Chapter Fourteen
Colleen turned a corner and stepped around the man posted at the end of the hallway. She snapped the gardening book that she’d found in Max’s library shut and made an about-face, hoping to find some solitude.
She bumped into the man trailing behind her.
“Gentlemen.” She huffed. “I know the baron has engaged you to watch over me, but this is a little much. Wouldn’t your time be better spent securing the entrances to his house rather than following me about?”
The man standing in the hallway stared forwards. “Apologies, madam. The baron was explicit in his orders. We’re not to let you out of our sight.”
Yes, she’d been made aware of that when one of his men had followed her into the necessary. To the man’s credit, his face had flamed red when he’d realized his mistake, and he’d darted back. Colleen had still slammed the door on his blush.
After making love to every inch of her body the night before, Max had disappeared, leaving her under the watchful eyes of his servants and the men he’d hired to guard her. She appreciated that he wanted to keep her safe. The reality, however, of having strangers peering after her like she was a monkey in a menagerie, was less than enjoyable.
“All I want is to read in the sitting room. Alone.” She wasn’t the fastest reader, and the book she’d chosen was chock-full of long Latin names. Numbers were more her strength. She didn’t need some hired ruffian peering over her shoulder, watching her fumble her way through the tome. “Can that be arranged?”
The men looked at each other and shifted their weight.
Colleen drew her shoulder blades towards her spine. “I see. Then please call a carriage for me. I will be going to the club. That is still allowed, isn’t it?”
The one man dipped his head. “Yes, madam. As long as we accompany you.”
After what had happened in The Black Rose the night before, the supervision there was welcome. In Max’s home she felt safe. She’d lost that feeling in the club. But work didn’t stop because she was beset with dread.
Without a word to her shadows, she returned to the room Max had given her – one with a door connecting to his own chamber. She collected her spencer and a reticule. The book wouldn’t fit inside her bag, so she tucked it under her arm. She hoped to read in her office, free from scrutiny.
Her guard stood by the bureau, silent, his gaze darting to the connecting door to the master bedroom. Colleen refused to feel embarrassed. A month ago she would have been mortified by an affair of hers becoming public knowledge. But she was an independent woman, and Max wasn’t a man a woman should be ashamed of.
Chin high, she strode from the room and down the central staircase to the foyer. A footman opened the front door, and another guard melted from the wall. With a man five steps in front of her and one five steps behind, Colleen paraded to the carriage and climbed inside. One man followed her in, the other joining the driver up top.
She had to admit she was becoming accustomed to the service granted to the guest of a baron. It would be disappointing to return to opening her own doors.
Her heart twisted and flipped behind her breastbone. Losing those minor services would be nothing compared to losing Max. The feel of his mouth, the beat of his heart beneath her cheek as she fell asleep, his warm laugh buoying her spirits. Those were the things she would miss. That was what would be hard to live without.
The carriage pulled to a stop and the door opened. The slanting afternoon sun caught the second-story windows of the club, the glare causing her to blink. Cheery petunias lined planter boxes below the first-floor windows, and Colleen smiled as she always did when she saw them. Who would guess what went on within the building when such an innocent flower graced its walls?
Climbing the steps with her entourage, she entered The Black Rose. The muscles in her back clenched tighter the deeper she went into what had become her home. A home that had been teeming with men trying to kill her and Max’s friends.
Wanting to see the worst and get it out of the way, she headed for the kitchen. She jolted to a stop in the doorway.
“Something a’matter, ma’am?” one of her guards asked.
“No.” She drifted to the sink and placed her palm on the cool glass of the unbroken window. She looked around. The table had been righted, all the broken dishes cleaned up. The kitchen smelled of fresh paint. Colleen looked for holes in the walls and couldn’t find any.
Max’s friends could make a fortune if they opened a cleaning business. Colleen pursed her lips, impressed. The cook of The Black Rose stumbled in, a burlap bag full of fruits and vegetables hugged tight to his round stomach.
He nodded to Colleen and hefted his load onto the counter. “Mrs. Bonner. I wanted to thank you for the new equipment. The copper pans conduct heat much better than the old ones we had.”
Colleen had no idea what he was talking about. “You're welcome. I say only the best for the best.”
The cook’s pink cheeks plumped with his grin. He looked at the two men flanking the doorway and tilted his head. “Giving a tour to new members?”
One of the men coughed into his hand.
“Er, no.” Picking an apple from the bag, Colleen rubbed it on her sleeve. “There’s been a threat against one of our members. Nothing to worry about, I’m sure. But we’re taking extra precautions.”
With a reassuring smile, she headed towards her office. Lucy was on a settee in the main room, sewing a bit of lace onto a gown and chatting with some other girls. Colleen changed direction and approached the group. “Good afternoon, ladies. Lucy, can you join me in my office?”
Lucy nodded, eyeing the guards. She put down her gown and followed Colleen across the room to the entrance to Colleen’s private rooms. They climbed the stairs, one of the guards remaining at the base of the staircase, the other following them up. He took up position next to the door inside Colleen’s office.
She frowned. “As you can see, there is no one in the office but us. And no windows or doors besides that one to enter from. Please wait outside.”
“Madam, I’m supposed—”
“I know what you were told, but you have a head of your own. Use it.” She tapped a toe. “You’d do better making sure no one unwanted comes through that door.”
He nodded, took one last look around the room, and ducked outside.
Colleen shut the door with a decided click.
“Have a seat,” she told Lucy and circled behind her desk to do the same. “As assistant manager, I wanted to apprise you of a situation.”
“All right.” Lucy perched on the edge of the chair. Instead of her usual negligee or gossamer-thin gowns, she wore a basic morning dress. Cut a bit lower in the chest than Colleen’s liking, but much more business-like than before.
Colleen folded her hands together. “You should know there has been a threat against the club. I will be telling other workers that one of our members requires increased security, hence the presence of guards. But it is the Baron of Sutton and me the threat seems to be against. I don’t want to alarm anyone, but if you could tell people to keep an eye out for anything untoward, I would appreciate it.”
“Those men out there,” Lucy said, pointing a finger over her shoulder, “they’re here to protect you?”
Colleen shifted in her seat. She was as uneasy with the idea of men watching her every move as she was with the idea that someone wanted to harm her. Her anger simmered. What had she ever done to this Zed creature? She’d ignored his letters? Refused to give him the information he wanted? That hardly seemed cause enough for all this fuss.
“Yes.” Placing her palms flat against the cool wood of the desk, Colleen nodded. “And to watch over the rest of the club.” She would make sure of that. It was more than just her life at risk. “Although by having such a show of force, I’m certain that the blackguard wouldn’t dare attack us now.”
“All right. I’ll let the girls know to be extra careful.”
“Good.”
Lucy leaned forwards. “Can we discuss business now? I came up with a list of purchases we’ll need for the next month, and I think I found us a new wine supplier.” The woman spoke rapidly. Taking a folded piece of paper from the inside of her sleeve, she pushed it across the desk.
Colleen picked it up and ran her finger down the proposed list with its tidy scrawl of projected costs running down the side. “This all looks in order. Good job.”
Lucy flushed. “I was talking with Bob, our footman. He also works at White’s, and he’s friendly with the manager there, and he says his wine guy is the one to use.” She pulled another piece of paper, this time a small scrap, from her other sleeve, and gave it to Colleen.
Colleen eyed the woman’s sleeves, wondering what else lay hidden within. She took the name and address of the other supplier. “Thank you. I will contact him today and have M— Sutton run a history. This is most helpful.”
“And you’ll tell the baron that I found him? If I’m to become the manager, I need our employer to know I helped.”
Colleen’s reply, that of course she would give credit where due, was interrupted by a shout in the hallway. She shot to her feet and ran for the door, flinging it open. The guard posted down below came pounding up the stairs and took his position in front of Colleen.
She frowned and sidled around him. The other guard had one meaty hand wrapped around Molly’s elbow and was dragging her from Colleen’s bed chambers.
“What on earth is going on out here?” Colleen asked.
“I caught her peeping around your room.” The man shook Molly’s arm. “She says she works at the club.”
“She does.” Colleen pressed her back against the doorjamb and pointed into her office. “Let’s bring her in here.” She turned to Lucy. “Thank you. I think we’re done.”
With a curious look at Molly, Lucy scooted past the group and inched down the stairs, casting glances back over her shoulder every other step.
Molly jerked her arm from her captor’s grip and sauntered into the office, head high. One of the guards made a move to follow, but Colleen held up a hand. “You won’t be needed for this.” She closed the door and faced the scourge of The Black Rose. Perhaps scourge was a tad dramatic, but Molly had turned into a severe annoyance.
“Was there a particular reason you were in my chambers?” Colleen circled behind her desk and plopped in her chair. “Something you were looking for?”
“A shawl.” Crossing her arms over her small frame, Molly gave a delicate shiver. “I left my wrap at home and was hoping to borrow one.”
That was a good line, Colleen had to give her that. Molly was quick-witted. She was also a consummate liar. “Well, I’ll be happy to provide you with a covering for your return trip home. Your services are no longer needed here.”
Molly’s jaw dropped open, genuine shock blanking her face. “You can’t dismiss me. I’m the best incognita The Black Rose has.”
“That may be true, but your skill is surpassed by your deceit. I won’t have workers I can’t trust. Not anymore.” Picking up a piece of lead, Colleen rolled it between her palms. Trust was a precious commodity. One she should be willing to give if she expected it returned.
She shook off thoughts of Max. This was business. “You can collect any belongings you have stored here, and I’ll direct a carriage to take you home.” Standing, she stretched for the ledger on the shelf behind her. “I’ll tally up your past wages and settle with you before you go.”
Molly jumped forwards and slapped the journal from her hand. It fell onto the desk, cover open, the pages inside bending against the wood. “You can keep your pin money. I don’t need it.”
Colleen didn’t know anyone who didn’t need money. Not enough to ignore a week’s worth of wages. She cocked her head and righted the journal, smoothing the pages. “Do you have someone taking care of you? Perhaps the gentleman who showers you with expensive jewels?” A new stone rested above the girl’s low neckline. Deep blue and as large as a lump of coal.
Molly stepped around the desk, making Colleen stumble back. “Do you think there is only one man who knows my worth? That I won’t have fifty such idiots lining up to beg me to be their mistress?” She poked a sharp nail into Colleen’s shoulder. “I could buy this club ten times over.” She blinked and pressed her lips together in a slight grimace. “Yes, I think I’ll order one of my patrons to buy this club out from under you and toss you to the street. Because that’s where you belong. You’re nothing more than trash, and no amount of fancy gowns the baron buys for you will change that.”
Molly had backed Colleen around the desk and across the room. The solid weight of the door hit Colleen’s bottom, and her shoulders sagged. Only three inches away were the two men hired to protect her. She hadn’t thought she’d need their assistance ridding the club of a lightskirt, but the spite in Molly’s eyes told a different story.
“I’m glad that the termination of your employment won’t cause you any setbacks.” Colleen made her voice brisk and businesslike. No need to antagonize or show concern. “And, of course, if you require references, I would write of your great popularity and skill.” Her character would receive a less complimentary mention, however. “Now, as we’ve nothing more to discuss, I bid you good eve’n.” She fumbled behind her back for the latch, not wanting to take her gaze off of Molly. She jerked the door open, scooting to the side.
One of the guards stepped forward, looking irritated. “Any problems?”
“None.” Colleen wiped her damp palms on her skirt. “Molly is going to collect her things. Will you arrange for a carriage and driver to take her where she wishes and escort her out?”
He nodded, his gaze tracking Molly’s every breath. Colleen would have to commend Max on his choice of guard. Annoying as they were being underfoot all the time, she appreciated that they weren’t deceived by a pretty face and a tight bodice. The man recognized Molly for the trouble she was.
The girl’s face shuttered. She strode through the door without acknowledging Colleen or the men. It was as though none of them existed to Molly anymore.
Colleen waited for the door at the base of the stairs to snick shut before returning to her office. She sat behind her desk, and the tension in her body seeped away. The club’s profits would take a blow, but releasing the woman was the right choice for the long-term. Her attitude poisoned the other workers.
Molly’s boastful words rang in her ears. She did seem to have an arsenal of suitors at her disposal, which left Colleen with one question: why had Molly remained at The Black Rose?
Perhaps the lady-bird’s suitors weren’t as ardent as they appeared. A trinket here and there hardly meant they were willing to set her up in the luxury she so obviously thought she deserved. The clients might appreciate her varied talents, but that didn’t lead to a sustained interest. At his core, could a man love and support a woman he didn’t trust?
The small muscles in her neck knotted. Were she and Molly so different? Molly put on an act with her men, deceiving them each night into believing she was a different sort of woman. The woman they most desired.
Colleen was lying to Max. Letting him carry the weight of her guilt. Letting him believe she was a better woman than she was.
If she told him the truth, he might fire her. Perhaps not deliver on her premium. But it was the knowledge that he would never look at her again with worship in his eyes that made her own eyes burn.
That was the loss that would cut the deepest.
***
“I can’t drink another sip of this horse piss The Boar’s Head passes off as ale.” Summerset wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve.
Max raised an eyebrow. His friend must truly be disgusted to forego using his pocket square. Or perhaps the horse piss was stronger than he thought.
He glanced across the crowded tavern. Montague and Rothchild were nursing their drinks, seemingly underwhelmed with the brew, as well. All four men wore clothes borrowed from their footmen and valets in order to conduct their surveillance of the public house Dancer was known to frequent. The man’s ship, the Teresa May, had docked that day, and the first stop of any sailor worthy of his name was his local tavern.
“Dunkeld’s journey up to Scotland isn’t looking so bad now, is it?” Max lifted the mug to his lips and pretended to take a sip. Aside from the rancid flavor, he needed to keep his wits about him. Dancer was starting to feel like their last chance to find Zed. Max was growing tired of going around in circles.
“I did have a lovely new winter coat made that would have been perfect for Scotland.” Summerset fingered the rough collar of his shirt. “Braving a bit of cold would have been preferable to wearing … this.”
Max snorted at the horror in his friend’s voice. “You didn’t have to come tonight. Montague, Rothchild, and I would have managed fine without you.”
“So you think. Without me, you might not have noticed that a man of five feet and a couple of inches with deep-set eyes and cadaverous cheeks and sporting disgusting tufts of hair out of his ears has just seated himself at the bar.”
Max kicked a boot up on the table and glanced over his shoulder. “How did you know the man’s description?”
Summerset stared at his nails and buffed them against his coat. “After you gave us his name, I had my men run my own check on him. It came with a description of his personal appearance.”
“A colorful one at that.”
Summerset shrugged. “What now? Do we wait for him to get deep into his cups? Perhaps speed the process along?” He patted the breast of his coat. Summerset was a bit of a chemist, and Max didn’t want to even guess what drug lay bottled within. “Or do we follow him and hope he leads us to Zed?”
Max pushed to his feet and cracked his neck. “None of the above. I’m tired of chasing after our prey like a pussy cat. I say we take a more active approach.”
“All right,” Summerset drawled. “What, exactly, does that … hey, wait up!”
Max felt the earl fall into step behind him, saw Montague and Rothchild rise from their seats. Knowing his friends would stand beside him, Max didn’t hesitate. He walked up behind Dancer, grabbed the back of his neck, and dragged him from his stool. “Last order. Let’s go.”
Swatting at Max’s hand, the man stumbled to one knee. Max dragged him until Dancer regained his footing.
Two burly sailors stood, and Montague and Rothchild blocked their access to Max and Dancer, staring them down. Summerset followed Max to the rear exit, walking backwards, assessing any potential threat.
None came.
Kicking open the back door to the alley, Max pushed the sailor outside and into a rubbish heap. Empty bottles rolled along the dirt, dislodged from his sprawl.
Dancer rubbed his back. “What the bloody hell are ye fuckwits on about? I just came in from a month’s paddle. If you won money off someone, it weren’t me.”
The door squeaked open, and Montague and Rothchild slipped through.
Max rubbed his forehead. “I’m tired, I’m hacked off, and I’ve run out of patience. To save time, I’m going to tell you what we know.” Dropping to a squat, he brought his face level with the sailor’s. “Your name is Harvey Dancer and you live off Brook Street. You have a lady friend who lives in Lambeth and whose children call you Uncle Harry. You’ve worked for Bellweather Shipping for eight years, and until three months ago, also took on the odd job with a crime organization run by the self-named Zed.” Max had his own men, and they could run background checks with the best of them. They had failed to mention the ear hair, however.
Dancer started to protest, his chin drawing back into his neck.
Max slapped his face. “Focus. You could spend from here to eternity denying your connection to Zed, and we wouldn’t believe you.”
Rothchild stepped forwards. “Perhaps answers would be more forthcoming if I applied a little pressure.”
Perhaps. But they’d already encountered one man who preferred death to talking. Max didn’t have the time to test the pain limits of another fanatic. Besides, it wasn’t information he was after.
“Let’s save that as an option, shall we? If Dancer refuses my simple request.” After riffling through Dancer’s pockets and removing his only weapon, one small blade, Max stood. He planted his fists on his hips. “You are going to deliver a message for me. Tell Zed I want to meet. Just him and me, at a location of his choice. Tell him my only objective is to rid England of his presence, and I’m willing to pay handsomely to set him up in a residence abroad.”
Rothchild inhaled sharply through his nose. Max knew his friends wouldn’t approve. They each wanted their pound of flesh. Max just wanted it over. He wasn’t so foolish to think that Zed would take him up on his offer. But they’d tried roundabout ways to find the crime lord without success. It was time for the direct route. He was going to offer himself as bait.
The eight men he’d set to follow Dancer back home made a solid secondary plan.
Max tossed a small bag of coin at the man’s feet. “Every delivery man deserves payment. Tell Zed that the Baron of Sutton has issued an invitation. Deliver this message, and you’re out.” Toeing his boot under the bag, he tossed it, and it hit Dancer’s chest with a thump. “Fail to deliver it, and the consequences will be severe.”
Clutching the sack to his stomach, the sailor looked between it and Max. Slowly, he nodded and heaved to his feet. “I hope you know what you’re about. You don’t just invite the devil to a party and expect him to drink the punch.”
Summerset rolled his eyes. “Everyone’s a damn poet these days. I blame Wordsworth.”
Dancer shrugged. “It’s your funeral if you meet with Zed. But I warn ye, that one don’t have both oars in the water.” Tugging up his collar, the man sidled past Montague and Rothchild and scuttled down the alley.
Montague slapped dust from his thigh. “Interesting technique. I thought for sure you’d be the one I had to stop from inflicting too much damage.”
Summerset huffed. “Ever since he’s given his manager carte blanche, he’s gone soft.”
“Soft?” Rothchild raised his eyebrows. “With those tight, little waistcoats the woman wears, I would have thought it would be the opposite.”
“Enough.” Slashing his hand through the air, Max glared at his friends. “You wouldn’t tolerate me making lewd comments regarding your wives, would you? Show Colleen the same respect.”
“We respect all women,” Montague said mildly. “But there is a difference between jesting about a man’s wife and his mistress. Rothchild’s joke was no more than we’ve all said to each other before.”
“Unless Mrs. Bonner is more than a mistress?” Rothchild gave him a sympathetic smile. “I apologize for my remark. It won’t happen again.”
Max nodded his thanks. He turned and made his way out of the alley.
Summerset trotted by his side. “No,” he said, shaking his head. “I won’t allow it.”
“What are you on about?” Max asked.
“Another friend becoming imprisoned in a life tenancy.” Summerset waved his arms in the air. “We’ve already lost two men. I won’t allow another.”
“What?” said Rothchild as Montague huffed “I object!”
“We haven’t lost anyone.” Hitting the street, Max looked for their driver. The man was down the block but put leather to horse when he saw Max wave. Max strode down the sidewalk, meeting the carriage half way.
“Really?” Summerset clambered into the carriage behind him and scooted over to make room for the others. He jabbed a finger at Montague. “Where are you heading now that our work is done for the night?”
“Home. To Liz.”
“Uh, huh. And you?” He knocked Rothchild with his knee.
“To Montague’s to collect Amanda.” He shrugged. “The sisters wanted to spend their evening together.”
“So, instead of going to King Street or The Black Rose as we used to, the two of you are going home. To your wives.” Derision dripped from his words like water from an icicle. “You’ve been domesticated.”
“Don’t include me in that group. I’ve spoken no vows.” Max tugged the hem of his waistcoat.
“So, after we drop off this lot, do you want to go to a hell? Find a little trouble?” Summerset asked, skeptical. “I know a couple of women who would be more than happy to entertain us.”
“Can’t.”
“Because you’re going to your Mrs. Bonner?” Summerset shook his head sadly. “Domesticated and you don’t even realize it yet. Pathetic.”
Max shoved his friend, and the carriage rocked with the ensuing scuffle. Max had to admit his heart wasn’t in it. Going home to a woman he cared about each night might be tame, but it did sound pleasant. Montague and Rothchild were lucky bastards.
He thought of Colleen’s forgiveness and hoped that he might be allowed into the ranks of lucky bastard, as well. He took Summerset’s elbow to the ear with equanimity and settled back into his seat. His life was changing, and even though his friend might not be pleased with the outcome, Max was. His jobs for Liverpool would soon be a distant memory, and he could spend his days relaxing with Colleen, puttering around the conservatory, helping her run her shop.
No, things were looking up. Even under the heavy cloud Zed cast over their lives, the bad times wouldn’t last. With a remarkable woman like Colleen at his side, his future was bright.
At Montague’s townhouse, Max practically kicked his friends from the carriage.
“Hey!” Summerset stumbled to the sidewalk and ran a hand through his hair. “This isn’t my stop.”
“I’m certain Montague can lend you a horse. I’m going in the opposite direction.” And didn’t want to waste a minute before returning home. To Colleen.
Crossing his arms, Summerset shook his head. “At least I still have Dunkeld. That lout will never leg shackle himself.”
Max ignored that. “I’ll notify you if I hear back from Zed.”
“His response might be a bullet to the head.” Rothchild closed the carriage door and rested an arm in the open window. “Have you thought of that?”
“I have.” Max shouted directions up to the driver. “We’d be in no worse position if Zed rejects the idea of a meet than if I’d never issued the invitation.”
“Except you could be dead.” Rothchild shook his head. “Don’t underestimate the threat.”
“I don’t.” Sitting back, he pounded on the ceiling, and the carriage started to roll.
Rothchild slapped the side, a wordless farewell.
Max knew his friends were concerned about him. They all put themselves at risk, but with Zed focusing on the club and Colleen, Max couldn’t deny he stood closer to the line of fire.
He wasn’t overly worried. Zed was a threat, but Max was prepared. His life was finally falling into place, and he wouldn’t let anything stand in his way.
Not when, for the first time, he felt like he had everything to live for.