Page 55 of When a Lady Dares
She allowed herself a few heartbeats to digest his words. So, her suspicions had been correct. A search for long-lost treasure had nothing to do with his reasons for seeking out Trask. And now, he’d offered to help her escape Trask…to escape London.
My, it was all rather convenient, wasn’t it? He wanted her out of the city. But why? Did he truly fear she was in the path of some sinister menace? Or did he harbor dark reasons of his own for wanting her away from Trask’s enterprise?
“I have no need of your assistance.” Gently, she wriggled out of his light hold. “Our business here is done.”
“Sophie, I can protect you.”
Another bolt of lightning rent the sky, as if to accent his words. The storm was close now. She had to get out of this infernal graveyard.
She had to get away fromhim.
Sophie cocked her head, studying him. The concern in his eyes seemed genuine. But in truth, that meant nothing. He’d lied to her since their first meeting.
“And what, precisely, would be the cost of your protection? I am not so naive as to believe that anything in this life comes without a price.”
His brow furrowed. Indignation flashed in his eyes. “You think I would extort sexual favors in exchange for my protection?”
“Would that be so unusual?” She hoped he couldn’t detect the tiny quiver in her voice.
He hardened his gaze, his jaw taut, as if she had slapped him. “I have no ulterior motive. It is indeed a low blow that you would imply that my character is so entirely lacking. I am willing to provide transportation to the Continent and arrange living quarters during your stay. My only concern is keeping you safe.”
“Why?” She pulled in a ragged breath. “What is it to you?”
“I’ve come to…” He paused, as if searching for the right words. “I’ve come to care for you, Sophie… I will do whatever it takes to keep you safe.”
Ah, if only she could believe his words, though in truth, his intentions did not signify. Not one whit. She had her duty. She had a mission, and she would complete it, regardless of his warnings and his supposedly heartfelt concern.
“I have lived without a man’s protection since the age of eighteen. I do not need you, of all people, to defend me.” She took a step back, then another. “I will see myself home.”
“Of all people.” A muscle ticked in his jaw. “Very well, then. I cannot force you to accept my protection. But even a rogue such as myself would not leave a lady to her own devices in a dismal place like this.” He signaled for his driver. “Avery will see you home.”
Lightning cut through the charcoal sky. Thunder rippled through the air. “And what of you? Do you intend to stay here in the blasted storm?”
He turned toward the mausoleum. “Perhaps I shall pay my father a visit after all.”
“Come into the coach. I have no aversion to sharing the space,” she called after him.
Gavin shot a glance over his shoulder. “Pity I cannot say the same.”
Chapter Seventeen
Sophie prided herself on her ability to face down any obstacle she encountered, to overcome any challenge. Wasn’t that what she’d been doing since that summer day when her parents had embarked on a journey from which they’d never returned? She had survived the scandal of theincidentthat had left her a virtual untouchable in London society, and she’d walked away from her position as a governess after the newly minted stepfather of her charges made it clear he expected that she allow him under her skirts as a condition of employment. She’d taken some comfort in the memory of the weasel’s face as she’d driven her boot into his shin and her knee into an even more vulnerable spot on his anatomy, but the experience had been devastating. Without references or money, she’d endured a necessary retreat to her uncle’s home, only to be dubbed a disappointment by her unforgiving aunt, yet again.
A chance encounter with a daring female reporter had changed her life. While on a shopping expedition with her cousin, Sophie had stumbled upon a harrowing scene. An aged flower peddler stood alone in the shadows of an alley, cornered by a massive brute wielding a stout length of pipe. Armed with only her parasol, Sophie had come to the old woman’s aid. Much to her cousin’s horror, Sophie had crept up behind the man and delivered a sound blow to the back of his skull. Her actions and her cousin’s screams had provided a distraction, allowing the peddler to escape before constables had arrived on the scene.
Days later, Sophie had received a carefully worded communique from the secretary to MacAllister Campbell, theHerald’s editor. In reality, the peddler had been a woman only three years her senior—journalist Jennie Quinn. Impressed by Sophie’s spirit and courage, Jennie had extended the opportunity to become her assistant, one of the trusted inner circle who knew reporter J.Q. Knight’s daring exposés were the result of Jennie’s danger-fraught investigations.
As a Colton Agency operative, Sophie had found herself in a fix or two. She’d faced criminals and all manner of thugs. But she’d never experienced the nerve-racking sense that she was prey. Even after the pale man’s attacks had left her shaken, she’d convinced herself that she could take on the unknown threat.
Until now.
Gavin’s warning had let loose a dread that permeated to the bone. If only she could dismiss his words as a ploy, as some manipulation that would play into his scheme. But her instincts cried out that he had not intended to deceive her. The threat was all too real.
Stanwyck’s driver offered to transport her home, but she insisted he take her to Trask. Despite her fear, she could not walk away. No matter the circumstances, she had to salvage this mission. If the unfortunate souls who’d died following Trask’s gatherings had indeed been murdered, their killer was still on the loose. She must find the evidence that would bring the murderer to justice before he could strike again.
She glanced at the timepiece pinned to her bodice. Nearly five o’clock. Trask had scheduled a gathering for that night. Given his usual habit of taking his evening meal at the café around the corner, he’d likely not be in the studio for at least a half hour. Not an abundant amount of time, but enough to search the man’s desk for new intelligence that might be of use.
The door was locked, but she dared not assume Trask had left the premises. She peered through the unfrosted oval of the window, confirming the space was nearly dark and seemingly unoccupied. Not a foolproof method of determining if Trask waited inside the studio, but she’d have to take that chance.
