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

as if she were a child who’d spun in circles a few times too many. She gripped the arm of the settee, steadying herself as she set her sights on the volume that lay within a hand’s breadth of the revolver.
    She tiptoed to the desk. Colton’s personal appointment book. Her pulse did a little jig. She thumbed open the book and glanced over the first page. Turning to the date when she’d discovered Mary’s lifeless body in the West End alley, she scanned entries recorded in a bold, masculine script. Not a single mention of the murdered woman. No clue that might tie him to Mary McDaniel’s death. Only terse sentences regarding banal events at the tavern and a vague reference to a warehouse on the skirts of Whitechapel. Was the decrepit building being used to camouflage some criminal enterprise?
    The door creaked. Jennie’s heart catapulted into her throat, but she placed the book as she’d found it and plastered on a guileless mask.
    “I see you’re up and about.” Matthew Colton’s smooth baritone warmed her like fine sherry. He lounged against the doorframe, his expression unreadable. “Perhaps we won’t be needing the physician after all.”
    She looked into the darkest eyes she’d ever seen. Colton was handsome, though not unusually so. After all, good-looking men were far from a rarity in London. His deep chestnut hair was neatly trimmed, while his strong features lacked the perfect symmetry that marked the works of classical masters. A faded scar below his full bottom lip etched a crooked path over his chin. What might it be like to run the tip of her tongue along that slender ridge?
    Her mouth went dry. She pulled in a breath, composing herself. “I am feeling more myself, now that I’ve had a few moments to rest.”
    His attention drifted to his desk. “I see you’ve been entertaining yourself with my daily journal. It’s quite dull, I assure you.”
    Her heart leaped again, but she ignored the flash of panic. Infusing her expression with a pinch of confusion, she met his eyes. “I’m sorry to have invaded your privacy. It seems the blow to my head played a rather frustrating trick on my memory. Try as I might, I couldn’t recall who carried me up here. I knew your face, but couldn’t place it with a name. I’d hoped a peek at the book might identify my benefactor.”
    “Benefactor?” He chuckled at the word as he stripped off his jacket and tossed it over the back of a leather chair. Moving to the fireplace, he lifted a poker from its stand. “I suppose it was fortunate you chose my arms to fall into. I wouldn’t trust those other wolves with a pretty girl as far as I could throw them.”
    Jennie swallowed hard. “And I can trust you?”
    “You’re still dressed, aren’t you?”
    Feigning a shocked widening of her eyes, she toyed with her collar, as if to reassure herself the buttons were still fastened. “How very noble.”
    “I thought so. Besides, I generally like my women completely awake.” His gaze fixed on her mouth. “And responsive.”
    Heat swept from her scalp to her toes. “I don’t find that very comforting.”
    “It wasn’t meant to be.” His voice took on a gruffer edge. “To my credit, I haven’t sold you to white slavers. Yet.”
    “Are you always so impertinent?”
    “Only when I am forced to charge to the rescue of a damsel in distress.”
    “I assure you I have never been a damsel in distress.”
    He arched a brow. “Then allow me to congratulate you on a smashing debut.” He hunkered down by the hearth, prodding the flames to a blaze. “I had to get you away from there. All hell was breaking loose.”
    Her gaze trailed the breadth of his shoulders. Drinking in the play of muscles beneath his fine linen shirt, Jennie sorted through the situation at hand. Matthew Colton had defended her from an ogre and carried her from the midst of a drunken brawl. The indefinable air of wickedness in his smile told her he was no saint. So why had he charged to her