When a Lady Deceives (Her Majesty’s Most Secret Service) (12 page)

Glass shattered. A piercing crash. The lantern went dark. A moan, so soft it might have been the wind’s echo, drifted to her ears. Tasting fear, Jennie tightened her grip on the Sharps.

The clip of boot heels against the cobbles betrayed movement. Stealthy. Even. Consuming the span between them with each stride.

Jennie shied away from the streetlamp, concealing herself in the shadows. She recognized Colton even before the light touched his face. He edged closer, his eyes focused on the pistol.

“Why are you here?” he asked, advancing on her.

“I could ask the same. I heard a sound…someone in pain. What have you done?”

“Not a damned thing.”

“Tell me. Before I feel a need to pull this trigger,” she said, her words surprisingly steady.

Near enough to touch her now, he slowly shook his head. The pistol in her hand did not seem to concern him. And then, he lunged and pinned her to his length. With quick, sure movements, he wrested the gun from her grasp.

“Shooting me isn’t a good idea. Especially not tonight.”

Chapter Eleven

Terror banished reason as unfettered instinct took the reins. Strength fueled by fear propelled Jennie out of Colton’s arms. Her heels slammed against the pavement. Each footfall echoed in her ears. Each breath was a harsh gasp against the silence.

Strong hands hauled her back. Colton captured her, unyielding as steel. A scream wrenched from her lungs, but his calloused fingers muffled her cry with a surprising lack of violence.

“Damn it, I’m not going to hurt you.” As if realizing the contradiction between his words and his actions, he eased his hold. “You must not run. I am not the person you should fear.”

His words offered no comfort. To the contrary, the rawness of his voice twisted her terror into a barbed knot in her belly.

She felt his chest expand as he dragged in a breath. A small voice deep within urged her to free herself and run, but she stilled. When he released her, she turned to him, desperate to read the darkness in his eyes.

His hands closed lightly over her upper arms, and he brought her closer. “I want to protect you. But you make it damned difficult.”

She felt it then. Warm and liquid against her shoulder. Jennie drew back. In the lamplight, a thick stain spread over his sleeve above the elbow.

Blood. His blood. Horror rose to her throat, bitter as lye.

He nodded, confirming her suspicion. “Nothing to be concerned about.”

“You’ve been wounded.”

A muscle in his jaw flexed. He spared his sleeve a glance. His hands clenched into loose fists, his mouth hard with regret. “I interrupted the blighter trying to gain access to this building. I should have gone after him.”

The image of a blade slashing into Colton’s body clawed at her insides. “He might have killed you.”

Devil take it, she couldn’t mask her feelings. Not with him. His eyes flashed, but he showed no other reaction to the way her voice betrayed her.

“I didn’t get a good look at the cur. He struck fast and ran. Sodding coward. But I can’t chance you wandering into his path. God only knows you make a ripe target, out on these streets at all hours.”

If the harsh cadence of his words was to be believed, he was genuinely angry with her.

Angry she’d put herself in danger once again.

Strange, how his tone comforted her. Wild relief permeated to the bone. Of course, she could not permit him the luxury of seeing her terror ebb.

She breathed in a calming breath. “And so you accosted me and took my weapon?”

“You were going to shoot me.”

“You might have explained,” she protested.

“I have no intention of taking a bullet, even from that puny thing.” Stepping back, he retrieved her Sharps from his jacket pocket, pressed the pistol into her hand, and closed her fingers around it. His mouth curved into something not quite a smile. “This should make you feel more secure.”

The cool metal against her palm offered no comfort. She tucked the weapon into her reticule.

“I had to take the gun,” he went on. “I’ve no doubt you would have pulled the trigger.”

She pulled in a slow breath and hiked her chin just a bit. “My response to the situation was entirely justified. I assure you my emotions were under control. I was not unduly frightened.”

“There’s nothing wrong with fear. It can keep you alive.”

“Peculiar words from a man who appears to fear nothing.”

“Appearances can deceive.” His voice grew quiet and raw. “The way you roam this city scares the hell out of me.”

His words triggered a twinge of doubt, the slimmest thread of apprehension. He didn’t trust her. He made no secret of that fact. He’d questioned her motives for sashaying about the Lancaster, hauling overfilled steins of ale on pewter platters. How much had he learned? Had he followed her tonight?

Did he seek to protect her?

Or to stop her?

“I will replace your cloak,” he said too casually, given it was his blood that marred the fabric.

“A few stains on this scratchy rag are of no consequence. We must summon a physician.”

He gave his head a decisive shake. “Doctors ask too many questions. I will tend it myself.”

“The wound needs to be properly cleaned and bandaged.”

“I’ve had worse. I’ll live.”

“Are you always so stubborn?”

“Yes.”

“I believe you. You also refused a physician’s care after that vulgar sot, Poole, drew blood. Sadly predictable, really.” Jennie planted her hands on her hips and conjured an air of authority. “You are losing blood, and we must take precautions against infection. I keep a bottle of antiseptic at the Lancaster. There’s no shortage of clean cloth to fashion a bandage. If I tend the wound and believe you require a physician’s care, you will agree.”

“Perhaps.”

She hiked her chin. “You fancy yourself my protector. I cannot have my protector disabled with a raging infection.”

A hint of amusement gleamed in his eyes. “Ever the practical woman.”

“I usually consider myself quite sensible.”

Practical
.
Sensible
. So near to him that she drank in his essence, she marveled at his words. At the moment, with her heart stuttering ever so slightly and her lips craving his touch, she would not have chosen those words to describe herself. A part of her she never imagined existed wanted nothing more than to be carried to a warm bed and ravished. Thoroughly. Decadently. Deliciously.

Most impractical,
indeed
.

His brows rose as though he thought to contradict her, but instead, he traced the curve of her face. Currents of awareness shot from the tips of her toes to her scalp.

“Very well. We will return to the tavern. Keep alert for any sign we’re being trailed.” He touched her shoulder, his fingers barely grazing her arm. “If the bastard spotted you, you may be his next target.”

…

“Do your worst, Miss Danvers.”

Straddling a plain wooden chair that had definitely seen better days, Matthew propped an elbow against the back and rested his chin on his hand. His torn shirt hung loose, baring his left arm to Jennie’s studious gaze.

The backroom at the Lancaster was one of the coldest areas of the tavern, but damned if he didn’t welcome the frigid air’s bite against his skin. God only knew he needed a distraction from his body’s hunger.

Brow furrowed, Jennie examined his injury with the attention of a detective inspecting a vital clue. Before his eyes, she’d transformed into a veritable model of nursing efficiency, gathering medicinal supplies as if she tended wounds on a daily basis.

This close, he could smell the faintest hint of lavender perfuming her skin. Traces left behind by her soap, most likely. Such a subtle enticement. Yet she seemed unaware of the effect she had on him. The ache in his upper arm proved no match for the relentless throbbing in his groin. Even as little lines of concentration formed between her brows, he wanted nothing more than to forget this nonsense about bandages and antiseptic and strip her bare.

God’s teeth, how much torture could he endure? His imagination pondered the luscious curves she concealed beneath layers of wool and cotton and silk. He’d be content if they stole away to his residence and kindled the sparks her touch ignited. If he bled to death, so be it. At least he’d die a happy man.

He clenched his jaw against the temptation. Evidently misinterpreting his reaction as a sign of pain, she regarded him thoughtfully.

“Do you trust me?” she asked with a touch of a smile.

“Absolutely not.”

“In that case, we’re well matched. Being followed at all hours of the day and night has not added to my level of trust. Not one whit.” A sudden hesitation slowed her movements. Her forehead creased into shallow rows.

“Second thoughts?”

She shook her head. “I assure you I am not afraid of blood. I require that cloth now.”

He tore a clean towel into strips. “As you wish.”

“Raise your arm, please,” she instructed gently.

Slanting a wary glance, he extended his injured limb. “This is unnecessary. A waste of time.”

“Nonsense. Hold your arm out just a bit.”

She pressed a hot rag over the slash and methodically cleaned the wound, seeming quite unfazed by the sight, then blotted the moisture with a dry cloth.

“Fortunately, the injury isn’t deep. I don’t believe it will need to be stitched,” she said. Peculiar, the confidence infusing the barmaid’s statements. Her forehead furrowed, and she frowned, pausing to reach for a dark glass bottle. “There is one more thing before I wrap your arm…”

She poured a liquid that smelled almost as bad as it stung over the cut. The effects of the pungent solution nearly jolted him out of the chair.

“Bollocks,” he bit off between his teeth. “What is that bloody stuff? Acid?”

“Even Achilles had his weakness,” Jennie observed cheerfully. “Yours is tincture of iodine.” She wrapped the injury with confidence born of skill. Her mouth relaxed as the furrows above her brows eased. “Finished.”

“Most impressive.” Indeed. Where had a barmaid learned to disinfect and bind a wound? Another layer to the puzzle that was Jennie. He tugged his shirt over his shoulder, came to his feet, and crossed the room. Raising the window shade, he scanned the road outside the tavern. “I’ll see you home.”

Jennie trailed him to the window. “You haven’t even buttoned your shirt.”

He cast an idle glance at the torn, blood-stained garment. “There’s not much left of it. The action seems rather pointless.”

She took a button between her fingers and fastened the opening below his collar. Her fingertips glided against his skin. The gentle contact seemed an exquisite torment. Summoning the fragile shreds of self-discipline he still possessed, he caught her hand in his.

“Don’t.”

At his response, she stiffened. Her teeth grazed her lower lip. An innocent gesture. Yet so sensual, he clenched his jaw against a surge of desire. Thoughts of what he yearned to do to that luscious mouth provoked a rebellion against his common sense.

Her warmth washed over him, driving away the cold, unforgiving night. Notes of lavender and Jennie filled his senses. He slid his arms around her waist, pressed her slender body to his, and surrendered to his soul’s hunger.

…

One touch, and Jennie’s senses betrayed her.

She splayed her fingers against Matthew’s lean muscled chest. Not in resistance, but in longing. As his lips trailed a scalding path over her flesh, she drank in the texture of his skin, the heat of his body, the faint aromas of shaving soap and whiskey. Her body tingled all the way to her toes.

And then, he kissed her.

No practiced act of seduction, the touch of his lips was sweet desire channeled into a caress. Carnal possession blended tenderness with undeniable need. Jennie melted to the hard planes of his body. Unable to think. Unable to reason. Craving his touch so desperately, she could not imagine how she’d lived without the heady sensation for so long.

He drew in a sharp breath and released Jennie from her willing captivity. An emotion far more powerful than simple desire radiated in eyes darkened by passion. He dipped his head, pressing a soft kiss against the tiny vein pulsing at the base of her throat, anointing the sensitive column, lightly nipping her flesh.

Pleasure rippled to her core. She closed her eyes and surrendered. The flat of his hand slid along the curve of her back, wantonly molding her to his demanding length. A shiver of pure wanting coursed to her womb.

He slowly brushed a finger over lips swollen from his ardent attentions. “I want you so damned much.”

Intoxicated by the blur of sensations, she clung to his strength and his warmth. His heartbeat thudded against her breasts while the longing in his voice betrayed his desire, a hunger far more powerful than mere conquest.

Cupping her breast against his hand, he caressed the sensitive mound. Her nipples strained against the fabric. Seeking his touch. Craving his possession.

His fingers roamed to toy with the delicate fastenings on her blouse. He caught a tiny pearl button between his fingers and freed it, then stilled. His eyes heavy-lidded, he waited, allowing her a final opportunity to evade his claim.

Jennie’s heart thrummed. Her yearning for him was madness. She needed his touch as desperately as an addict craved opium.

His lips resumed their leisurely conquest. He captured her earlobe between his teeth, nipping and teasing until she thought she’d go mad with the anticipation of pleasures yet to come.

Swept away.

In too deep.

She braced herself with the truth. Brutality. Seduction. Both were weapons in his arsenal.

“As exhilarating as this…game may be, I’ve no intention of spending this night in your bed.” If only she trusted her own words.

Jennie ran her fingertips along the edge of Matthew’s stubble-roughened jaw. Desire threatened to consume her. How could she give in to it? How could she want this man so badly the need permeated to the marrow?

With a sigh, she fled the circle of his arms. The chill in the room prickled goose bumps over her flesh. Matthew closed the distance between them. His warmth and strength enveloped her.

“This is not a game.” His husky rasp tore at her defenses.

“I shouldn’t be here with you.”

“I know.”

She traced the faded scar on his chin with the pad of her thumb. She shouldn’t want any part of him. He was a source. Nothing more.

Her heart recognized the lie for what it was. My, she couldn’t even convince herself, could she? A fierce hunger roared deep within her, a longing for contact, a yearning to know the man who stood before her. Body and soul.

Her desire for him was insanity. Wanting Matthew Colton could only lead to disaster. Why did this man have the power to make her knees absolutely weak? Why did her heart ache every time she glimpsed the emotion buried deep within his gaze?

“This is madness,” she whispered.

He answered her with another kiss. More gentle now. Infinitely tender. A delicious caress.

Her arms looped around his neck. Accepting his kiss. His touch. His hunger.