely on Jennie. “He knows I’m right. Let’s just hope
you
keep your pretty throat intact.”

Harwick clamped a hand over Bond’s shoulder and propelled him to the stairs with a vicious shove. They mounted the steps to his office, reemerging so quickly, Jennie did not have time to deliver the tray containing a bottle of fine whiskey and two tumblers to Harwick.

Bond slunk down the stairs. His Adam’s apple bobbed wildly beneath his parchment-pale skin. Fear-filled eyes stared ahead.

“You’d better remember who you’re dealing with.” Harwick’s words were calm, quiet, and piercing as daggers.

“Go to hell, Claude,” Bond replied with surprising vigor.

Harwick chuckled. “We’ll see who gets there first.”

“He’s here.”

Rose’s conspiratorial whisper announced Matthew Colton’s arrival. The barmaid pinched her cheeks and smoothed her upswept honey-gold tresses. She leaned closer to Jennie, her expression sly and knowing. “Don’t let that fine suit fool you. He’s fierce as a pirate. Or so I’ve heard.”

Fierce. And nearly as dangerous
.

Biting back her thoughts, Jennie busied herself at the bar. She studied Colton beneath the veil of her lashes. His tailored charcoal tweed sack coat defined broad, well-muscled shoulders. The ebony silk tie he’d carelessly knotted at his throat accented a strong jaw, while the deep chestnut hue of his neatly cropped strands intensified the darkness of that penetrating gaze.

He spared Rose a glance. A rake’s smile curved his lips. A scarlet flush spread over the barmaid’s cheeks, and the platter of steins in her hands shifted ever so slightly off-kilter.

“Good evening, Mr. Colton.” Rose’s voice dripped spun sugar.

“You might want to be careful.” Colton eyed the precariously tilted tray as he headed to the far end of the bar. Leaning an elbow against the counter, he addressed the barkeep. “Where’s Harwick?”

Harry muttered something Jennie couldn’t discern. Colton turned away and took off toward the staircase, mounting the steps to Harwick’s office two at a time.

“I’ve seen him looking at you,” Rose said, setting the tray down with a loud clatter. “How did you draw his attention? He’s usually…distant.”

“I started a brawl,” she said casually.

“You caused that ruckus a few nights ago?”

Jennie savored the barmaid’s sudden puzzlement. “I suppose one could lay the blame at my feet.”

“You’re having a spot of fun with me. You are always a lady with the customers.”

“
My
manners weren’t the problem.”

“Mr. Colton’s a mystery, he is. So well-spoken. And smart. Always looking to be calculating something. He doesn’t seem the kind to murder a man in cold blood.”

“Murder?” Jennie feigned ignorance. Was the barmaid referring to the death of Colton’s partner, or did she have knowledge of yet another killing connected with the former Yard man?

“I’d best not talk about it now. Some other time.” Rose smoothed her hair. “The walls have ears.”

“Indeed.” Jennie offered a nod of understanding.

Rose shot a glance toward the stairs. “I don’t think he’ll be here long. Harwick sent a messenger for him.”

“What did you hear?”

“I’m not sure what it meant.” She lowered her voice to a murmur. “Something about a threat. And that man Harwick had with him. The one stumbling over his own feet.”

“Sir Lawrence threatened him?”

Rose worried her lip, as if she knew she’d said too much. “I don’t know.”

Before Jennie could delve deeper, one of Harwick’s associates bellowed an impatient request for the flaxen-haired barmaid’s attention.

“Hold your hat, you old bounder,” Rose mumbled under her breath. “At least the bloke is free with his coin if you wiggle your rump.” She threw Jennie a wink over her shoulder and scurried off, her generous hips swaying beneath the voluminous folds of her skirts.

Why had Rose hesitated to say more about Bond? What had her keen ears picked up? There’d be time to coax it out of her later. For now, she needed to discover Colton’s business with Harwick.

Grabbing a tray, she motioned the barkeep over. “Harwick requested whiskey. I’ll bring it up to him.”

Harry planted his palms on the counter. His gruff voice dropped low. “I wouldn’t want to be Bond. The poor bastard is goin’ to learn the hard way.” He edged closer. “You heard the sot rambling on about a songbird. There’s truth to his words. You look like her. Harwick’s last lady.”

“His lady?”

“For lack of a better word. Mary was a beauty. Same coloring as you. But painted up. She pranced around on the stage half-naked, played up to the fellows all right, teasing the coin from their pockets. That didn’t matter to Harwick as long as she filled his theater.”

Jennie schooled her features. “What happened to her?”

Swiping at a glass with a rag, the barkeep shot Harwick’s paramour a glance. Her bottom lip thrust out in an overdone pout, the blonde drummed her fingers against the table.

“The boss got tired of her and took up with that strumpet. Damn shame, too. Mary was classy compared to that little shrew.”

Jennie kept her expression purposefully bland. If Harry knew something about her informant’s death, she needed to find out. “What happened to her?”

“She met her end a few weeks back. Murdered. Like our Lizzy.” Harry’s head bobbed from side to side, as if with regret. “There was talk on the streets…she was a thorn in Harwick’s side. When she took up with Bond, that was the last straw.”

“With Bond?”

Harry poured himself a shot of whiskey and downed it. “I overheard her arguing with Harwick one night. She threw it in the bloke’s face. Told him Bond wanted to marry her.”

Jennie swallowed a gasp. She knew Mary had taken up with Bond when she needed another protector. Had Bond developed deeper intentions for their liaison?

Harry rearranged a few glasses on the counter. “You’re goin’ to think I’ve gone daft, but I think Bond loved her. The poor bastard took her death hard. Been in his cups since they found her.”

Startled by the raw timbre of his voice, Jennie studied the gruff barkeeper. “Did you know her well?”

The creases on Harry’s weathered face deepened. “She knew how to speak to a fellow without acting like she had a stick up her arse. Under all that rouge and those bawdy clothes, she was a good woman. She didn’t deserve the end she got.”

His words cut through Jennie like a dull blade, but she banished the emotion from her features. She had to change the subject. “Oh, Harry. I nearly forgot Mr. Harwick’s drinks.”

He poured whiskey into two glasses and set them on a tray. “You sure he wants these now?”

Jennie nodded. “Mr. Harwick requested them a while ago. As it is, I’ve kept him waiting.”

The barkeep handed her the tray. “Just smile pretty and Harwick will forget all about the drinks. He’s always had an eye for redheads.”

Chapter Ten

“I don’t care what it takes. Get it.”

Harwick’s words drilled through the closed office door. Bitter. Angry. Stripped of the thin veneer of refinement he wore like a disguise. “The son of a bitch thinks he can threaten me,” he went on. “I don’t care what you have to do. Make sure Bond keeps his goddamn mouth shut.”

Jennie strained to hear Colton’s reply. She could make out a few muffled phrases, but his calm tones were hopelessly blurred as they drifted through the heavy barrier.

She turned to the room adjacent to Harwick’s office, the bookkeeper’s closet-sized workspace. The wall between the rooms was thinner than the stout oak door. Sound would likely filter through with less distortion.

She tested the handle. Locked. Drat the luck.

Shrugging off the minor inconvenience, she set her tray on a sideboard and fished a pin from her upswept hair. A few twists and turns of the slender rod in the keyhole, and the lock released. Hinges creaked in protest. The door swung open.

Jennie tucked the pin back in place, lit a small lamp, and placed the drink-laden tray on the only vacant surface she could find. Adjusting to the dim light, she scanned the room. Good heavens! She’d assumed the bookkeeper would be an orderly sort. But of course, one should never make assumptions.

A chaos of documents met her eyes. Ledgers filled the shelves. Stuffed folders formed pillars against the walls. A modest desk overflowed with papers. Tidiness was apparently a virtue Harwick’s perpetually nervous bookkeeper did not possess.

Spotting a ledger atop the tallest pile on the desk, she snatched it up. Thumbing through the worn volume, Jennie thanked providence for her good fortune. Within the book, the bookkeeper had recorded page upon page of entries in a small, precise hand. Income and expenditures, all quite ordinary, listed by date in cramped script.

Until a most unusual entry drew her eye.

November 7. Lawrence Bond. 1000 pounds. Legal Services.

Her breath quickened.
I’m the one holding the cards this time
. Bond believed he had Harwick at a disadvantage. Had he extorted payment for his secrets? Foolish man, believing that vicious jackal could ever be cowed.

Through the wall, Harwick’s venomous speech streamed an epithet-filled chorus.
Judas. Bastard. Whoreson
. His names of choice for a man he’d once counted among his closest associates. Had Bond’s affection for Mary McDaniel destroyed that alliance?

Keeping alert for anything Harwick might utter that would prove useful, Jennie paged through the ledger. Searching for other references to Bond and his dubious services, her gaze whipped over the meticulous entries.

Nothing.

No mention of Bond.

Harwick’s words seemed to punch through the thin wall. The harsh cadences of a childhood on the streets of St. Giles trumped his consciously cultivated diction. “If you can’t get the sod to cooperate, I’ll bloody well find someone who will.”

“This matter requires patience.” Colton’s voice. Calm. Direct. “If we put too much pressure on him now, he’ll run straight to the Yard.”

“Find out his contacts. I want to know the name of every bloke he’s talked to and how much he’s told them.”

“I’ll take care of it.”

A quake rippled through Jennie’s stomach. She couldn’t chance discovery. The consequences would be disastrous.

But she needed that entry, the single line that proved Bond had accepted payment from Harwick. The bookkeeper would miss the journal. But a single missing page would most likely go undetected. With quick, sure movements, she turned back to the ledger page, drew a fingernail along the inner edge, and ripped the sheet from its binding.

She folded the ledger page into as small a square as she could manage and tucked it between her breasts. After extinguishing the light, she swept up the tray and slowly opened the door. Once again, the hinges protested, a low growl worthy of a dragon roused from its den.

Harwick’s threats boomed over the sound. Sparing a quick glance at the office’s still-closed door, she tiptoed from the bookkeeper’s space to the stairs.

Another set of equally contrary hinges sounded an unmistakable alarm. Harwick’s door. With a few hurried steps, she made it to the middle of the staircase. With a quick breath to slow her pulse, she turned to appear as if she was ascending the steps.

The door closed behind Colton. He stalked from the room. Marching to the stairwell, he stared down at her. “What in thunder do you think you’re doing?”

Jennie continued to the landing and held out the filled platter. “Drinks for Mr. Harwick.”

Colton’s mouth slid into a rigid line. “You’re a good liar. But not good enough.” He caught her arm above the elbow. “I need a moment of your time.”

“Take your hands off me. This is not amusing.”

“It’s not meant to be.”

He led her to the end of the corridor, ushered her inside his dimly lit office, and locked the door behind them. “Put down that tray and stay quiet. These walls are thin. But I suspect you already know that.”

Complying with his instruction, Jennie settled her mouth into a placid line. Her pulse pounded in her ears like storm waves beating against the shore. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t lie to me. That wide-eyed look doesn’t work.”

She added a defiant tilt of her chin. “Mr. Harwick will not be pleased. I’ve already kept him waiting.”

“I don’t give a damn about that. I heard someone in the hallway. I’d bet my last shilling it was you.”

“I won’t deny it. I heard raised voices. I did not wish to interrupt your discussion, for lack of a better word.”

“If that were the case, you would have carried your pretty little rump right back down the stairs.”

“How dare you speak to me in such a manner.”

His gaze lingered on her mouth. Temptation flashed in those dark eyes. That, and something more. The merest flicker of suspicion. Of inquiry. Of warning. He didn’t trust her. Had he heard her searching the bookkeeper’s office? Did he suspect the truth?

A lazy smile curved his full mouth. “I’ve touched enough of your body to imagine every inch is beautiful. Perhaps more exploration is in order.”

Did he think to camouflage his distrust with carnal interest? She twisted away. But he was quick. Matthew captured her with one whipcord strong arm. Long, nimble fingers toyed with the tiny fastenings on her bodice.

“You wouldn’t dare,” she bit between her teeth.

“We both know I would.”

Jennie gulped. Hard. His touch unnerved her. Her breath quickened as he freed a pearl button, then another. The flicker of triumph in his eyes should have infuriated her. Yet excitement coursed through her veins. He’d proven a worthy adversary. Indeed, perhaps too worthy. One more button, and he’d likely discover the incriminating slip of paper she’d tucked within her cleavage.

His fingers trailed the edge of her bodice. The pad of his forefinger slid over the fabric, tracing a taut circle around one pebbled nipple. The sensitive bud strained against the fabric, seeking his caress. Her defiant flesh betrayed her.

If only that was the worst of it.

Her pulse hammered in her ears. She had to keep her wits about her. She had to get away before his clever fingers came upon contraband she could not possibly hope to explain.

The heat of his body seared her. The proof of his hunger pressed to her belly.

Colton wanted her. He couldn’t deny that.

Pity his actions had nothing to do with seduction.

He dipped his head, his breath warm against her ear. “Do you like that?”

Her lashes shuttered her gaze as the truth crashed over her like a rogue wave. My, he was brazen. He’d read her body’s innate responses like the skilled detective he’d once been. If only the rasp in his voice did not heat her blood with wanting.

Do you like that?
How very absurd. He knew full well she did not welcome the deep-seated need that overtook her when he held her. She did not
like
the way her senses came alive when he was near. Even now, the crisp scent of his shaving soap blended with his clean, natural essence, stirring a hunger she had no choice but to deny. She did not
like
the way her heart pounded when he touched her. Not in fear. Not in revulsion. But with a longing that threatened to eclipse reason.

She drew in a calming breath. She must rein in her rebellious yearnings. Such madness, really.

Her mouth went dry even as a tiny whisper of denial escaped her lips, and she extricated herself from his touch.

“You’re not nearly as good a liar as you like to think.” The wicked gleam in his dark irises made it clear he assessed her every reaction. “What are you up to? Do you plan to enlighten me? Or shall I toss you out on your shapely little arse here and now?”

Jennie met the threat with an exaggerated huff. “If Harwick has to wait much longer for his whiskey, he’ll save you the trouble.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Colton gritted out without a trace of humor. “Tell me the truth. Have you taken a notion to blackmail him?”

“More ridiculous accusations? Really, this is growing quite tiresome.”

“I should give you the sack tonight. But this way, I can keep an eye on you.” He turned toward the door. His hand closed around the brass latch. “Get back to the bar. Some sot must be bawling for another round by now.”

Jennie met his words with an exaggerated huff. “Harwick—”

“At this point, I don’t give a damn.”

When he opened the door, Jennie hiked her chin with as much dignity as she could muster and stepped calmly past his long, lean body. She pulled in a low breath. Calming her strides. Slowing her pace. It wouldn’t do to rush from him like a prisoner who’d escaped the executioner’s block.

He trailed her steps as they descended the stairs. He followed her to the bar. Close as a lover, he rasped against her ear. “You’ll find I don’t miss much.”

Indeed. Other than the damning evidence she’d hidden between her breasts. The ever-so-brazen Matthew Colton wasn’t quite the scoundrel he fancied himself to be. Thank heavens.

“In that case, you will find your surveillance quite tedious.” Spotting an upended stein in the far corner, she grabbed a clean rag. “In case you are interested, I will be cleaning a spill.”

Eager to flee Colton’s disconcerting nearness, she spun on her heel. A tall, long-limbed man seemed to materialize in her path. She froze, avoiding the near collision.

The dandy stared down at her. Bloodshot gray eyes blinked, and he shook his head, as if puzzled. Only then did she take in his carved features, his somehow familiar mop of unruly wheat-blond hair. An ill-chosen pattern of vertical white stripes woven into the superfine of his well-tailored suit exaggerated his lanky form and confirmed his identity. Her brother’s Oxford roommate had always displayed bold taste in attire.

His broad grin bisected a face that was all sharp angles. Recognition flickered in his gaze.

Bloody wonderful.

“Jennie Quinn, as I live and breathe. What in the name of Zeus are you doing here?”

Smoothing her skirts, she composed her features. “I’m sorry. I’m afraid you’ve confused me with someone else.”

The dandy braced one hand against the bar. “No, no, I’m quite positive. Jennie, it’s me. Ian Kirkbride. Surely you haven’t forgotten.”

“Sir, I’m entirely certain I’ve never made your acquaintance.”

He gave his head an adamant shake. “Jeremy and I shared quarters at Oxford. I accompanied him to your family’s country home.”

Indeed, she’d never forget the brash dolt’s roaming hands. Her brother never made the mistake of extending the fumbling dullard another invitation.

She slanted Colton a glance. He watched from behind the bar, appearing to take in every detail. Sickening tension roiled her stomach.

“Sadly, my brother barely learned to sign his name. He swabs decks in Her Majesty’s navy, far from Oxford. Might I bring you a drink, sir?”

The dandy lunged, catching her leg-o-mutton sleeve in his grasping fingers. “Blast it all, Jennie, this is not humorous. What are you doing in a place like this? Does Jeremy know?”

Colton stepped forward, seizing the fop by his lapels. “You’ve had enough for one night.”

The dandy’s hand dropped to his side. His face colored. “I say, this is most uncalled for.”

Colton dragged him to the door. “Your business here is done.”

“This is an outrage!”

The door slammed in the dandy’s face with a decisive thud. Colton fixed Jennie in his sights as he strolled back to the bar.

“That was rather unnecessary.” She forced a layer of frost into her voice. Best to keep control of the situation. “I had the matter well in hand.”

“An Oxford man? Several steps in the social register above Duncan Poole, I’d say. You’re moving up in the world.” His dark eyes hardened even as his mouth hitched at one corner. “I’ve matters to attend to. Try to keep yourself out of trouble until I return.”

…

Midnight passed with no sign of Matthew Colton. Jennie bustled about, pretending she hadn’t noticed his absence. She finished her last-minute tasks, bid the barkeeper a good night, and set off in search of some clue to the missing lightskirt’s whereabouts. Ida had not dissipated into the fog. Someone knew her fate.

The unnatural stillness of the night proved startling. Even at this late hour, Jennie expected the usual sounds and sights—a streetwalker trolling for tin, a drunk seeking one last drink, a well-attired gent skulking from a gambling hell. Her pace quickened as she made her way through the eerily quiet avenue, past ill-kept buildings of brick and stone shrouded in shadows.

Approaching a boarded-up building that had once been a grand theater, she slowed. Now reputed to serve as one of Harwick’s storehouses, the place would normally lurk vacant, cloaked in darkness. Yet a dim light—a lantern, perhaps, gleamed in the alley just beyond the barred doors.

A chill coursed along her nape. She swallowed her apprehension and turned toward the lamplight. Taking her pistol from her reticule, she concealed it beneath her cape. She’d keep her distance. With any luck, her presence would remain undetected. But if she were discovered…well, that was a chance she’d have to take.