Chapter Twenty
Sophie ran her fingertips over the back of a Corinthian leather settee, drinking in the smooth texture, the vivid hue of the tasteful piece. Given Gavin Stanwyck’s boasts of being a scoundrel, she’d expected his residence would reflect a certain decadence, a gaudy hedonism. Instead, the man’s London home was charmingly modest, tastefully done in hues of green and tan and gold and an array of gleaming hardwoods. He’d inherited his father’s empire, but chose to live in this understated town house in the heart of Mayfair.
The light of the new day flickered through the windows, streaming through the stained-glass windows. She glimpsed her reflection in a small pane of clear glass. My, she did look a fright. She’d slept little the night before, despite the presence of the trusted guard Matthew Colton had assigned to the residence and the housekeeper’s insistence that Sophie make herself comfortable in the guest quarters. Mrs. Edson, a white-capped matron who remained unruffled by the late-night intrusion into her domain, clucked over her injured employer like an agitated mother hen. For his part, Gavin’s butler, a serious-eyed gent named Farnsworth, saw to Gavin’s and Avery’s care with a no-nonsense demeanor that did not disguise his concern.
If the housekeeper and butler detected any holes in the tale of a robbery gone awry, they kept their doubts quiet. The agency’s chief physician, a brusque man Sophie estimated to be about a decade her senior, made up for his lack of bedside manner with his knowledge and discretion. Despite the atrocious hour at which Matthew Colton had dispatched his messenger with a request for medical assistance, Dr. Franklin had arrived without delay, attending his patients with a no-nonsense competence, while the staff had followed his dictates to the letter.
Sophie patted her cheeks, as if that might bring some color to her face and erase the lines etched by weariness. She had managed to obtain a bit of sleep, finally able to relax after the doctor explained the effects of the unknown drug Gavin had ingested. Thankfully, the substance was not a poison, and he’d likely recover quickly from its effects. Relief settled over her in waves, and she’d taken refuge for a few precious hours in the comfortable guest bedroom.
She’d awakened to find her traveling bag in the room. Bless Bertram and his considerate heart. Rising, she’d prepared herself for the day ahead. Warm water and a clean dress went a long way toward buoying her spirits.
Gavin was up and about. Mrs. Edson had been kind enough to inform her that the master of the house wished to offer his gratitude. After downing a few bites of toast and jam, Sophie settled into the study to await him.
Massive bookshelves lined two of the four walls of the sizeable room, displaying an impressive library and a variety of art reflective of ancient cultures from Africa, Asia, and Europe. She wandered to a barrister bookcase. Her breath caught as she found herself inches from an Egyptian urn displayed in a protective case. She’d never thought to be so close to an antiquity. She quelled the temptation to lift up the glass door and brush her fingers over the vessel. Though the vase stood only as tall as the length of her hand, the piece was striking, its detail magnificent. Someone had crafted that vessel thousands of years before her birth, employing skill and creativity. Could the artisan have imagined it would endure and be preserved many millennia after he’d taken his last breath?
With a reporter’s eye for details, she scanned Gavin’s book collection, mentally noting the eclectic assortment of genres. Nonfiction tomes exploring a variety of subjects, popular fiction, and classics populated the shelves. Volumes of poetry and literature rested on a side table. Not surprising, really. The man was a scholar and an adventurer. His efforts to convince her he was a cad had proven a momentary distraction from his accomplishments, as if by calculation. Why had he been dead set on proving himself to be an arrogant, shallow boor, when the evidence spoke to the contrary?
An instinctive awareness alerted her she was no longer alone. She turned slowly, affecting a look of nonchalance even though her reaction to Gavin Stanwyck’s presence was far from casual. Her pulse raced as her senses drank him in. What was it about the man that made her feel so very alive?
He stood in the doorway, clad in trousers and white linen shirtsleeves without benefit of a waistcoat or jacket, regarding her with an expression she couldn’t quite read. Was that surprise in his eyes after discovering her in what was no doubt his private sanctuary? Or did a deeper, more powerful emotion darken his indigo eyes to the color of the North Sea at dusk?
His hair had been neatly combed, and a hint of bergamot lingered on his skin from his bath. Dark stubble covered his jaw, accenting his strong cheekbones and chin. Just as she’d longed to touch that ancient vessel, she curled her fingers against the urge to make contact, to experience the texture of his coarse new beard against her skin.
He broke the silence. “I owe you a debt, Sophie.”
His husky rasp kindled a flame deep within, one she’d desperately tried to extinguish. A sudden rush of emotion scalded her throat. He’d nearly died last night. She’d turned from him in that blasted graveyard and walked away, never dreaming that might’ve been the last time she’d lay eyes on him. How her heart would have shattered if she’d followed orders and locked herself away, only to learn he’d suffered a brutal fate.
She swallowed hard against the lump in her throat. Good heavens, she was a trained operative. You are better than this, Sophie. Tamp down your nerves.
“I believe this makes us even.” Amazing, how steady she held her voice, how rational the words.
His eyes narrowed as he casually leaned a shoulder against the casing and slipped his hands in his pockets. “Perhaps.”
“You are looking remarkably well given the ordeal you endured.”
“Avery received the worst of it, I’m afraid.”
Sophie nodded. “Those curs inflicted a vicious blow,” she said. “Thankfully, the physician is confident a few days of rest will lead to a full recovery. How are you getting on? Are you suffering any aftereffects?”
“Very little. The physician shares my certainty that I was drugged. Fortunately, the chemical I ingested seems to have only a minimal impact on my faculties this morning.”
A twinge of apprehension rippled through her. “How much do you remember?”
He frowned, seeming to mull the question. “It’s the damnedest thing, really. I can picture the dartboard in my mind, the barb as it pierced the target. But I cannot visualize the bastard who connived to gain access to my drink. I cannot hear his voice in my memory. He’d spoken his name, but I cannot recall any trace of it. It’s as though my memory has been wiped clean of those minutes immediately before I took the drug into my system.”
“And the rest of the evening? Do you recall any of what happened after you ingested the substance?”
He nodded. “It seems a blur, but yes, I know what occurred. I can see it in my mind’s eye.” He tilted his head, seeming to regard her as though she were someone quite new to him. “I was a fool to underestimate you. You didn’t need me to come to the rescue that night, did you?”
“Actually, your assistance proved extremely helpful. I was in a bit of a fix. Two against one is always a challenge.”
“Somehow, I don’t think the challenge would’ve proven insurmountable.” He kneaded his jaw, as if it had gone suddenly stiff. “Is there something you haven’t told me—something that would explain what I saw last night?”
His question was not entirely unexpected. After all, it is not every day that a man experiences a woman charging to the rescue—his rescue, no less. And she imagined it was all the more uncommon for that woman to be in the company of a craggy-faced carriage driver whose skill with a firearm rivaled the Queen’s guards, an elderly man who had disarmed one man and sent the other scurrying for safety like an oversized, two-legged species of vermin.
She plastered on a bland expression. “I carry a pistol, and I know how to use it. Is that so unusual?”
“Not in itself.” Stepping inside, he closed the door behind him. “This requires a bit of privacy. While I trust Farnsworth and Mrs. Edson with my life, I feel this is a matter for our ears only.”
Her stomach did a little flip. “I understand.”
He came to her, standing within arm’s reach. He smelled of soap and clean, healthy male, too blasted appealing for her own good. Her nerves came alive, as if anticipating his touch. Could he sense how her heart raced? If only he didn’t look at her like that, with that faint, stormy glint of accusation in his eyes.
“You are a riddle, Sophie.” His words were low and gravel-edged, filled with unmistakable heat. “You’ve cast your lot in with a charlatan—a man you scarcely tolerate, even to his face. If you were intent on fleecing unsuspecting fools to enrich yourself, you’d bat your eyes and wiggle those luscious hips of yours and make a play for a wealthy man, but you’ve done nothing of the sort. You carry a gun in your velvet bag—a weapon you appear quite confident in your ability to use—while riding about the city in the dead of night, charging to the rescue of arrogant cads like me. Who are you? And what is it about you that drives a logical man to the brink of reason?”
“I have studied the art of self-defense. As a modern woman, it seems rather prudent to be able to guard one’s own well-being, wouldn’t you agree?” If only I could keep my voice steady.
He took a step closer. “Guarding one’s well-being? Is that how you explain your carriage driver? The man’s gun might’ve brought down Goliath himself. The bloke’s seventy, if he’s a day, yet he aimed with such precision, he took off the bastard’s thumb.”
She smiled. After all, there was no need to disguise her pride at Bertram’s skill. “A lucky shot.”
His brows hiked. “I am not a fool. What is it you’ve involved yourself with? Or should I ask, whom?”
She lifted her shoulders in a little shrug. Pity she needed to maintain the charade she’d affected. The deception wore on her, but he could not learn the truth. She would warn him of the potential danger he still faced, but he must not discover how she’d come across that intelligence.
“You know my occupation—for the time being, at least.” She stumbled over the words. Blast it, the lies did not flow as smoothly now. “If you’re looking for some mysterious motive, aside from earning a bit of coin, I am sorry to disappoint you.”
He frowned, somehow all the more appealing with that storm front flashing in his gaze. “You are a puzzle. One that I long to solve.”
“Once again, I fear you will be disappointed. I am not an enigma. Far from it.”
Cupping her cheek against the palm of his hand, he slowly shook his head. So very gentle, that touch. Not quite tender. Yet a study in restraint, in longing held tightly leashed.
She managed a breath, even as her heart stuttered. How she wanted to touch him, to caress his skin and feel him react to the elemental contact.
“You’re wrong, Sophie. You’ve intrigued me from the first.”
Dash it all, why did he have to look at her like that? She longed to drink him in, the texture of his skin, the tantalizing essence that set her senses ablaze.
“At this point, we have far more pressing concerns.” Despite her desire to lean in to his strong, warm body, she managed to retreat a step. “Someone tried to kill you last night. I’d say that takes precedence over any supposed intrigue.”
“I believe the two are linked.”
She considered his words, working out the situation in her mind. He was right—there was a connection between the threat against her and the cold-blooded curs’ intention to add Gavin to the list of men who’d all-too-conveniently met their end in the river. But in her bones, she knew the attempt at murder went beyond simple retribution.
“If you’d randomly encountered the blokes in some dark alley, I might well believe they’d seized their opportunity to unleash their anger on you in retaliation for thwarting the abduction. But this was a well-planned attack.”
“So now the question is, why? Who wants me dead?”
“Whatever the reason you were targeted, the motive goes beyond your defense of me,” Sophie said. “Someone knows your ways, knows your patterns of behavior. The blighter took advantage of that knowledge to administer the drug that stripped away your defenses.”
“That much is indisputable.”
“There is a third party involved, someone with access to your club. An elite with tin to spare and a name that would allow him to come and go through the Hound and Fox’s doors, no questions asked. For what reason would someone like that make you a target?”
He regarded her silently for a long moment. Was that suspicion flaring in his eyes?
“The common threads here are Trask.” His voice had gone low. “And you.”