Chapter Nine
Colleen pulled on a pair of cotton gloves, ignoring the hole at the tip of the index finger. A torn and tattered pair of gloves was a suitable accompaniment to how she felt. Worn out. Both physically and mentally.
The physical fatigue wasn’t a problem. In fact, the soreness and lethargy had come as a pleasant surprise when she’d awoken that day.
And it had distracted her from her guilt.
Ever since her husband’s death, she’d carried around a ten-pound sack of it. After last night, her load had doubled. It weighed heavily, dragging her steps, curving her shoulders. How could she let herself feel such pleasure when her husband wasn’t alive to feel anything?
“Going somewhere?” Max pushed into her room, looking her up and down and frowning.
The fact that he hadn’t knocked didn’t pass unnoticed. “These are my private chambers. Please don’t barge in. I might have been dressing.”
His dark eyebrows shot up under his wild shock of hair. “Would it have mattered? Sorry, love, but there isn’t an inch of you that I haven’t already seen.”
Colleen shrugged into her cousin’s coat, making sure that her watch was secure in her waistcoat pocket. “No, I suppose not,” she muttered. She cleared her throat. “Do you have plans for the afternoon? I was hoping to ask some questions in my neighborhood about this blackmail ring.”
His muscles went rigid. “Were you now?” Pulling out a drawer in her bureau, Max removed a delicate pair of kid gloves and strode to her side. He tugged at the finger of one of her gloves, sliding it off her hand, before working on the other. He tossed them on her bed. “Anyone in particular you wanted to question, or merely an interrogation of the general populace?” Placing one of the new gloves between his teeth, he tried to work the other one onto her fingers.
She took the smooth leather from his fumbling hand and donned the glove herself. It was like she’d slipped inside a silken cloud. “I am nothing if not practical. I know that asking random people questions would lead to little result.” Taking the other glove from his hand, she smoothed it on. This one pair of gloves, butter-soft and as supple as a second skin, likely cost more than she had ever spent on every piece of clothing she’d worn in her entire life.
Nausea ate at her insides. She was an ordinary woman from Wapping. That’s where she was supposed to be, not playing dress-up with a nob.
And that’s where she was going to return. She’d devised the idea of her own investigation that morning as her breakfast of toast and eggs threatened to come back up her throat when she thought about her actions of the past night. It was a compromise to herself, of sorts. She didn’t know if she could give up Max’s touch, no matter how big a sin their affair, not while she lived under his roof. He was too tempting. But she could make her time in residence as short as possible. Keep her folly to a short duration.
She set her shoulders. “If I want my flower shop, I can’t wait around for you to find out who Zed is. I know some people, people who wouldn’t turn up their noses on a bit of knavery, not if it paid the right amount of coin. If this crime ring was as big as you say it was, the sailors and dockworkers in my neighborhood would have heard of it.”
He tugged the musty coat down her arms and tossed it by her waste bin. Opening the wardrobe, he eyed the contents, finally deciding on a hunter-green pelisse trimmed in velvet dyed a darker shade of green. “All right, if you know people to ask, we’ll go talk to them.”
Colleen blinked. She hadn’t thought he would follow her counsel, much less invite her to join him in the investigation. She was so shocked, she let him put her arms into the sleeves of the pelisse and pull it onto her shoulders. “You think it’s a good idea? That we’ll get answers?”
“I don’t know if we’ll learn anything, but it doesn’t hurt to try.” Gently pressing her down onto her dressing table chair, he knelt and untied her old boots. “Lord knows I ran into a dead end. Literally.”
She cupped his cheek. “That wasn’t your fault.” In the early morning, as they’d lain twisted in each other’s limbs, Max had told her of the suspect they’d cornered. Of the horror the man had committed.
He turned his face into her touch. “Fault, no. But I can’t understand how a man could do that. The look in his eyes was … mad. He wasn’t scared. He killed himself to protect someone he worshipped.”
“Zed must pay his men an awful lot.”
“That type of compulsion has little to do with money.” He held up her ratty boots and frowned. “I thought you’d disposed of these.”
Colleen pinned her arms against her stomach. “Those are the only pair of boots I own. I wouldn’t get rid of them.” Even though her feet had screamed in protest when she’d slid them inside that morning. It was amazing how quickly one became accustomed to borrowed comfort.
His eyes went hard. “All the footwear in this room is yours.”
“You paid for them. I was merely borrowing them.” Putting on her old boots had felt like a form of penance. A silly idea, perhaps, but her old boots also hadn’t made her blush like a maiden when she’d looked at them. The beautiful kid boots would forever remind her of everything she’d done in bed with Max.
Shaking his head, he worked the new boots on her feet. She ignored the heat in her cheeks. “It is most admirable that you want to earn everything for yourself,” he said. “But look on the clothes as part of your salary. I can’t have a manager walking about with sores on her feet.” He looked up at her and smiled. “It would decrease your efficiency.”
Colleen pointed her toes, examining the boots. Wearing them again should be all right. She’d already broken them in, after all. They couldn’t be returned. Spurning them because they reminded her of a wonderfully wicked night would be wasteful.
Standing, Max took her hands and pulled her to her feet. “Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer one of your new dresses?”
“My own clothes do me well enough.” She tugged at the hem of the pelisse. “I have no need for all that frippery.”
“Of course.” His lips twitched. “And you look enchanting in whatever you wear.” Stretching out an arm, he guided her to the door. As they crossed the threshold, he lowered his head and whispered, “But you look best of all when you wear nothing.”
The tips of her nipples tingled, but she pretended she hadn’t heard him. She didn’t know how to respond to such playful words, but they warmed her right through. But now wasn’t time for such foolery, not when there was business to be done. She marched down the stairs and opened the door to the main room of the club. A couple of her girls were lounging on settees, chatting before The Black Rose opened. Colleen headed for Lucy.
“I’m going out for a couple of hours.” Colleen ran a hand down her skirt. “Will you watch over things here?”
Lucy gave a pert salute. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll make sure to batten down the hatches and keep everything running shipshape.”
Colleen pressed her lips flat but couldn’t help but find the vivacious girl charming.
Molly sat next to her, fiddling with her necklace, the large green gem glittering. She eyed Colleen and Max, a malicious gleam in her eyes. “And where might the two of you be off to? A little afternoon delight?”
This one, however, was the opposite of charm. Unless it came to a paying customer. Then she’d charm the trousers right off of him. “Where we’re going is none of your concern. But if you have nothing to do but ask questions, I believe Mrs. Hudson could use some help cleaning the rooms down here.”
Molly snorted. “You don’t pay me nearly enough.”
“Suit yourself.” People were a queer lot. Colleen would have no qualms using a scrub brush to earn a living. But laying with men on demand … that’s what soured her stomach. Turning on her heel, she tossed over her shoulder, “Lucy, you have the helm.”
Max followed her out and down the steps, pausing to give the footman instruction to bring the carriage around. He stood next to her on the sidewalk as they waited. “Was that a jest back there? Does Mrs. Bonner, strict, no-nonsense woman of business, have a sense of humor?”
She sniffed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Uh huh.”
“Good managers strive to keep their workers happy.” She stepped back as the carriage rolled to a stop before them. “A pleasant work environment encourages productivity.”
Max opened the door, making the footman behind them grumble. “I don’t think this is the kind of business that you can measure in increased productivity.” He stroked his beard with one hand and extended the other to her. “I suppose we could measure the length of time the—”
“Yes, I was making a jest.” Giving instructions to the driver, she took Max’s hand and climbed into the carriage. She plopped on the seat and shook her head, exasperated. She didn’t want to know what Max thought they could measure. She waited for him to close the door. “Now, I thought—”
The carriage swayed into motion at the same moment Max reached for her. Dragging her across his thighs, he sealed his mouth to hers, muffling her squeak of surprise. Her shoulder notched perfectly under his arm; her head finding its perfect perch on his biceps. She sank into his kiss, her body already accustomed to his touch, unconsciously yielding.
Until she felt sunlight warming her skirts and remembered the open carriage windows.
She pulled apart from him, breathing heavily. “Max! Stop.”
“It’s been hours.” His beard scratched her throat before his soft lips glided across her flesh. “Hours since I’ve pushed inside your tight body. Since I’ve heard you moan. Why would you want to stop?”
His hands were all over her, caressing here, squeezing there. She couldn’t find the strength to slide off her lap. Couldn’t for the life of her remember why she should. Moisture gathered between her legs, and her breasts felt heavy and achy.
His fingers brushed against her pocket watch, pressing the round disk into her side, and she stiffened. Memories of her husband made it easy to find her propriety.
“It is daytime,” she began, pushing herself off his lap, “and some things just aren’t done in the daytime.” She straightened her pelisse and touched the knot of hair at the nape of her neck. All in place.
“I see.” Max pressed his lips flat but couldn’t hide that they twitched.
“I don’t see what is amusing about it. Just because I refuse to … to …”
“Dally in the daylight? Tup during the today?”
Colleen felt her cheeks heat, though from ire or embarrassment, she didn’t know. “It is nothing to joke about. I may have relaxed some of my standards but that doesn’t mean I’ll flit about, willy-nilly, and lift my skirts where anybody can see me. It just isn’t proper.”
He didn’t even try to hide his smile this time. “We could close the window drapes.”
“No!” She tilted up her chin and sniffed. Insufferable man.
The carriage hit a hard bump, and her teeth jarred. Through the window, the masts of dozens of ships swayed with the river’s current. The hollow knocking of hulls butting up against their berths beat a rhythm, the calls of the sailors and dockworkers a coarse melody. The music of the London Docks was as familiar to Colleen as Mozart was to Max. She looked down at her borrowed gloves, contrasting the fine stitchwork with that of her worn skirts. This was where she belonged.
“We’re here.” Colleen sat back, shaking off her melancholy. Time to focus on business. “There’s an office in one of the back buildings where the dockmaster has a desk. I’ve met him before when my husband and I came to receive shipments of clocks from Amsterdam. If anyone would know what the men down here are up to, it’s him.”
They ground to a stop, and the carriage door was thrown open. Colleen blinked in the bright light before Max stood, blocking the glare with his torso. He climbed down and held a hand out for hers.
Gripping it, she stepped down, into the swirl of energy, the raucous laughter and shouts of London’s East End. A man in wide trousers and a filthy shirt waggled his eyebrows at Colleen and gave a low whistle.
Max slowly swiveled his head to look at the sailor. He did nothing else, but the look on Max’s face must have been enough. The sailor ducked his head and scuttled away.
“Speaking of proprieties, perhaps this isn’t the best place for a woman to visit.” Max turned back towards their conveyance. “If you’d like to wait in the carriage, I’ll go ask some questions.”
“The dockmaster doesn’t know you.” Tugging on his hand, she led the way to the office. “Besides, the men here are all talk. Nothing ever happened to me besides hearing some colorful language when I used to come here with my husband, and he was half your size. I don’t think anyone will bother me now.”
Max turned his hand, lacing his fingers through hers, his grip solid. Reassuring. “No, no one will bother you when I’m around.”
Her heart fluttered at his words. She didn’t need Max acting as her protector, but it did feel awfully nice.
Pushing the thin wood door on the ramshackle building open, he guided her in. When the door swung shut, it did little to block the noise of the docks from seeping in.
Several desks were pressed together with clerks poring over bills of lading and shipping contracts. “The man we want is back through here.” Max followed her down a narrow hallway, and Colleen knocked on the door at the end. A triangle-shaped wedge of wood had broken from the bottom of the door, and Colleen could see a man’s boots approach before the door swung wide.
“What do you want?” The man blinked and scratched at the whiskers on his neck. “Oh, Mrs. Bonner, isn’t it? I haven’t seen you hereabouts in a crow’s age.”
“Mr. Seagrumn.” Colleen inclined her head. “I hope you’ve been well.”
“Well enough.” He stared at them and tilted his head to the side.
“I’d like to introduce you to Mr. Atwood,” Colleen said, Max’s surname sticking on her tongue. The men nodded at each other.
Colleen glanced back at Max. He raised his eyebrows at her use of the word ‘mister’ before his name but remained silent. Colleen knew the dockmaster’s type. Men like him weren’t impressed with titles. He’d be more forthcoming if he thought he was speaking with a regular chap. While Max’s clothes were of the finest quality, the rest of his appearance didn’t match that of a baron. She thought he could pass.
Colleen waited patiently for the invitation, a smile on her face. Mr. Seagrumn was a bit rough, but eventually he remembered the niceties.
“Oh. Uh, did you want to come in?” He stepped back, and Colleen hurried through.
She lifted the stack of papers on the one guest chair and settled them on her lap. The dockmaster circled around his desk and took his seat.
Seagrumn pointed at a squat barrel buried under a stack of documents. “You can sit on that, if you’d like,” he told Max.
“I’ll stand, thank you.” Max rested his hands on the back of Colleen’s chair, his fingers brushing her shoulders. “We appreciate you taking the time to see us.”
“For the lovely Mrs. Bonner, of course.” Grimacing, Seagrumn reached under his bottom and pulled out a rolled-up Times. “Though I don’t think any of my ships are carrying clocks.”
“I’m no longer in the clock business.” Colleen pulled off her gloves, tugging on each leather finger. “What my associate and I have come here for today is information. I told Mr. Atwood that if anyone would know, it would be you.” She gave the dockmaster a bright smile. “I remember how knowledgeable you were.”
Seagrumn ran his thumbs under his braces, pulling the strips away from his round stomach and letting them snap back. “That’s right nice of you to say, Mrs. Bonner. And coming from a sharp biscuit like you, I take it as a high compliment. If I can be of help, I will.”
“That’s what I like to hear.” Max shifted behind her. “I’m looking for some men to help me with my new business enterprise. Mrs. Bonner said you’re familiar with all the sailors and dockworkers who might take on odd jobs for some extra blunt.”
Colleen frowned but held her tongue. This seemed an awfully roundabout way of getting the information they needed. Was Max going to hire each man down here and try to discover every other employer he had? The process would take months.
“Of course,” Seagrumn said. “It’s hard to raise a family on the salaries the lads make around here. Most are looking to make a bit on the side.”
“Great.” Max shifted behind her. “I only have one condition. The men I hire must be a bit … flexible when it comes to their principles, if you understand what I’m saying. I can’t have someone getting missish and run crying to a magistrate every time he has misgivings about the work. Nothing illegal, you understand. I just want it to be private.”
Oh, Lord. Colleen glared over her shoulder at Max. What was he trying to do? Ruin her reputation so she could never do business in this neighborhood. True, sailors and dockworkers wouldn’t be her main customer if she got her flower shop. But if word got out that she was running with some shady characters, the more respectable clientele wouldn’t grace her doors, either.
“I see.” Seagrumn scratched his jaw. “I don’t—”
“We’re looking for a blackmailer who goes by the name of Zed.” Colleen leaned forward. “Any idea where we can find him?”
Max dug his fingers into her shoulders, and Colleen shrugged him away. “What? I don’t want him thinking I’m in league with a devil.” She turned back to Seagrumn and gave him a wide smile. “We only have the best of intentions in apprehending this criminal. Mt. Atwood doesn’t really have a new business enterprise. He mistakenly thought that would be the easiest way to get information from you.”
Max heaved a sigh, and she could almost feel the exasperation rolling off of him.
Seagrumn ballooned his cheeks out and released his breath in a hiss. “What in God’s name have you gotten yourself into? You don’t just go around asking questions like that.” He peered at the closed door and out his grimy window. It was crusted over with dirt, letting in only the barest amount of light. The dockmaster needn’t have worried about anyone spying on him from that direction.
“So, you have heard of him?” Max stepped around her chair, closing in on Seagrumn.
Eyes wide, the man scooted his chair back to the wall, and Max halted. With a barely perceptible grumble, he stepped back and leaned against a bookcase, crossing his arms over his chest. No doubt his version of looking unthreatening. That look didn’t really work on Max.
Colleen scooted to the edge of her chair. “We need to find this person. You must know someone who worked for his organization. I know the men around here are always looking for employment. An operation of this size would have drawn a lot of attention.”
“Too bloody much attention.” With a wary eye on Max, Seagrumn leaned forwards, propping his elbows on his desk. “A couple months ago, a government crowd came along, poking their noses in every pot and barrel down here. They took a heavy hand, throwing a lot of good lads in limbo, some that didn’t deserve it.”
“And yet, the Crown was still no closer to apprehending the head of the organization,” Max said. He tugged at the corner of a loose document on Seagrumn’s desk, perused its contents. “Were many men arrested from down here?”
“Lookee, I run a clean ship. None of my men were involved in anything like that.” He shifted a stack of papers and plopped it on top of the document Max looked at, blocking his view.
“But there must be someone,” Colleen said. “A sailor you know about, someone who needed a bit more blunt. We just want to talk to him. We’re not here to get anyone in trouble.” She peeked at Max from the corner of her eye. She hoped he wouldn’t make a liar out of her.
Max dug into his pocket and came up with a leather pouch. He tossed it on the desk, and it landed with a solid clink. “We’d be most appreciative.”
Seagrumn’s fingers twitched, but he only touched the bag with his gaze. A hot, greedy gaze that almost matched the way Max had looked at her body last night.
“If I did know of someone, what guarantees do I have that you won’t tell him how you got his name?” Seagrumn dropped his face closer to the pouch. Colleen wouldn’t have been surprised if the man could count each guinea simply by the bulge they made against the leather. “I can’t have this coming back to me.”
“I will have forgotten your name before I make it back to my carriage,” Max assured him. “And, if your information leads somewhere, there will be more where that came from.” He nodded at the pouch. “A lot more.”
Seagrumn’s pink tongue darted out, moistening his lips. He looked at the pouch, at Max, at Colleen, and back to the pouch. “Dancer.”
“Pardon me?” Max looked as confused as Colleen felt.
“The sailor’s name is Dancer. Harvey Dancer.” Seagrumn scooped the pouch into a waiting hand. “And if you want any information from him, I’d suggest you don’t joke about his name. He’s right touchy about it.”
“And this Mr. Dancer worked for Zed?” Colleen straightened. Perhaps Max could wrap up this investigation within the week. Pay her what she was due. That flower shop could be hers come Monday.
“I’m not certain, but the yahoo does a lot of odd jobs for a lot of unsavory people when he’s not out at sea.” Pushing to his feet, Seagrumn rounded his desk. “If anyone knows something about who you’re looking for, it would be him.”
Colleen stood. “And where do we find this Dancer?”
“Any time after five, you can find him at The Boar’s Head. He drinks his earnings away just as soon as he makes them.” Seagrumn opened the office door and waved them through. “And, that, my dear Mrs. Bonner, concludes our business, wouldn’t you say?”
Never one to push her luck, Colleen thanked the man and strode from the office. Max padded softly behind her. One of the clerks glanced at them curiously before delving back into his work.
Outside the building, Colleen slid on her gloves. “Well, there you go.” She strode for the carriage. “I can’t understand why it’s taken you and your friends so long to catch this Zed. Finding him seems like a fairly simple undertaking.” She shouted instructions up to the driver.
“Let’s wait to see what this Dancer has to tell us,” Max said dryly, handing her up the steps. “It won’t be so easy, I guarantee you.”
She fluffed her skirts about her. “I don’t know. I think I have a talent for this spy business.”
Max stilled. “Spy business?”
“Oh, was that supposed to be a secret?” Colleen nibbled on her bottom lip. Men could be prickly about being outwitted by a woman. She blew out a breath and shrugged. She didn’t have time for artifice. Max would have to come to terms with her knowledge. “A baron hunting a blackmailer only makes sense if you’re personally being drained or if you’re an agent for the government. You’re not the type of man to do something that could be blackmailed over. Not something truly bad. That only leaves the latter option.”
They sat in silence for a moment. “I don’t deserve your praise,” he said, voice low. “But I thank you for it.”
He laid his hand on the seat between them, his finger brushing hers, and Colleen felt her heartbeat quicken. No matter how fast she tried to brick up the wall between her and Max, he found a way to knock it back down.
Clearing her throat, she brought the conversation back to business. “Like I said before, I think I’m good at this. When we talk with Dancer later, I’ll bet you that I’ll have him spilling everything he knows in five minutes.”
Max snorted. “That is a theory we’ll never know to be true or false. You’re not going to The Boar’s Head.”
“I beg your pardon?”
Tugging his waistcoat down, Max kicked a boot up on the bench across from them. “For one who’s such a stickler for proprieties, you seem most unwilling to follow the most basic tenets of decorum. Women don’t go to taverns. It would be unseemly.”
“Unseemly?” Colleen narrowed her eyes. “That’s rich coming from a man who owns a Venus club and goes about as unshaven as a goat.”
But damn him, he was right. A woman couldn’t just walk into a tavern without attracting notice. Not unless she was disguised, somehow. As a serving girl? She tossed aside that idea. Acting wasn’t one of her greater skills. She sighed. There was nothing for it but to let him go it alone.
Max ran his fingers through his whiskers, looking nonplussed. “You don’t like my beard?”
“It’s fine.” She quite liked his facial hair and all the delightful places it could scratch. Not that she’d let him know it. “That’s not the point.” The carriage slowed, and Colleen peered outside. She pointed at Mr. Ridley’s flower shop. “That is the point. However this gets done is all right with me, as long as I get my money to buy that shop.” She chewed on her bottom lip, gaze fixated on the front window. Bouquets of bright yellow daffodils gave the store a cheery appearance. She wanted to go in but didn’t want to have to tell Mr. Ridley she still didn’t have his money. Couldn’t bear to hear if he’d sold already to another buyer.
Max cupped her shoulder. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to stand in the way of your dreams.”
“But you did.”
“Yes.”
They were silent a moment, her staring at the flower shop, him burning a hole in the back of her head with the heat of his gaze.
“I do understand,” she said finally. “Peoples lives are more important than one woman getting her flower shop. It still doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.”
“I know,” he said quietly.
She rapped on the ceiling of the carriage, and they lurched into motion. The driver turned down Duke Street. Their pace slowed, the street congested with carts and horses, and by the time they reached the shell of her old home, they were at a crawl.
She gasped and poked her head out the window. “It’s gone!”
“I know.” Max rubbed her back. “I had it demolished so a new building can go up. I should have done it months ago.”
She stared at the square lot of dirt. The flat space bordered by two high buildings looked forlorn. Out of place. Colleen rubbed her hands down her skirt, twisting them in the stiff fabric.
“Are you upset?” Max asked. “I thought, not having to see it every time you went past, that it might be better for you.”
She sank back into her seat. “No, it’s fine. It’s time it was rebuilt.” She tried to figure out what she was feeling. Relief? The void of the lot matched the hollow feeling in her chest. That void had been filled with guilt and regret for the past six months, so the emptiness was a reprieve. The blank lot rolled to the edge of the window and out of her sight.
Max snuck his hand into hers, and she instinctively clutched it. Even through the thin layer of leather, she could feel his warmth.
“I want to show you something.” Max edged closer, his thigh brushing hers. “Will you let me?”
Colleen stared out the window. She should go back to the club. Even though she’d decided to give him her body, she couldn’t give him her soul, not if she wanted to live happily alone back in Wapping. Max was already coming to mean more to her than he should.
“Yes.” She sighed. She was weak; she freely admitted this. But her need for a connection with Max overrode her disappointment in herself. Her husband had slept next to her, worked beside her, and never once asked her opinion. Never tried to determine what made her smile or laugh. She didn’t fault Mr. Bonner. She had been little better as a wife. But now that she knew how it felt for a man to truly take an interest in her, she wanted to cling to that feeling a little while longer. “Yes, if you’d like to.”
Leaning over her, Max shouted an address up to the driver. He settled back, keeping hold of her hand, pressing it to his thigh. They rode to his destination in silence. The only communication they had was the stroke of his thumb against the patch of bare skin between her glove and her sleeve.
They stopped before a large five-story townhouse in Mayfair. The sun slanted low in the sky, casting the bottom half of the honey-colored stone building in shadow.
Max handed her out and turned to the driver. “You can return to the club. I’ll take Mrs. Bonner back.”
“This is your house?” Colleen shouldn’t be surprised a baron had such an elegant residence, but she’d thought Max’s home would be a bit rougher around the edges, like the man himself.
“Yes.” He guided her up the steps to the front door, and it swung open before them. A footman clicked his heels together and dipped his head.
“Good afternoon, Jackson. Have I received any correspondence?” Max handed his hat over to the young man.
“Not since you left this morning,” Jackson said. “But I do believe the Marquess of Dunkeld is expected in a couple hours for dinner.”
Max pursed his lips. “I’d forgotten.” He glanced at Colleen. “I’ll have taken Mrs. Bonner to her home and returned before then.”
Jackson nodded. “I’ll take your spencer and gloves, Mrs. Bonner, if you’d like.”
Her fingers fumbled on the buttons. The footmen at the club held the doors for her, of course, but she was a working woman, of a servant’s level. She’d never been a guest in such a grand house before, and it wasn’t a comfortable feeling. Max helped her slide the garment from her shoulders.
Jackson’s eyes flared when he took in her man’s shirt and waistcoat, but he remained ever polite, taking her spencer with a small bow.
Max lead her through a grand foyer and down a wide hall. Her heels clicked softly against the marble floor. The swirling mosaic on the ceiling matched the tile pattern on the floor, and Colleen stumbled against Max’s back, taking it all in.
He steadied her and threw open the double doors to a large sitting room. The back wall was made entirely of glass framed in diamond-shaped iron trusses and looked out onto a tropical jungle.
Colleen’s step faltered. “What on earth …?”
“Since you admire flowers so, I wanted to show you my conservatory.” He cleared his throat. “This sitting room and the conservatory are my favorite rooms. I read in here most afternoons, enjoying the feeling of being among nature.”
“I can see why.” She drifted to the sheer wall and pressed her palm against the cool glass. She was facing another world, one of towering palm trees and wide ferns interspersed with explosions of colorful plants and bountiful citrus trees. Gravel paths wound through the lush garden, and the sun shone down through the clear ceiling, exposing the wildness and beauty of the space.
Max opened a glass door, removing the barrier between her and the flora. “Come. I’ll show you around.” He led her down narrow paths, identifying each plant and flower with its Latin and common names. The humid air hung heavy with fragrance, and she stopped frequently, smelling a bloom here, feeling the soft velvet of a petal there. The sky purpled above the glass enclosure. They were in a pocket of greenery surrounded by stone townhouses. It was beautiful.
“The conservatory in my country estate is, of course, much larger.” Max pulled a knife from the top of his boot and cut a white rose from its stalk. The tips of the petals were splashed with pink. “But I spend so much time in London I had to build this. I find working with plants to be peaceful.” He handed her the bloom, and she took it, careful to avoid the thorns.
Cleansing fire play at night and quiet gardening by day. The baron seemed to be a man in search of serenity. Not for the first time, she wondered about his work. Was seeing a man cut his own throat a matter of course when it came to spy work? Some men reveled in intrigue, but Max didn’t seem to be one of them. Why did he do it?
She brought the bloom to her nose and inhaled. The scent was faint, delicate. “Perhaps when I buy my flower shop, you can be one of my suppliers. If I buy the shop,” she added, her smile fading.
Max led her to a stone bench nestled between a blue orchis plant and a broad fern. Pulling her down next to him, he gripped her hand. “About your flower shop—”
“Let’s not speak of it.” Not when the sting of its loss had dulled into semi-acceptance. Cupping his jaw, she burrowed her fingers into his soft beard. “I’ll leave it in God’s hands. If he finds me worthy to have the shop, then Mr. Ridley will wait to sell it to me.”
“Worthy? Why wouldn’t you be worthy?”
She clenched her fingers in his beard. “People have to be held accountable for the choices they make. I haven’t always made the right ones.”
A wrinkle creased his forehead with his frown. “Are you speaking of last night? Of our affair? Because nothing about that choice felt wrong and everything about it felt damn good.”
Colleen swallowed. She hadn’t been thinking of that decision, but it was sure to be added to her list of mistakes. “Just because something feels good doesn’t make it right.”
“It doesn’t make it wrong, either.”
She shook her head. “I’m a widow. A Christian. I can’t find it within me to regret what I’ve done with you, but that doesn’t mean it was moral.” She stared at his white cravat. “I try to act decently but around you, I fail.”
He jerked his head away from her caress and stood. “Is it all that black and white to you? No room for mistakes? Or forgiveness.”
Colleen blinked and slowly lowered her hand. “I would hope,” she said, carefully choosing her words, “that when we all get judged that there is room for forgiveness. Especially if we regret our mistakes.” She needed that to be true. The alternative was unthinkable.
Max paced to the end of the greenhouse, and she followed, unsure. His mood had changed so quickly.
Crossing his arms over his wide chest, he stared out into the gathering dark. “You want accountability. I don’t know if I can give that to you. But at the least I can give you the truth.”
She rested her hand on his arm. “What are you talking about?”
“Your husband.”
“Joseph?” Now she was really confused. What on earth did her husband have to do with Max? Unless, he knew. Colleen felt the blood drain from her face. Did Max know her secret?
“The night your husband died, I was tasked with a job.” Max caught her gaze in the reflection of the glass. His eyes looked darker than usual, black orbs that sucked in all the light. “A man had given his brother letters to keep safe. Letters from a young, unmarried daughter of a well-respected banker.”
“What—”
“Let me finish. Please.”
Colleen nodded.
“The man was a footman in the young lady’s home and had started a flirtation with her. From the girl’s account, the letters she wrote to him were fairly innocuous. But after the bastard had assaulted her, stolen her innocence, they could be looked upon in a different light. That’s why he kept them. As protection against retribution. He told the father that if he were prosecuted, he’d publish the letters, show that the daughter had encouraged him.”
Colleen’s stomach churned. The world could be a horrible place. But she still didn’t understand why Max was telling her this.
“The girl’s father didn’t want disgrace to fall on his daughter. Willing or not, her reputation would be ruined. She was no longer a maid. So, he didn’t turn to the authorities. Rather, he turned to a friend in a high place.” Max’s shoulders bunched, hard as boulders. “Word came down that messages should be sent. I was to deliver the message to the brother. That familial bonds don’t extend to concealing illicit letters or aiding brothers who had angered the wrong man. Someone else delivered a different and harsher lesson to the footman.”
She shook her head. “I don’t understand. Why are you telling me this?”
He continued like she hadn’t spoken. “Since it’s known that I have a talent for setting fires, I was called into service. On a night when I knew the brother would be away from home, I broke into his house and set up hot spots. Small fires fueled by hastening agents I knew would burn out quickly. The brother’s home, those letters, and the chandlery below, would burn. But nothing else.”
“A chandlery?” She fell back a step. Her heart pounded painfully, and she pressed a hand to her chest.
Max turned, piercing her with his gaze, not letting her hide. “I set the fires and escaped across the street to watch. You see, I like to watch.” He advanced a step, and she retreated, not wanting to hear this. But he wouldn’t let her escape. “I watched as the flames cast flickering shadows through the windows. Then as the small fires met and grew into a larger conflagration.”
Colleen’s hip smacked into a raised flower bed, the corner of the wood box sending an arc of pain down her leg. She kept stumbling back. “You set the fire?”
“So many things went wrong that night.” He shook his head. “The fuel didn’t burn out as quickly as it should have. The winds shifted, blowing embers next door.”
Her shoulders hit a glass wall. “You set the fire,” she breathed out.
The tips of his top boots nudged her toes. He loomed above her, his expression harsh. “Yes. It was no accident, as had been reported. No candle that burned too close to a curtain. I was supposed to destroy the man’s livelihood. Burn the girl’s letters.” Flexing his hands, Max raised them to her shoulders, hesitated, then dropped them to his sides. “I’m responsible for your husband’s death. You’re a widow because of me.”
She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move. The light streaming from the sitting room focused into small pinpricks in Max’s eyes, everything else going dark.
The Baron of Sutton hadn’t randomly appeared in her life. He wasn’t a kindly landlord trying to help her recover. He was an arsonist, and a liar, and was as guilt-ridden as she.
Her chest caved in on itself, and she sucked down gulps of air.
And he still didn’t know the truth.
That he wasn’t the one responsible.
That it was Colleen who had killed her husband.