When a Lady Deceives (Her Majesty’s Most Secret Service) (26 page)

Chapter Twenty-Five

Gas lamps lit the night. Lingering outside police headquarters, Jennie adjusted the elegant velvet hat crowning her upswept hair and loosened the fastenings on her cashmere cape. If her plan to gain access to Matthew was to stand the slimmest chance of success, she had to look every bit the respectable woman, albeit a respectable woman who enjoyed drawing a man’s eye.

She’d traded her serviceable cloak for her most fashionable cape, arranged her curls in a face-framing array, and steeled herself against her doubts. Her deception had little chance of actually gaining Matthew’s release, but she’d settle for the chance to see him, to assure herself that he was not the man Trent believed him to be.

Bells in the clock tower chimed the hour. She’d been expected at the Lancaster more than ninety minutes earlier. By now, she expected Harry would be in quite a stir. The barkeep would worry over her, especially given the events of the day. The genial bear of a man had grown protective of her. Like Trent—like the rest, he’d warned her away from Matthew.

Perhaps he was right. Had she been a fool to allow a man like Matthew Colton into her heart?

But she needed the truth. And if Jack Trent was willing to help her get it, she’d take whatever assistance the man offered, no matter how bitter the taste of swallowing her own pride.

Trent surveyed her with an appraising eye. “Try not to look like you’re going to your own execution.”

He reached to take her by the arm, but she feigned a need to straighten the feather in her hat and evaded his grasp. Odd, that he’d want to put his hands on her, even in that innocent way. The change in him both intrigued and disturbed her. Before Trent had departed London for America, he’d regarded her as a friendly rival, nothing more. Now, it was as though he viewed her through different eyes. Surely his interest was rooted in the quest for a story, their mutual determination to ferret out evidence on Harwick’s organization. But she’d seen the way he looked at her, the flicker of heat in his eyes.

Truth be told, she should be flattered. Trent was intelligent and ambitious. And he had guts. His investigation of Harwick’s Boston counterpart had uncovered evidence that had toppled the crime lord’s organization. She couldn’t deny her admiration of Trent’s shrewd insight and tenacity. But her pulse didn’t race when he touched her, and the clean scent of his cologne didn’t fill her with longing.

When Matthew was near, the yearning permeated every cell of her being.

The whispers of her conscience invaded her thoughts. She’d put Trent in danger simply by being seen with him. Would he have been so quick to involve himself in her scheme if he’d known the truth? She had to tell him about the threats, about the possibility, however slim, that she was in the sights of a madman.

“Jennie Quinn, nervous? That’s a first.” Trent’s observation ripped her from her thoughts.

“Not nervous. Bloody scared,” she admitted.

He swept his fingers over the curve of her face. This time, she didn’t pull away. But she knew the emotion in her eyes was not the one he wanted to see.

His gaze fell away, and he made a show of straightening his tie. “We’ll go on with our plan. I’ve dealt with enough barristers to know how to act like one.”

“Before we go inside, there’s something else you need to know.”

“Ah, here it comes.” His mouth hitched at the corners, boyishly endearing. “The confession of undying devotion I’ve been waiting for.”

“Actually, this confession regards a man who wants to kill me.”

He cocked his head, studying her. “That would not be a first for you.”

“True, but something about this situation is quite troubling. I’ve received anonymous threats. Nothing specific that might identify the blighter, but the devil knows where I live. He’s familiar with my habits. He’s threatened others who are in my company.” The words tumbled out, ridiculously matter-of-fact, as though they were discussing the weather or the best time of year to plant roses.

“An interesting development, to say the least.”

“Highly distressing, nonetheless.” She clenched her fingers so tightly, only her gloves prevented her nails from digging into her palm. “I don’t want to put you in harm’s way, though I’m afraid that may already be the case.”

Intrigue danced in his eyes. “I’ll take that chance on one condition.”

“Condition?”

“Just one,” he said, his mouth settling into a somber line. “After we accomplish what we came to do here tonight, you will tell me about the pieces to this puzzle. You will hold nothing back.”

“Agreed.”

For a long moment, his gaze took her in, as if assessing the odds she’d comply with their pact. He offered a brisk nod. “Well then, let’s get this over with.”

“You’re certain none of the constables will recognize you?”

His shoulders lifted in an idle shrug. “I’ve been gone from London a long time.”

The precinct house door crashed open. A trio of leather-helmeted patrolmen barreled from the building. Like hounds spotting prey, their attention lit on Jennie. A long, lean constable with a well-cultivated mustache ogled her, his gaze sauntering from the plume on her hat to the hem of her skirt. Ignoring Trent as though he’d become invisible, he shoved past the others and offered Jennie a solicitous smile.

“Constable Maguire, at your service, miss.”

She met his leering interest with a coy, well-practiced smile. “We’ve come to see the magistrate. If you would be so kind as to show us the way.”

His eyes widened. “And why might such a fine lady have cause to seek the magistrate?”

“Sadly, the matter involves my fiancé. He stands falsely accused.” She did her best to bat her eyes. Why hadn’t she bothered to take note when other women shamelessly fluttered their lashes? She’d always found flirtatious games a colossal waste of time. Surely there was an art, a reliable technique to the blasted strategy. “I must speak with him. I would be in your debt if you would take us to him.”

Constable Maguire offered a smile and a nod. “I’m sure that can be arranged. Who is the prisoner in question?”

She toyed with a curl that escaped her coif. “Mr. Matthew Colton.”

One of the other constables let out a low whistle under his breath. Jennie read the uneasiness in the patrolman’s expression. “Surely nothing has happened to my Matthew,” she said, as if to convince herself.

Maguire’s thin lips stretched taut beneath his mustache. “Not yet, miss. But when we get a hold of him, he’ll wish he’d stayed put.”

Her stomach quaked. “Stayed put? What in heaven’s—”

“He escaped hours ago. And the blighter wasn’t alone.”

Jennie locked her arms tightly across her chest. She wouldn’t crumble. Not here. Not now. There’d be plenty of time for that later.

“He escaped? With another prisoner?”

The patrolman shook his head. “Not with a prisoner. With a woman. Pardon my saying so, miss…” He stared at his hands for an excruciating moment. “She was the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

…

Jennie slipped into the Lancaster through the back door. She stared into the crowd. Smiles and laughter bombarded her, the boisterous chatter of many conversations carried on at once. Normally, she would find the pleasant chaos oddly enjoyable. But this night was different. Her fingers wove into knots as she struggled to ignore the dull ache deep in her chest.

Harry spotted her from behind the bar. The relief in the barkeep’s eyes only intensified her distress. She’d no time to dwell on it. Rose rushed to her side and leaned in close.

“You’ve heard…about Mr. Colton?”

Jennie offered a small nod. Best not to let on too much. After all, she was here to discern the rumors spreading about Matthew. A kernel or two of truth might be found in the gossipy rubbish. “Only that he escaped.”

“For his sake, I hope he’s gone as far from London as his money could take him.” Rose drew closer, her voice little more than a whisper. “Some of Mr. Harwick’s
associates
were here tonight. I couldn’t help but overhear the horrible things they said.”

Invisible talons dug into Jennie’s chest. She steadied her voice. “Idle talk, that’s all.”

Rose cleared a few mugs off a corner table and scattered them haphazardly on a tray. “They said Colton should have stayed put with the constables…where he was safe.”

The words pierced Jennie’s calm facade, but she clung to her fragile composure like a drowning woman clings to a buoy. “Probably just drunks in their cups.”

“Those men weren’t drunk. They sounded serious. Dead serious.”

“It doesn’t seem quite real,” Jennie said truthfully.

“Good heavens, I don’t even want to see
The
Times
in the morning. It won’t take the jackals in the press long to spread the news if they find Mr. Colton in the river,” Rose said, then whipped around and rushed off to tend a surly patron’s bellows for more ale.

Without another word, Jennie fled the Lancaster and darted into the tavern across the way. Jack Trent waited at a table in the dark recesses of the pub, regarding her with a look of clear expectation.

“Did you learn anything?”

“Nothing I didn’t already know. Matthew Colton has enemies.” Jennie choked out the bitter words. “Some want him dead.”

“That’s not surprising.” A muscle in Trent’s jaw clenched. “I found a way into Bond’s place. There’s nothing we can use.”

Jennie shook her head slowly. “Harwick’s mistress set us on a merry chase, didn’t she?”

“What in damnation are you talking about?” Frustration colored his low tones.

“We can’t discuss it here. There’s no way to know who is watching. Or listening.”

He nodded his agreement, slung his coat around his shoulders, and escorted Jennie from the pub. Frigid wind sliced through her cloak as if it were a threadbare rag. She hugged her arms across her chest.

“We’ve been foolish. Mary never would have trusted anyone.” Jennie kept her voice hushed. “She scrapped her way through life. God knows she never would have trusted a lovelorn sot with the key to her retribution.”

Jack cocked his head. “You don’t believe Bond had the evidence?”

“I feel rather certain he didn’t.”

“Christ, the poor bastard died for something he didn’t even possess.”

A shiver ran along her nape, a tingle that had nothing to do with the chill. She stiffened. They were being watched. She sensed it as clearly as she felt the frost in the night air and smelled the tang of smoke from countless chimneys. But she had no proof. She’d keep her suspicion to herself. No point looking as if she belonged in Bedlam.

“What’s wrong?” Trent asked. Had her reaction been so transparent, then?

She raised her hands and made a show of adjusting her hat. “I’m just so tired of this blasted wind.”

He slanted a skeptical glance. “Something’s bothering you. What is it, Jennie?”

“Nothing.” Her heels tapped against the pavement. “Thoughts of the vermin in these alleys after dark could lead anyone’s imagination astray. Do you have any leads?”

“Not a blasted thing.” His breath formed frosty rings against the darkness. “We need to end this bloody goose chase tonight. I’m too cold and tired to think. I’ll see you home and we’ll resume our quest after the sun comes up.”

A sensory alarm radiated along her spine. Glancing behind, she scanned the shadows. Meeting Trent’s questioning gaze, she steeled her voice. “I’ve no intention of giving up so soon. I wouldn’t sleep a wink in any case.”

“If you’re worried about Colton, don’t be.”

Bugger it, Trent read her features with infuriating accuracy. She didn’t miss a stride. “It doesn’t matter to you that he may be innocent.”

Trent bundled his scarf around his neck and picked up his pace. “Colton’s innocence isn’t mine to determine, but the fact he planned an escape with the aid of an accomplice does not work in his favor. In any case, he’s probably halfway to the Continent by now. Harwick’s after him—a noose is the least of his worries.”

The prickle of awareness at her nape taunted Jennie again. She threw a surveying glance over her shoulder.

Trent kept his eyes focused squarely ahead. “You believe someone is following us?”

“No,” she said, even as she slid her hand into the hidden pocket in her cloak. She coiled her fingers around her pistol for reassurance.

“You’ve no need to worry,” he said. “I am armed.”

“I didn’t know you carried a weapon.”

“I’ve made my share of adversaries. They won’t get the better of me.”

From where she stood, Jennie could see Mrs. O’Brien’s boardinghouse sheathed in the dim haze of moonlight. Only a single lamp betrayed any sign of residents up and about. Trent glanced from the building to Jennie.

“After I see you home, I’ll scour Covent Garden. The gambling hells are filled with men who’d sell their souls for one more quid this time of night.”

“I’ll go with you.”

“Do you think I’ve gone daft?” Trent draped an arm around her shoulder. “I need to know you’re safe. Those cesspools aren’t fit for a woman—any woman.”

“I suppose you’re right.” She veiled her gaze. Once Trent went on his way, she’d pay a visit to Wellington Street without his watchful eyes studying her every move. By this time of night, liquor-loosened tongues would be far from a rarity in the East End.

“You’re agreeing with me? I don’t like the sound of that.” He drew her closer. “These streets are no place for a woman.”

“Take me with you, then.” She spoke the words as a challenge. “It’s not as if I’ve no experience dealing with drunken louts. Besides, you’ll be there to defend me.”

“Preposterous.” Jack set his jaw as they approached Mrs. O’Brien’s door. “I’ve no desire to shield you from a pack of wolves.”

She shrugged. Her pounding pulse contradicted the nonchalance of the gesture. “You won’t change your mind?”

His brow furrowed, his eyes unreadable. He opened the door. “I’ll be back after daybreak. We’ll scour the city.”

Foreboding trickled along her spine. “Promise me you will show some caution.”

The stern line of his mouth softened. “You’ve no need to worry about me.” He pressed his hands over hers. “Do you still keep that journal of yours? I can picture you scribbling away in that book. It was nearly in tatters the last time I saw it.”