When a Lady Deceives (Her Majesty’s Most Secret Service) (22 page)

Chapter Twenty-One

The morning sun streamed around the window shade. Jennie stirred, reluctantly opening her lids. Wrapping the bedsheet around her body, she scooted to the edge of the mattress.

Matthew stood before a small mirror over the washstand. Bared to the waist, a thick layer of shaving soap coating his jaw, he skimmed a razor over his face. Jennie’s gaze trailed his motions and wandered lower, surveying the solid plane of his chest. Dark curls tapered from his pectorals to his abdomen and narrowed to a line that disappeared beneath the waist of his trousers. A new and wanton hunger warmed her. She wanted to explore every inch of him, to drink in the infinite differences between their bodies, to feel his primal responses as she brought him pleasure.

There was nothing soft about this man. No, he was all hard, sleek muscle and sinew and bone, taut with restrained power. So much strength, yet he’d treated her with such tenderness. A strange ache coursed through her at the thought of his delicious touch. Such a study in contrasts, this man who’d held her in his arms through the night, seeming to protect her even in his sleep.

She’d always thought him handsome. Even in the stark images the
Herald
had plastered under damning headlines throughout his trial, the strong cut of his jaw and the intelligence and sense of haunting in those brown eyes had stirred something deep within her. But now, as the very recent memory of his touch and his kiss and his desire washed over her, she knew the man beneath the mask of indifference he wore as his own personal armor. The fragile shield she’d clutched around her heart shattered. For so long, she’d dismissed the notion of love, of longing for a man’s caress, of wanting a man more with every breath. Peculiar, how she now craved the very things she’d once disdained with the arrogance of a woman who’d never truly surrendered herself.

He turned to her. Suddenly conscious of the rebellious waves that framed her face in utter disarray, Jennie ran her fingers through her hair to tame the errant locks. A grin hitched the corners of his mouth.

“You’re beautiful, Jennie. Especially when you look like you’ve spent the night in my bed.”

She slanted him a glance beneath her lashes. “A gentleman would not remind me of that.”

“Need I inform you yet again that I am not a gentleman?”

“I continue to be hopeful.”

He wiped his face dry with a towel and came to her. “Regrets?” His voice had lost its arrogance.

“Of course not.”

He tipped up her chin, brushing his lips over hers. “Liar.”

Deepening the kiss, he drew her close. Not quite touching. But near enough to feel his heat. Passion infused the caress. Powerful. Deliciously wicked. But there was more. Unspoken emotion, soul-deep and heartfelt. Her knees quivered, weak with yearning.

With a reluctant groan, he released her. He took a shirt from his wardrobe and draped it over her shoulders. “I can’t think straight when you’re sitting there without a stitch on.”

She slid her arms into the linen sleeves and buttoned it to the rise of her breasts. Her toes sank into a plush carpet as she stood. She glanced at the cuffs hanging past the tips of her fingers and the meticulously stitched hem grazing her thighs. Amazing, how much smaller she was in frame, yet how powerful she felt whenever she touched him and he dragged in a tortured breath.

“I suppose I need to dress. I can’t stay here all morning. I’ve much to accomplish today. Besides, haven’t we already scandalized poor Bertram enough? What must the man think?”

“He’s most likely of the opinion that it’s about bloody time.” A smile quirked Matthew’s mouth as he shrugged on his shirt. “You’re not leaving yet. The cowardly blackguard who wrote those notes won’t come near while you’re with me.”

“The latest missive indicated you are now the target of his rage. He might be lurking about, waiting his chance to strike.”

He shrugged, though the slight narrowing of his eyes contradicted the nonchalance of the gesture. “Odds are the bastard knows I’ll put a bullet between his eyes before he can blink.”

“We cannot assume the threats are empty. He’s already attacked you once.”

“The man who knifed me in the alley did not write that note.”

“A connection between the notes and the assailant would seem only logical,” she said.

“Highly unlikely. I forced the blade from the bastard’s grip. I felt his bones snap. He managed to snatch up the blade with his uninjured hand but made no attempt to put it to use. It’s reasonable to surmise the hand that wielded his weapon is also the hand that holds a pen.”

“That might well be the case, but perhaps he’s working with a partner.”

“A cur who skulks in the shadows is not likely to attack an adversary who will strike back. You are his primary interest.” A muscle in his jaw clenched. He looped a tie around his neck and secured a loose Windsor knot. “That’s why I’m getting you away from London.”

His pronouncement knocked her off-kilter, if only a bit. She allowed a few beats of her heart to pass before acknowledging his words. She steadied her voice. “I won’t run. There’s no point. Who’s to say he won’t pursue me?”

Matthew flashed a scowl. “To the Continent? If the bastard’s that bloody bold, my conscience won’t trouble me when I put him in the ground.”

“I will not leave.”

He caught her hand in his. The darkness in his expression sent a silent alarm rippling through her brain.

“Why, Jennie? What is so bloody important to you that you’d put yourself in danger? Does this have anything to do with Trent?”

“I am not working with him, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Then tell me the truth—what was your purpose at the Lancaster?”

The question shot through her like a jolt of electricity. Surely he already knew her reasons. Had his seduction been nothing more than a ploy, a means of inducing her to reveal the truth? She pulled in oxygen, a slow, calming inhalation. Best to confirm the obvious and take measure of his reaction. From there, she’d decide her next move.

“I needed information on Harwick’s organization. Inebriated louts have loose tongues,” she replied, her tone deliberately cool.

“I need you to tell me the truth.”

She dropped her gaze to the worn floorboards. The look in Matthew’s eyes—the sudden shift from tenderness to interrogation—triggered a gut-deep alarm. Had he plied her with pretty lies, just as she’d coax a man with liquor and glances filled with false promise?

Bitter reality penetrated the bliss that had cocooned her throughout the night. The truth assailed her, brutal and unforgiving. Matthew was Harwick’s top lieutenant. Even if every endearment he’d spoken had come from the heart, words didn’t change a bloody thing. He could offer her nothing more than sweet, desperate moments in time.

And in the end, he was still a very dangerous man.

With a sharp indrawn breath, he released her and slowly walked to the window. He raised the shade and stared down to the street below, one hand pressed to the sash, his forehead resting against his fist.

Jennie went to him. She placed her hand over his, silent as the rhythm of their heartbeats blended. She didn’t understand why she joined him. She knew only that she needed to be with him. Whatever else Matthew did in his life, he’d never hurt her. Her heart understood this truth. Nothing would shake that conviction.

Outside Matthew’s town house, the Strand bustled with activity. People and carriages filled the pavement like ants come out to greet the morning sun. And yet, at this moment, the quiet in the flat overwhelmed her. Matthew seemed consumed—by distrust, by regret, by doubt, she couldn’t be sure.

Perhaps he deserved the truth. At least part of it.

“There was a murder several weeks ago,” she began. “I believed it might be tied to the Lancaster.”

His mouth tightened, grim and hard. “Murders are hardly a rare occurrence in London.”

“The woman killed was known to be Harwick’s mistress.”

He nodded his understanding. “Mary McDaniel. Who was she to you?”

“I knew her circumstances. Nothing more.” The untruth dripped easily from her tongue. “Given her public quarrels with Harwick, he seemed a logical suspect.”

“So all of this—your barmaid act, your smiles and batted eyes with the customers—all of that was intended to gather evidence on one murder?”

“Imagine the headline. A reporter’s dream.”

Or nightmare.
He turned to her. “Do you still believe Harwick killed her?”

The brash script on the notes flashed through her mind. “I am no longer sure.”

Matthew’s hands draped her shoulders. “As I recall, her throat was cut.”

“Quite savagely.”

He shook his head. “That’s not his work. He prefers a bullet to the base of the skull.”

Another brutal image, though not as cruel as the gaping gash in Mary’s slender throat. “Perhaps he hated her.”

“Harwick likes things quick and clean. A finger on a trigger. That’s how he solves his problems.”

“And you’re a part of that horrid existence.”

“For the time being. I don’t expect you to understand. But you need to know the kind of man you’re dealing with. This investigation isn’t one of your stunts. It is not a bloody game.”

She blinked against the light of the new day. Radiant beauty against a backdrop of buildings and factories and scarcely controlled chaos. Jennie seldom saw the sun in its early morning brilliance, prone as she was to stay awake until all hours of the night. Strange how the dawn comforted her, even as she struggled against an unfamiliar sense of fear. She’d become a pawn on a chessboard, caught up in maneuvers over which she could exert little defense, from which there might be no escape.

And Matthew would be trapped as well. He’d try to protect her. In her heart, she knew that truth. He’d watch over her. And in the process, he’d risk his own neck. Blood ties meant nothing to Harwick. He’d stick a blade in Matthew’s ribs and join his doxy for dinner before the body was cold.

Matthew framed her face in his hands. “Jennie, I need to know you’re out of his reach.”

A bitter lump collected in her throat. “In that case, I suppose I should book passage on the next ship to the subcontinent. Harwick has connections throughout Europe and America.”

“He’d have to find you. I’d make sure he didn’t.”

“I’ve no intention of running like a fox chased by hounds.”

“I’m not giving you a choice,” Matthew’s voice hardened. “I want you out of London.”

“And if I refuse? Should I fear you’ll reveal the truth…about me?”

Bitter astonishment flickered in his eyes. For a heartbeat, he looked as though she’d slapped him. “You think I could betray you? Christ, Jennie, I’d rather take a bullet to the gut.” The rigid tension in his features did not ease, even as his tone gentled. “I will protect you. But if something happens to me, you’ll be completely vulnerable.”

“Nothing will happen to you,” she whispered, as if her words could make him invincible. “Nothing.”

He brushed her lips with a caress. “I hope your faith is justified. I want to live long enough to learn all your secrets. But first, I need to get you out of London.”

“If I leave, Harwick will notice. As it stands, he has no reason for suspicion.”

“Have you gone daft?” He raked a hand through his hair. “Surely you don’t think I’d let you sashay around the Lancaster now.”

Bloody infuriating man, thinking he could tell her what she could and could not do.

“How better to lure the coward who wrote those notes into the open? It would appear Harwick, for once, is innocent. But there’s a strong chance one of the Lancaster’s patrons knows something.”

His dark gaze bore into Jennie with a possessive fury. “You intend to set yourself out as bait? I won’t have it.”

“The scoundrel won’t come near me at the Lancaster. And you’ll see to my safety after my shift is done. After all, it is a poorly kept secret that we are lovers.”

“Our
secret
has escaped with remarkable speed.”

“So, the astute Matthew Colton doesn’t catch every bit of gossip that flits through the tavern. Tongues have wagged since you carried me from the brawl. I doubt anyone will be surprised we’ve followed our attraction to its logical conclusion.”

“Logical conclusion?” He captured her in his embrace. “You never fail to amaze me, Miss Quinn.”

“Danvers, sir,” she corrected with a smile.

“I must be utterly mad to even consider your scheme.” His lips swept over hers, stirring a delicious, languid warmth in her core. “I’ll go along with this…for now. But the first sign of trouble, and you will be on your way to the Continent.”

…

“I will escort you to the Lancaster tonight.”

Standing on the pavement outside Mrs. O’Brien’s establishment, Matthew caught Jennie’s hand in his. A wicked smile tipped his mouth. “And then, I’m taking you home. You’ll spend this night in my arms. In my bed. By the time sunrise comes, you’ll know how much I need you.”

“A tempting proposition, indeed.” Jennie kept her voice even, but her knees went just the tiniest bit weak. Could Matthew feel the way her pulse raced at the prospect of learning more of his body’s delicious secrets?

“After tonight, there will be no doubts.”

He left her then. Jennie hurried to her room, changed into a presentable burgundy suit, and set off for her errands. She’d learned from Rose that Mary McDaniel had favored a perfume that bore the distinct aroma of lilies. Lawrence Bond expected to host Jennie the next day. Perhaps a drop or two of a similar elixir would stimulate Bond’s memory and stir his urge to reminisce about his lost paramour.

Beneath an oppressive midday fog, the Strand hummed with activity. Jennie clipped over the pavement, dodging harried pedestrians and elegant carriages in her path. Arriving at the perfumer’s shop, she found precisely the scent she sought. She tucked the small vial she’d purchased in her velvet bag and bustled off to meet with her editor at the London Library. It wouldn’t do to be tardy once again.

She’d made it to St. James’s Square when Jack Trent called out to her. A pleasantry, ordinary enough. But that didn’t change the fact that he’d conveniently turned up at the site of her appointment. Had Campbell requested his presence?
Bollocks
. Well, she’d have a word with her editor about that.