When a Lady Deceives (Her Majesty’s Most Secret Service) Read Online Free PDF Page B

menace an expensive suit couldn’t disguise. In his business, that skill made the difference between taking a bullet and living to see the next sunrise.
    And something didn’t fit about this barmaid. Jennie Danvers spoke in refined tones she made no attempt to roughen, and while her unadorned wool skirt and white blouse were serviceable yet well-worn, her kidskin leather shoes spoke of tin far exceeding a barmaid’s means. Her skin bore the subtle fragrance of fine soap, and her clean, upswept auburn hair felt like silk and smelled of lemon water. She either had money, or she’d been exposed to it. Why would she choose to live in a dreary boardinghouse and spend her nights fetching liquor for sots? Was she a rich man’s discarded mistress?
    Not likely. Jennie didn’t appear to need a wealthy protector or a liaison to pave her way to the stage. She’d made no effort to attract the attention of the wealthy showmen who frequented the tavern. As Matthew oversaw Harwick’s business from the shadows of the Lancaster, he’d watched the producer of the most popular musical in the West End single her out night after night. Roger Dawson’s advances had not even merited a smile from her luscious, prim mouth. She’d politely declined and left the vain little man standing alone with his drink. If Jennie dreamed of becoming the next Lillie Langtry or a pampered trophy on a rich man’s arm, she’d know better than to refuse a man like Dawson.
    She didn’t seem to be running from anything in her past. Jennie was no scared waif. She’d clobbered the drunken bastard with a blow that would have knocked the average man senseless. And she knew how to handle a bloke’s advances. She’d tempted Matthew to the limits of his restraint without even batting her lashes, then she’d doused his ardor and called him a gentleman. He sure as hell didn’t feel like one.
    Breathless and more than a bit flustered, she’d still spoken with the confidence of a woman who was used to having her words respected.
    If Jennie didn’t seek a wealthy man’s favor and she wasn’t trying to leave her past behind, why was she eager to hoist trays of ale at the Lancaster? He’d learned at a young age that people weren’t always what they seemed. And he knew damned well Jennie Danvers wasn’t.
    But none of that mattered.
    He shouldn’t have touched her.
    That brief contact, his hand over hers as he pulled Jennie out of the path of a bar brawler’s blow, had awakened a hunger he’d believed long dormant. Not to bed the copper-haired beauty, though his cock might well have disagreed. God only knew he wanted to touch the satin of her skin and breathe in the faint essence of lavender perfuming her body. But he’d unleashed a longing that went far beyond any elemental desire, far more dangerous than primal need. He could appease lust any night of the week. Willing lovelies seeking to curry his favor were a constant in his world. No, this was a deep-seated longing, a yearning he had no right to see sated.
    For nearly two years, he’d existed behind a shield, convinced he’d never again see trust in a woman’s eyes. Until Jennie’s eyes flashed with unguarded emotion. In that excruciatingly brief moment, he’d seen a flicker of faith. In that instant, he was a defender. A protector, as he’d once been. Not a man to be feared.
    Not the brute he’d become.
    He hadn’t seen Poole’s fist coming until it slammed into his jaw, jarring him back to reality.
    He’d welcomed the pain. It proved an effective distraction. He’d given up the right to a woman’s regard when he’d made the devil’s bargain that mired him in the brutal world he was looking to destroy.
    If he’d had any sense, he would’ve sacked her. A woman like Jennie didn’t belong in a den of vipers. If she attracted Harwick’s attention—if she rebuffed the bastard’s advances—would he be able to protect her?
    Bloody hell, this was a complication he didn’t need. He’d no