Page 38 of When a Lady Dares
He could not allow himself to be distracted by the woman. Sophie possessed a unique ability to confound him at every turn, even if she was not linked with Trask’s deceitful dealings. One moment she smiled slyly, as if well aware that he was as much a fraud as she was, and the next, she regarded him with a look of admiration that seemed only too real. Blast it, he knew better than to fall into that trap. He’d have to be a dolt to believe anything that came out of her rosy mouth. Her time with him tonight did not have a damned thing to do with his wit or his intellect or hisbold exploits, as she’d so sweetly phrased it. Rather, his fortune was the lure, and nothing—not even the maddening appeal of her slightly throaty voice as she sang his praises—would make him forget that truth.
He’d keep Sophie at arm’s length. There was no choice in the matter. She might well be a cheat, a skilled fraud who’d allied herself with a charlatan. But even so, she was not a woman he could bed and walk away from without a second thought.
In his bones, he sensed Sophie’s response to him had not been part of her charade. When he’d kissed her, it seemed the only time during the evening when she’d truly forgotten she was a performer playing a role. If she did harbor an attraction to him, that was all the more reason to put a distance between them. Beneath the thin veneer of her act, she was a lady. Regardless of the circumstances that had led her to throw her lot in with Trask, in his gut, he knew that truth. And he would treat her as such.
In the long run, any liaison with Sophie would only hurt her. A woman like her would expect to lay claim to a piece of his heart.
But one could not surrender what one no longer possessed.
Chapter Eleven
I will find an assistant who is up to the task.
The door to the studio closed behind Sophie with a quietclickof the latch, and she stepped into a street blurred by a thick blanket of fog. Trask’s threat played in her head. She’d known all along that the man possessed the scruples of a sewer rat. She was well aware his greed knew no bounds. But somehow, the words spewing from his usually smooth-talking mouth had taken her by surprise. She had not expected such anger from the bastard. At least she’d managed to maintain her composure, resisting the urge to punctuate her departure with a resounding slam of the door. Uncovering the evidence that would put the fraud out of business and behind prison bars would prove far more gratifying.
Tugging her cloak tighter around her, she navigated the dimly illuminated street. Gaslight cut through the heavy mist, but the scene before her seemed distorted and shadowed. A peculiar silence surrounded her, interrupted only by the chiming of the clock tower. Regret rippled through her. Despite his surly tone, Trask had intended to transport her to her flat. But once again, she’d insisted on seeing herself home. On this damp, cold night, perhaps she might’ve been better off accepting his offer, even if it meant allowing her pride to sting just a bit.
She brushed away the thought. Good heavens, she’d never been such a whey-faced ninny. It wasn’t as if she had miles to cover, and her aunt had often advocated exposure to a mist now and then as the secret behind a flawless complexion. A little fresh air and moisture would be of benefit, even when the gloom was as heavy as the smoke from Uncle George’s cheroot.
Of course, Aunt Mildred would be appalled if she ever discovered that Sophie’s exposure to the English mist came at an hour when any respectable woman was expected to be holed away behind a sturdy door. She’d be utterly shocked to learn of Sophie’s missions with the Colton Agency. Her aunt and uncle had expressed their misgivings about the time she spent writing about society balls, rather than attending them on some suitable prospect’s arm. Even after the infamous incident at her debut, they’d harbored hope she’d find a respectable match and settle down. In time, they’d reconciled themselves to the fact that Sophie was unlikely to prefer hearth and home to her adventures, but they would never approve of the risks she’d taken on as an operative for Her Majesty’s Most Secret Service.
This case might well be the one that proved Sophie had what it took to be an undercover agent. She had the instincts and the skills. She’d been trained by an expert at covert inquiries. Jennie Quinn Colton’s daring and strategic skill had garnered renown as a journalist, and now, as a director of the elite investigative service, she employed that keen talent in matters of grave interest to the Crown. During her time as theHerald’s star reporter, she’d taken Sophie on as an assistant. Now, she’d offered Sophie the chance to put her instincts as an investigator to the test and stake a claim to her own vital role in the agency.
Yes, this mission was Sophie’s chance to establish herself as more than an apprentice. As such, she had to exercise self-discipline. She could not afford any distractions. She must be ruthless in her approach to this assignment. There was no place in her life for a man, no matter how rakish his smile or how chiseled his body must undoubtedly be beneath his immaculately tailored clothes. He’d certainly felt powerfully built when she’d leaned in to the kiss he’d stolen. Gavin Stanwyck could provide a link to vital evidence in the case. But she could not afford to cloud her investigation with thoughts of any man, much lesshim.
Making her way through the gloom with swift steps, she’d covered nearly half the distance to her residence when she spotted the Raven’s Roost tavern. Known for its bawdy, half-dressed performers, well-filled steins, and brawls that seemed a nightly occurrence, the pub drew a raucous crowd. A few steps farther, and her nape prickled. Was that a man lurking in the alley beside the pub?
Alert for danger, she slowed her pace. The sight of a drunk lingering beside the place should not have startled her. But she rubbed her arms as if that would chase away the gooseflesh that had suddenly peppered her skin.
The shadowed figure moved closer, his gait sure and steady, unlike what she’d expect from a bloke who’d over-imbibed.
Her gut clenched. One hand went to the reticule tethered to her wrist. She gripped the fountain pen with its hidden blade. If the rotter dared present a threat, she’d be prepared to use the weapon.
Another man stepped into her path. A chill of recognition washed over her. The towering, pale blond thug who’d accosted her the night before blocked the pavement.
“Come along peaceful-like and I won’t have to hurt you.”
She kept a firm grip on the knife and forced steel into her tone. “What do you want?”
“Listen to me, and no harm will come to ye.” His words might’ve proven more convincing if he hadn’t leered at her with those empty eyes of his.
He took a step toward her, then another. Sophie’s mind raced, seeking refuge. If she could make it inside the tavern, she might be able to conceal herself in the boisterous crowd.
“How did you know I would be here?”
He shrugged. “Ye don’t need t’be worrying about that.”
“Have you been following me?”
Another shrug. “My employer is not a patient man. There is a carriage waitin’. Ye need to get in it.”
“Absolutely not.” She concealed the implement in her folded hand. Catching the bastard by surprise would work in her favor.
Without warning, he lunged. Long, wiry arms caught her in a strong hold. His fingers dug into her shoulders. A nauseating odor—stale liquor and the stench of long-decayed teeth—assaulted her senses. Revulsion shuddered through her. She wrenched against his control, struggling to free herself.
“Unhand me, sir.” Her thumb grazed the nib of the pen. She’d give him a chance to release her. If not, she’d await the right moment, and he would suffer the consequences.
His ugly laugh rang in her ears. He dragged her closer to his long, wiry body. Determined not to shrink in the face of this gutter dweller, Sophie straightened her spine. “I have no intention of going anywhere with you. Let me go. Now.”
