Page 57 of When a Lady Kisses a Scot
Thank heavens he wasn’t looking at her. What was the man about? The person who’d sent those letters saw Stanwyck as a threat. Perhaps, even, a complication to be eliminated. Why would Trask seek to keep the professor snooping about his business? Why didn’t he seek to drive the man away?
Unless—unless Stanwyck had something he needed. Evidence, perhaps. Surely Trask would not chance the retribution implied in those missives simply to add more tin to his purse?
She could not betray her suspicions. Forcing herself to look the man directly in the eye, she conjured one of the boldest lies she’d yet to utter.
“I will do what I can to keep Stanwyck’s money flowing into your coffers.”
Looming over her, Trask seemed somehow larger. Intimidating. Threatening.
“Make sure you do, Sophie. I am losing patience. If you fail me, I promise you will not like the consequences.”
Hiring a hack to take her from Trask’s studio, Sophie instructed the driver to head directly to the Boar’s Head and climbed into the coach. The rain had eased to a gentle shower, the thunder far in the distance. She leaned back against the bench, drew the curtain, and closed her eyes. How long could she lead Trask on? Whatever his shortcomings, he was not a fool. Her charade would be short-lived at best. What would she do when he caught on to her lie? He’d issued a clear threat. She’d remain vigilant in his presence, on guard for any sign she might need to take defensive action.
Her thoughts wandered to Stanwyck. She pictured him as he’d looked at her, standing beneath the threatening clouds in the cemetery. He had not flinched when she’d questioned his integrity, yet, his eyes had betrayed the depth of the wound her words had inflicted. She’d known full well her doubting words would cut him. Despite his protests that he was indeed a scoundrel, he’d bared his heart to her in those moments. And now, picturing the flicker of pain in his gaze, a pang of regret rippled through her core.
She hadn’t anticipated any of this. When she’d embarked on this mission, she could not have foreseen the impact Gavin Stanwyck would have upon her investigation—uponher. What was it about the man that made her furious one moment and long to be in his arms the next?
One hand went to the seam of her skirt, skimming the outline of the documents concealed within her clothing. Gavin had crossed someone quite dangerous. Whoever had sent those letters viewed him as a threat. But why would the cur who’d sent Trask the threatening messages include a years-old clipping of Stanwyck when a larger, much clearer likeness had graced theHerald’s front page only a few months prior?
What was the meaning behind that grainy image? Who was the other man in the picture, his grin posing a vivid contrast to Gavin’s scowl? Was that earnest soul somehow tied to this web of deceit?
If only she’d been able to deduce why Gavin had sought out Trask. Had he gone after the phony psychic to debunk the man as a fraud? Or did he seek to uncover some more sinister aspect of the conniver’s dealings?
Was Gavin Stanwyck working against her purposes?
Or might their motives be aligned?
Opening her eyes, she parted the curtain and took in the sights and sounds of the city. She’d never tire of the brisk chaos that was London. A fruit vendor pushed a half-full cart, letting loose with a bellow as a dirty-cheeked urchin grabbed an apple and scurried off with his purloined prize. If she’d walked the route, she might’ve parted with a coin to ease the merchant’s anger, but she’d exercise an abundance of caution in the coming days.
A helmeted bobby stepped from a pub. She recognized his blunt, rather ordinary features—the patrolman who’d offered his escort after the first encounter with the pale hoodlum. He hesitated, as if waiting for someone.
Another man approached the pub, his collar pulled up, as if that would disguise his fleshy face.Reggie. She bit back a gasp as the stout man marched up to the patrolman, exchanged a few words, then pressed something she couldn’t make out into his hand. A pound note, perhaps. Or a scrap of paper bearing a message. There was no way to tell.
A pretty miss like you had best be careful.The patrolman’s words echoed in her thoughts. Her heart pounded, and she gripped the bench. God above, had he been party to the abduction attempt, or had they bribed him to turn his head in the future?
The hack rumbled up to the café. Gerry met her at the door, frowning as she cast a quick, assessing glance.
“Goodness, Sophie, what’s happened to ye?”
“I’ve had a spot of news. Will you summon Jennie?”
“I’ll do what I can. Ye may need to wait a bit.” Gerry’s mouth thinned as she ushered Sophie to a quiet corner table. “She’s interviewing tutors for Douglas and Sally. Those children are bright as they come. Douglas wants to learn French, while Sally is keen on learning to play the piano.”
“Douglas has grown so much in the last year. Why, he’s nearly as tall as me now.” Sophie pictured Jennie and Matthew’s adopted children, a clever lad with mischief in his smile and his equally mischievous younger sister. “And Sally—doesn’t she look the perfect little lady in her bonnet and curls?”
“Aye, she may look the part, but she’s a handful, she is. It warms my heart to see the little ones so happy. Jennie and Matthew have given those children a grand life.” Gerry glanced over her shoulder. “If my ears do not deceive me, Matthew has arrived.”
Good heavens, this was not a development she’d looked forward to. Her pulse accelerated as she followed the path of Gerry’s gaze. Matthew Colton made his way through the labyrinth of tables, each stride long and confident. Tall and lean with eyes dark as the midnight sky, he was an exceedingly handsome man. Was it any wonder Jennie had fallen for him?
The man the press had dubbed theSinister Inspectorhad not intimidated her when she believed him to be a criminal. But now, the very thought of the man’s power to cast her out of the elite investigative agency sent a boulder plummeting into the pit of Sophie’s stomach. She’d compromised her ability to access the intelligence she desperately needed, and Colton was not one to tolerate failure.
“Good afternoon, Sophie.” He gave his aunt a nod. “Gerry, you’re looking well today.” With a subtle gesture, he motioned the women into the small, private office and closed the door behind them. “Gerry, I’d appreciate it if you’d remain. I’m in need of your services.”
“Whatever ye need, consider it done,” she said, beaming with pride as she always did when the nephew she’d helped raise in the slums of St. Giles was near. Determined after his mother’s death to see him escape a dire, crime-laden life, Gerry had made certain his well-heeled father learned of his son’s existence. Lord Winthrop had welcomed his child into his home and provided an education that allowed Matthew to straddle two worlds, never entirely leaving behind his past.
“We’ve brought aboard a new operative, a woman with an impressive array of talents. However, we are looking to place her undercover as a cook for some craggy old lord in Mayfair, and it seems the agent has never so much as boiled an egg. How quickly can you tutor her in the essential skills?”
Gerry laughed. “Ye want me to teach her to cook, do ye? Well, how long will I have?”
