When a Lady Deceives (Her Majesty’s Most Secret Service) Read Free Page A

struggling to digest it all. Her head spun as if she’d imbibed too much wine. Around her, chaos reigned. Noise cascaded over her, shouts and angry cries and the sounds of fists pounding flesh and bone with mindless vigor. Colton carried her away from the madness, toward the spiral staircase.
    She shook her head, as if that would clear it. Colton’s hard-muscled arms held her securely tucked up against his chest, the gesture maddeningly protective. This was a man even brazen criminals feared—a man who might well be the heartless jackal who had ensured Mary would never speak a word against his employer. And yet, he cradled her as though she was fragile and well worth sheltering from harm.
    He took the steps two at a time. She should remove herself from his hold. She should force her heavy limbs to cooperate and wriggle from his grasp. She should reject any kindness from this man, if only to preserve herself.
    She would do nothing of the sort. Through the fog, her logical mind sprang into action.
    What an opportunity she’d literally fallen into—unprecedented access to the reclusive enforcer of the most powerful crime lord in London. Pulling in a breath filled with Colton’s essence, she allowed her head to sag against his chest, her lids fluttering closed.
    A few brisk strides later and he stopped at his private office. “Bloody hell,” he muttered under his breath, managing to support her body with one arm while he fished a key from his waistcoat pocket and unlocked the door. After depositing her rather unceremoniously on a settee along the far wall, he snatched an overcoat from a standing rack in the corner and draped it over her as she lifted her lids.
    “Ah, you’re awake,” he said in a gruff, strangely pleasant voice. “I’ll send for a physician.”
    “That’s not necessary,” she whispered, offering a soft shake of her head. “A moment or two of rest is all I need.”
    “We’ll see about that.”
    “Truly, if I could lie here for just a little while, I’ll be right as rain.”
    “If you’re certain you need nothing more than a few minutes’ peace, I’ve business to attend to downstairs. It’s high time I disperse the rabble.”
    “I’ll be fine,” she assured him in a feeble voice that bespoke of keeping a stiff upper lip and all that rot. Pressing the back of her hand to her brow, she threw in a sigh for good measure. “I am suddenly so very tired.”
    He studied her for a long moment, his deep brown eyes seeming to drink her in. But then, he adjusted his tie and went to the door. “I’ll be back shortly. Try not to start any more ruckuses while I’m gone.”
    “I believe I can manage that.” She allowed a small smile. The gesture was far from insincere. After all, taking a blow to the head was a small price to pay for the chance at Colton’s private papers.
    The door closed behind him with a soft snick of the latch. Her eyes adjusting to the light of a solitary lamp, Jennie scanned distinctly masculine surroundings. Crackling flames in the fireplace shed an amber glow on a stoneware pitcher and leather-bound books stacked carelessly on a marble-topped table. The room’s unpretentious appointments might have held a measure of charm if not for the Webley revolver on Colton’s gleaming mahogany desk.
    Rising on her elbows, she drank in as many details as her haze-dulled brain allowed. Whatever Colton’s sins, he did not share his employer’s taste for extravagance. The rich woods and leathers spoke of refinement and subtle elegance. Not surprising, really, given Colton’s education and upbringing. As Lord Winthrop’s son, born on the wrong side of the blanket, he’d come into privilege after a childhood in London’s slums, gaining the benefit of an education and a cavalry commission before rising in the ranks of Scotland Yard.
    Stifling the quiet but relentless alarm in her brain, Jennie pressed her palms to the smooth leather cushions and rose to her feet. The room swirled