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Book: When a Lady Deceives (Her Majesty’s Most Secret Service) by Tara Kingston
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Authors: Tara Kingston
Tags: Historical Romance, Journalists, Scotland Yard, entangled publishing, Scandalous, victorian romance, Victorian suspense, Exposes, Secret Informers, London Underworld
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the scarf fluttered to the floor, she didn’t retrieve it.
…
Matthew lingered in the street beyond the boardinghouse. A lamp illuminated a window on the third floor. Jennie’s room, most likely. If she was as sensible as she was clever, she’d bolt the door, pull the covers around her, and dream of a man who could offer her far more than the shards of his shattered soul.
He’d been harsh with her. He’d gone too far. Hell and damnation, he’d kissed her, then uttered insinuations even a harlot would not deserve. But she hadn’t shrunk from him. She had not retreated. To the contrary, she’d squared her shoulders and faced him directly, spirited and uncowed, regarding him as if he’d gone quite mad.
Indeed. Perhaps this was a form of madness. The thought of her drawing the eye of a lowlife ruffian like Cathcart had triggered a protectiveness in him unlike any he’d ever known. Not that his wariness of the man was not justified. The scrawny sot was unpredictable and volatile. Could Jennie fathom the risks of tempting a man like that with the sweetness of her smile?
He’d never experienced this overpowering need to shield a woman. Pretty barmaids flounced about the tavern, swinging their hips and flashing painted smiles every night of the week. Why was this woman different? What was it about Jennie that made him want to keep her out of reach of brutal men and their ruthless ways? What was it about her that made him give a damn?
Even now, he felt regret twist in his gut. Regret. And something more. Devil take it, he’d ensure Cathcart stayed away. But the scarecrow was the least of his worries. God only knew he couldn’t afford to let his guard down. He could trust no one. Much less a woman like Jennie who was a puzzle he itched to solve.
His breath fogged against the evening chill. And still he waited, watching that solitary light. The clock tower chimed. The window went black.
She would be safe for the night from men who’d plunder her spirit and her beauty. From men like him.
Turning, he headed toward his town house, covering the distance with long, brisk strides. He’d pour himself a stiff drink and will his body to sleep.
When this night turned into another day, he’d reclaim his focus. He’d keep to his mission. And he’d protect Jennie from the menace that permeated the Lancaster. Even if it meant sending her away from the tavern. He’d see her out of Harwick’s sights. And his own.
He’d failed his partner. John Crosby had not deserved his bitter fate.
Damned if he’d let Jennie cross paths with the devil.
Chapter Five
The midday sun broke through the clouds, providing a measure of warmth to counter the frigid wind blowing off the Thames. Bracing himself against the damp chill, Matthew stalked toward his destination. Around him, work wagons, hansom cabs, and sleek phaetons vied for space while harried pedestrians rushed about like mice set loose in an elaborate maze. He pulled his hat low to shadow his features and picked up his pace.
He slipped inside the rear entry of the Boar’s Head Tavern. The proprietress, his ruddy-faced aunt who’d put men to shame with both her ability to hold her liquor and her skill at tossing drunks out on their arses, met him at the door. Her stout arms folded over an equally ample chest, she raised her gaze as if to challenge him to remove the obstruction she posed.
“What brings ye here, Matthew-My-Love?”
His back teeth ground at the endearment. Flashing an exaggerated scowl, he met her amused eyes. “If you call me that again, I’ll haul you into the bloody river.”
She waved away the threat. “Bollocks! Ye should be used to it, ye big, tough man. After all, ye’ve been hearin’ those words since I changed yer nappies all those years ago.”
Matthew uttered a silent prayer for strength. God above, he’d no time for reminiscences. “Mum was a candidate for Bedlam, trusting you to watch over me.”
“Bah, ye had no complaints. Besides,
…
Matthew lingered in the street beyond the boardinghouse. A lamp illuminated a window on the third floor. Jennie’s room, most likely. If she was as sensible as she was clever, she’d bolt the door, pull the covers around her, and dream of a man who could offer her far more than the shards of his shattered soul.
He’d been harsh with her. He’d gone too far. Hell and damnation, he’d kissed her, then uttered insinuations even a harlot would not deserve. But she hadn’t shrunk from him. She had not retreated. To the contrary, she’d squared her shoulders and faced him directly, spirited and uncowed, regarding him as if he’d gone quite mad.
Indeed. Perhaps this was a form of madness. The thought of her drawing the eye of a lowlife ruffian like Cathcart had triggered a protectiveness in him unlike any he’d ever known. Not that his wariness of the man was not justified. The scrawny sot was unpredictable and volatile. Could Jennie fathom the risks of tempting a man like that with the sweetness of her smile?
He’d never experienced this overpowering need to shield a woman. Pretty barmaids flounced about the tavern, swinging their hips and flashing painted smiles every night of the week. Why was this woman different? What was it about Jennie that made him want to keep her out of reach of brutal men and their ruthless ways? What was it about her that made him give a damn?
Even now, he felt regret twist in his gut. Regret. And something more. Devil take it, he’d ensure Cathcart stayed away. But the scarecrow was the least of his worries. God only knew he couldn’t afford to let his guard down. He could trust no one. Much less a woman like Jennie who was a puzzle he itched to solve.
His breath fogged against the evening chill. And still he waited, watching that solitary light. The clock tower chimed. The window went black.
She would be safe for the night from men who’d plunder her spirit and her beauty. From men like him.
Turning, he headed toward his town house, covering the distance with long, brisk strides. He’d pour himself a stiff drink and will his body to sleep.
When this night turned into another day, he’d reclaim his focus. He’d keep to his mission. And he’d protect Jennie from the menace that permeated the Lancaster. Even if it meant sending her away from the tavern. He’d see her out of Harwick’s sights. And his own.
He’d failed his partner. John Crosby had not deserved his bitter fate.
Damned if he’d let Jennie cross paths with the devil.
Chapter Five
The midday sun broke through the clouds, providing a measure of warmth to counter the frigid wind blowing off the Thames. Bracing himself against the damp chill, Matthew stalked toward his destination. Around him, work wagons, hansom cabs, and sleek phaetons vied for space while harried pedestrians rushed about like mice set loose in an elaborate maze. He pulled his hat low to shadow his features and picked up his pace.
He slipped inside the rear entry of the Boar’s Head Tavern. The proprietress, his ruddy-faced aunt who’d put men to shame with both her ability to hold her liquor and her skill at tossing drunks out on their arses, met him at the door. Her stout arms folded over an equally ample chest, she raised her gaze as if to challenge him to remove the obstruction she posed.
“What brings ye here, Matthew-My-Love?”
His back teeth ground at the endearment. Flashing an exaggerated scowl, he met her amused eyes. “If you call me that again, I’ll haul you into the bloody river.”
She waved away the threat. “Bollocks! Ye should be used to it, ye big, tough man. After all, ye’ve been hearin’ those words since I changed yer nappies all those years ago.”
Matthew uttered a silent prayer for strength. God above, he’d no time for reminiscences. “Mum was a candidate for Bedlam, trusting you to watch over me.”
“Bah, ye had no complaints. Besides,
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