When a Lady Deceives (Her Majesty’s Most Secret Service) (9 page)

Chapter Eight

“I want the truth, Jennie. What are you doing in this hellhole?”

Matthew studied Jennie’s delicate features. Moonlight danced over her cheekbones, giving her beautiful face an ethereal quality. Long charcoal lashes shuttered her eyes, and her gaze swept to the pavement, avoiding contact. What was she trying to hide?

“I had an engagement,” she said finally.

He tilted her chin up. What a shame he couldn’t trust a word out of her luscious mouth. She’d no more been headed for a rendezvous in Whitechapel than he’d spent the night taking tea with the queen.

“Tell me why you are here.”

She gave her head a little shake, even as her eyes glistened with unshed tears. “He was a vile man. I need to return to my room. I need to wash his stench from my skin.”

The tremor in her voice was real. Matthew’s gut clenched. Primal anger surged through his veins, and for an instant, he wished the bastard would come back. A man who’d seen the things he had shouldn’t be affected by a woman’s tears, or what it cost her to hold them back, yet each tiny quiver of her lip cut like a stiletto.

He gentled his voice. “You shouldn’t put yourself in a position where you’re vulnerable to his kind.”

“I am not accustomed to being rescued.” Her voice regained a bit of its strength.

“Actually, it’s become something of a habit these days.”

Indignant fire lit her luminous green eyes. “I do not believe I would go so far as to say that, Mr. Colton.”

“This is the second time I’ve gone up against an inebriated sot for the sake of your honor. If there is to be a third time, please show the decency to provoke a man who is not five stone heavier than me.”

“I doubt I shall trouble you with any rescues in the foreseeable future.”

And with that, she set her mouth in a perfect bow. Christ, he wanted to kiss her.

You need to keep her alive, not take her to bed.

“Come along,” he ground out as he captured her hand. “My driver is waiting at the Lion’s Den.”

She blinked. A flicker of comprehension registered on her features moments before that tempting mouth of hers settled into a placid line. What did the woman know of a gambling hell?

“I doubt my presence will be welcome.” Her bland tones contradicted the interest in her eyes.

“I’ve no intention of taking you inside. Every bastard in the place would throw down his cards for a chance with you. I’ve done enough battle for the night. We’ll meet the coach.”

“And from there?”

“That depends on you.”

…

Jennie peered into the eyes of a garish metal lion’s head. The massive brass knocker dominated the otherwise barren entry to a nondescript brick building. Light filtered through thick amber glass sconces, bathing the door in a golden hue. Colton raised the ring in the beast’s mouth and rapped against the wood.

The heavy panel creaked open. A hunched man poked his head through the opening. As his gaze swept over Jennie from head to toe, his leathered face creased into a toothless grin.

Matthew’s glare speared the old gent. “Have you finished ogling the lady, Turner?”

Turner’s smile broadened. “Jesus, but she’s a beauty. I take it ye’re wanting Bertram to cash in his chips and see to his duties.” The old man winked a bleary blue eye. “In a hurry t’get home, I see. Wouldn’t want the bed t’get cold, would we now?”

He jolted to the side as an even older, even craggier man jostled his stooped shoulders past him. His caped coat grazing the cobbles, the wizened fellow shot Colton a scathing glance.

“So soon, Matthew?” the man grumbled. “I’ll have ye know I had a full house.”

“An unlikely scenario, Bertram. If that had been the case, I doubt the flames of hell could have roused you from the table.”

“Ah, but my luck was about t’change. One more hand, and I’d have enough money to hire you on, my fine sir,” he said with a chuckle.

Poised for the icy rebuke she felt certain Matthew would issue, Jennie stood in stunned silence at the last sound she expected to hear.

Laughter.

“You’ve more chance of bedding the queen than besting these tables, old man. When have they ever been good to you?”

“Aye, truer words ’ave seldom been spoken.” Bertram turned to Jennie, appraising her with ancient eyes that had not lost their spark. “I see ye’ve had a productive night, my boy.”

A scowl that appeared more forced than genuine fell over Colton’s features. “Come along, you old lecher. We need to see Miss Danvers home.”

“
Miss
Danvers, is it? She’s not like the last one, is she?”

The last one
?

Jennie breathed again at the sound of Colton’s curt, “No.”

Mumbling about luck’s fickle hand, the old man demonstrated surprising agility as he scurried aboard a gleaming black brougham, took his place in the driver’s seat, and stared down at Colton.

“So, where are we ’eaded?”

“Charing Cross. Mrs. O’Brien’s boardinghouse,” Colton replied.

Bertram’s pale eyes lit up. “Celia O’Brien? The ol’ bird’s still runnin’ that place?”

Colton’s mouth hiked at the corners. “Evidently.”

“I wonder if she remembers ol’ Bertram. She was quite a looker in her day.”

Jennie blinked at the reminiscence and regarded him with a reluctant smile.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Colton extended his hand to Jennie. “Your chariot awaits.”

She slanted the old gent a glance. “Is he able to control the carriage? He appears to be well in his cups.”

Colton nodded thoughtfully. “He’s always like that. Cold sober, he’s even worse.”

Jennie bit back the questions that tickled her brain. Matthew Colton had sent a brute with a good five-stone advantage on a sniveling retreat. Why did he tolerate his ancient driver’s tart tongue?

Taking Colton’s hand, she entered the carriage. She slid onto the plush upholstered seat and peeled back the fringe-edged drapery that shielded the window. A few yards away, an underfed streetwalker staggered down the street, arm in arm with an equally wobbly kneed young man. A wave of disgust washed over Jennie. She allowed the curtain to fall back into place.

Colton settled into the single seat. The humor he’d displayed with Bertram vanished, replaced by the intent set of his chiseled features. He rapped on the roof, the crack of a whip bit the air, and the vehicle rattled through the night.

He turned to her, eyes dark as midnight searing her with unspoken questions. Jennie braced herself for an interrogation, but he reached for her. Her mouth went dry. She’d faced criminals without flinching and had uttered pretty lies to trick her way into the offices of corrupt officials, but nothing prepared her for the heady feel of Matthew Colton’s touch.

Sweeping his mouth over hers, he kissed her. He tasted of fine Scotch and a hint of mint, his caress by turns tender and desperate, intoxicating in its pure, undisguised need. His tongue darted within the warmth of her mouth in a sensual thrust and parry.

Teasing.

Coaxing.

Stoking the flames within to an inferno.

His hands slipped beneath her cape. He molded Jennie to his body. Delicious tingles coursed from her nape to her toes. Savoring every moment of precious contact, her flesh hummed with pleasure. She drank in his scent, a heady masculine blend of bayberry shaving soap and a unique essence so maddeningly familiar, it was as though she’d known him for an eternity.

He’s changed the game. Keep your head.

His indrawn breath sounded ragged to her ears. She melted against him as his heat and his strength bound her to him.

Caught in strong currents. Break free.

Lips parted in instinctive offering, she closed her eyes as the tide pulled her out, far beyond shore.

“So tempting.” The undeniable evidence of his masculine hunger pressed to her thigh. Hard. Demanding. “So delicious.”

A streetlamp’s meager rays streamed thin ribbons of light around the curtain. He caught the high collar of her shirtwaist and took a pearl button between his fingertips. Her breath hovered in her throat as he freed the closure, then another.

With a ragged breath, he stilled. His hands fell away.

Jennie caressed his stubble-roughened jaw, battling the urgent hunger. How she wanted to kiss him. Wanton, bone-melting kisses that had no place in her investigation.

A sigh escaped her. “I suppose you weren’t pretending to be a gentleman.”

His hand sprawled over her fingers. He held her close, the rough shadow of new beard grazing her cheek. A lump formed in her throat, and for a moment, she couldn’t think. Couldn’t speak.

“Devil take it, you’re enough to drive a saint to drink.” His rough-edged words betrayed the steep price of his self-imposed denial. “You need to tell me what you’re up to before you get yourself killed.”

She dug her hands into the seat cushion. Plush fabric crushed against her fingers. “You follow me like a hound on the scent. If I were involved in some nefarious scheme, I’d think you would have ferreted that out by now.”

“I haven’t figured you out. Not yet. But I will.”

She drew a slow breath, steadying her voice. “I am not a puzzle to be solved, Mr. Colton.”

He cocked a brow. “Ah, that’s where you’re wrong. I will learn your secrets. Every last one.”

“Secrets,” she scoffed lightly. “I assure you my life is quite ordinary. Rather boring, actually.”

“You’re a surprisingly poor liar.” His fingertips skimmed the curve of her cheek. “I will not stand by while you put your pretty neck in danger.”

He studied her for a long moment. Something in that dark gaze of his—something she couldn’t hope to put into words—penetrated to her soul.

She wanted to look away, but she held her chin high and met his eyes. “My
pretty neck
is none of your concern.”

“I’ve decided it is.”

“You have no authority over me,” she bit out between her teeth.

“I won’t have you walking these streets with a killer on the loose. You might as well giftwrap yourself for the bastard.” He raked a hand through his hair. “You fancy yourself an independent woman. But you’re easy prey for the vermin who roam these streets.”

“An
unarmed
woman is easy prey,” she countered.

“Have you forgotten so soon that your blasted pistol offered no defense against that filthy sot?” His words were low and measured, but he did not disguise the notes of anger blended with concern. “God above, Jennie, if I hadn’t come upon the scene…”

She allowed herself a few breaths to focus her thoughts. Matthew had come to her defense. Again. He had indeed interrupted the assault at precisely the right moment to prevent any enduring harm. But she knew better than to believe his appearance to be a fortuitous coincidence. By all rights, she should fear him.

Peculiar, how her instincts cried out that he would never harm her. Perhaps he was so skilled at deceit that he wore his defense of her like a mask. But the raw timbre of his voice betrayed a protectiveness that seemed so very real, and something deep within her refused to believe the emotion in his gaze was nothing more than a clever act.

She exhaled, a long breath like a sigh. For now, she could not betray the battle between her logic and the inner voice that whispered she had nothing to fear from him. There’d be time later to sort through the tangle of thoughts.

Forcing a confident, bland tone, she met his gaze. “That incident was admittedly unfortunate. I assure you, it will not happen again. In the future, I will not hesitate to use my pistol.”

“A gun won’t do you much good unless the attacker reveals himself. If the element of surprise is in his favor, all your defenses won’t protect you.” He pulled her close, coiling his arms around her waist. “In the end, you’d be at his mercy.”

As I am at yours
.

The warmth of his breath against her earlobe launched another salvo of awareness through her veins. Butterflies in her stomach fluttered wildly. If only his touch was not so decadently delicious, she’d be able to think, able to reason.

“I don’t expect you to defend me.”

He brushed a kiss against her cheek. “That’s my decision to make, not yours. Now, I expect you to tell me the truth.”

“There is nothing between us, Mr. Colton. You have no claim on me.”

“You’re wrong, Jennie.”

Another tiny kiss, the lightest of caresses against her lips, the sweetest of challenges. She tingled—head to toe, or so it seemed—with anticipation of more. Most unsporting. He’d discerned her weakness for him and wielded it like a weapon.

He swept the pad of his thumb over her bottom lip, teasing the flesh he’d caressed. “Your heartbeat speeds when I touch you. Your body melds to mine. Now, tell me there’s no claim.”

She swallowed hard. “I’ve no desire to become your mistress.”

Challenge gleamed in his eyes. “You don’t intend to be any man’s mistress. I’ve watched you. More than you know. Every time some sot dangles his wealth or his title, your sweet smile cannot hide your contempt. So, what is it you’re after?”

She forced a lie from her lips. “Coin to support myself. Nothing more.”

“A woman like you could have a husband of means, an elegant home, every luxury you desire. But you choose to work in a tavern, putting up with pats on the arse and leering sots.”

“The sordid details of my life are none of your concern.” She infused a hint of shame into her words. An effective touch, or so she thought. But a rueful smile curved his mouth. He saw through her performance.

“I suspect this is the most sordid you’ve ever been. I don’t know what you’re up to, but I intend to find out. I’ve seen the way you watch everyone at the Lancaster. You’re after something. Or someone.” His mouth hardened into a grim line. “When Harwick thinks a person asks too many questions, it gets his attention.”

“I have nothing to fear from Claude Harwick.” She wished she believed her own words.

“Stay out of his way. You take too many foolish chances. Don’t you know you can’t trust any man in that place? Hell, I could have your skirt over your head and my body between your legs by now.”

The provocative image unfurled heat all the way to her toes, but she managed a prim reply. “I suppose I should be eternally grateful you’re not a complete cad.”