A Private Duel with Agent Gunn (The Gentlemen of Scotland Yard)

by Stone, Jillian

  “Who—where?” she stammered.

  “Lucinda’s jewelry box would be a likely place to start.” They slipped through the dining room, past busy staff clearing the table, and back down an expansive marble corridor. Finn opened several doors before he found the servants’ stairs. On the third floor, he turned the knob. Cate wriggled between Finn and the crack in the door.

  “What do you see?” His words breezed past her ear and tingled though her body. Cate caught her breath. An upstairs maid moved methodically from chamber to chamber. “A servant, turning down beds.” Tapping lightly on the next door in line, the girl hesitated a moment before entering the bedchamber. The door shut with a click.

  Finn clasped her hand in his and led the way down the corridor. A muffled giggle came from behind closed doors as they padded down a length of carpet runner. He paused at the end of the passage and craned his neck for a quick spy down the connecting hallway. “Ah, the lady’s bedchamber, if memory serves.”

  “Do you and your brother frequent the boudoir of every married lady in Mayfair?” Her words came out in a hiss.

  “Not all of the women are married.” Finn pulled her around the corner. “A widow or two, here and there.”

  At Lucinda’s chamber door, he glanced back. “Love your nose that way.”

  She relaxed the wrinkle but left the frown. “Yours is a rather generous nose. De rigueur, I suppose, for one who sniggles about for a living.”

  “ ‘The mark of an affable, generous, and talented lover.’ ” Finn pulled her close. “Cyrano de Bergerac.” A cloud of perplexed thoughts appeared to whirl beneath the glimmer of his inky-black eyes. He was debating something. Would he tell her or would he not?

  He cleared his throat.

  She arched a brow.

  “I used to enjoy a romp, now and then, when I was younger. Gave it up when I realized the idea of a tryst was more stimulating than the woman.”

  “Not that you gave up these dalliances on moral grounds. But then, I suppose the thrill was rather cheap.” She sniffed.

  Finn stared. “Ready to steal some jewelry, Cate?”

  When she opened her mouth to protest he placed a finger to her lips and opened the bedchamber door. A hinge whined as the door widened. He slipped through the opening and waved her in. They both froze and waited for a murmur. A rustle. A breath.

  The soft blue presence of moonlight illuminated a draped poster bed and pointed the way into an alcove. Cate took the lead as they entered a plush dressing area. She opened the doors of a small armoire filled top to bottom with flat drawers, the shallow kind of trays that were often lined with velvet. The lady’s jewel case.

  Finn jiggled the top drawer. “Locked.”

  She removed two hairpins from her topknot and straightened them out. She slipped one pin into the lock and bent the other. It took several tries; each time she adjusted the zig and zag at the end of the pin.

  The lock wouldn’t budge. “I can’t raise all the levers.”

  “Shall we see what Roger can accomplish?” Finn held up a skeleton key.

  Cate shifted to one side. “Queer name for a master key.”

  “Rather ribald, actually.” Finn worked the key back and forth in the hole rather suggestively. Or was she just seeing it that way? A tinge of heat crept up her neck and across her cheeks.

  The key turned in the lock, but the drawer didn’t open.

  “The next drawer down will open,” she advised. “At the back of the tray, you should find a spring-loaded latch.” She pushed her hairpins back in place.

  Finn pulled out the narrow shelf and felt around. “Now what?”

  “Press it back until it clicks.”

  Click.

  Cate released a satisfied exhale. Even in near darkness she could make out his piercing stare. She shook her head. “Don’t.”

  “Don’t what?”

  “You were going to ask where I learned such a thing.” She pulled out a tray and examined the contents.

  “Where did you learn such a thing?”

  She shoved the drawer in. “How incredibly exasperating you are.”

  A scoff rumbled out of him, but he joined in the hunt. Tray by tray they systematically searched for the brooch. She worked mostly by feel, occasionally removing a piece and holding it up to the faint light. Near the bottom of the drawer stack Finn blew a soft whistle.

  “Got it.” The large pin glittered in the moonlight. “You’d have to have a private audience with the Crown jewels to get close to a sapphire this size.” The creak of a door hinge broke the spell. He pocketed the brooch.

  Shoving in drawers, they closed up the armoire. Murmured voices made it plain they were no longer alone. Finn steered her across the dressing room. A giggle and squeal accompanied a groan of bedsprings. He opened one side of the large wardrobe and pushed Cate inside. He dove in after her.

  “Ouch!” Cate hissed.

  “Shhh!”

  “Your elbow is stabbing me.”

  “Sorry.” He pushed silk gowns aside and inched the door to the armoire shut. A deep velvet darkness enveloped them. Finn tucked his sinewy length of body against hers. There wasn’t an inch of extra wiggle room. Cate sighed. “Couldn’t we crawl out a window? Shimmy down a drainpipe?”

  His breath fell in steady intervals on her cheek. “Entirely too dangerous.”

  “What then?” Cate huffed quietly.

  “We wait for Lucinda to pull the drape on the bed.” Cate wondered why she bothered to ask. The man obviously knew the bedroom habits of a myriad of women.

  “And what if she doesn’t let down the drapes?”

  “She and the marquess have worked out a kind of informal signal.”

  “How convenient for them.” The pitch-blackness hid her frown. “I take it you and the marchioness are acquainted in the biblical sense.”

  “Not quite.”

  “Not quite?” Cate hissed softly. “How is that possible? You either have done the deed or you haven’t when it comes to sex.”

  “Untrue. There are women with whom I might enjoy a flirtation at a soiree. Their wit, the sparkle in their eyes. An amusing moment. There are also women I enjoy a deeper friendship with. A female companion, say, who makes an excellent dinner partner. Stimulating conversation, a bit of leg rubbing under the table.” He nestled close in the darkness. “Then there are the women I desire to sleep with.”

  Smothered amongst Lady Sutherland’s silks and taffetas, there was no room for escape. And this man was so . . . unsettling. Squirming a bit, her hand landed on hard muscular flesh and froze. “Why, Miss Willoughby, you have your hand on my thigh.” His husky whisper invited more, and her fingers obeyed, wrapping themselves around a hard curve of hamstring muscle. He exhaled a low-pitched groan that lifted the small hairs on her neck. Would they spend the night here—together? A soft kiss brushed her earlobe and his hand found the hard tip of her breast under layers of fabric.

  Quite suddenly, she wanted him—wantonly, and all it took was a tingle. “I understand Scots pride themselves on not wearing a stitch under their kilts.”

  Deep brown orbs glimmered in the dark. “You could find out easily enough.”

  “Why on earth would I wish to do such a thing?”

  “Then I suggest . . .” His kiss traveled over the tip of her nose. “You remove your hand from my thigh.” Husky words landed softly on her mouth.

  Cate lifted her hand until just the fingertips remained on his skin. “The Panther—in exchange for a bit of discovery.”

  He pulled away an inch. “Are we talking exploration as well as discovery?”

  Her hand traveled farther up his thigh—over smooth buttocks covered in just enough fuzz to keep her fingertips warm. His gluteus maximus was rock hard with a slight hollow in the cheek. She marveled at how well-muscled Finn was. “Male dancers have buttocks like this—not many ordinary men.”

  There was a sharp intake of air in his answer. “Must be the fencing lessons . . . a lot of back an
d forth, parry and . . . thrust.”

  Slowly, she inched her way over a curve of groin muscle. A broad velvet sword sprang up to greet her, ready and waiting.

  She could almost see his grin. “As stiff as the megaliths on Machrie Moor, lass.” There was a burr in his speech that sent a shiver of desire through her body. She wished to impale herself upon this brawny Scot, and perhaps she would.

  He lifted her petticoats and gown over her knee and swept his fingers under a satin garter. Had he read her mind, or were they just like-minded? He nibbled her earlobe. “I want ye, sorely.” He kissed a spot on her neck, then licked. “Wickedly.” His hand moved to the inside of her thigh . . .

  “Rip it off, Hardy,” Lucinda squealed. A bellowed grunt pervaded their little enclave.

  “Blasted hooks and eyes,” Hardy complained.

  While Cate listened to the amorous acrobatics in the next room, Finn parted a few gowns and peeked through the crack in the wardrobe doors. “I believe this is our cue.”

  She growled. “Must we?”

  He returned a growl. “We must.”

  Finn timed their escape from the wardrobe to the demise of Lady Sutherland’s corset. He brushed a kiss over her mouth. “We shall take this up again—very soon.”

  Chapter Ten

  Finn rocked with the gentle sway of the carriage as they exited the south gate of Ross House and turned onto Piccadilly. “First you push me away, then you can’t get enough. This could get arousing, Cate.”

  The carriage passed under a streetlamp, illuminating the pretty peak of her lips. He wanted to feel those lips against his again. “Have you ever kissed a man with a bit of sugar on his tongue?” He reached into his jacket and popped a confection into his mouth. “A little game Hardy and I used to play with the town girls at home.” He took her in his arms and opened her mouth with a kiss. His tongue swirled the sweet taste of chocolate into her mouth.

  “Mmmm.” The vibration of her murmur passed into him as her lips closed around his tongue. She licked the underside of his lip for good measure. “Not terribly clever of you and Hardy—to pay for kissing lessons.”

  His eyes crinkled. “Perhaps not.”

  “I’ve a mind the young ladies would have schooled you both properly—without the sweets.”

  He held the last bite of chocolate truffle to her mouth. “Open.” Cate closed her eyes and savored. “Lady Sutherland calls you divine.”

  She peeked up at him. Pale moonlight edged a high cheekbone and pert nose. He tucked her into the crook of his arm. “And what is your mind?”

  Her grin was visible, and it taunted him. “I say you are . . . delicious.”

  “Then the accolade rests squarely on the chocolate.” The cabin swayed again as they rounded the park. “You are a puzzlement, Cate.”

  She snorted a scoff. “Not so puzzling. I haven’t had a thing to eat since breakfast.” As if to underscore the remark, her stomach growled.

  He grinned. “Very glad that didn’t happen in the lady’s closet. You might have given us away.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “My little gurgle would have gone unnoticed over the bellowing grunts of Lucinda Sutherland.”

  Cate Willoughby made him smile. And not just because her acerbic wit matched her ethereal looks. He just liked her. Odd notion. Odder still to be so damned aroused by a woman he could so easily befriend.

  Finn knocked on the roof of the carriage as they passed though Mayfair and his driver stopped at The Punch Bowl. “Be right back.” He returned carrying a newspaper packet tied with string. The carriage lurched off and he fell in beside her. “An order of fish and chip for a hungry young lady.”

  Cate pulled off a glove and fingered the string. “Join me?”

  “Thought you’d never ask.” For the next several minutes they devoured steaming hot fish and potatoes, splashed with malt vinegar.

  She licked her fingers and exhaled a deep sigh. “For such a dour, infuriating man, how is it you always manage to make me want to kiss you?”

  Finn popped a last chip in his mouth. “Feel free to abuse my lips whenever I get too sullen.”

  Her gaze shifted briefly to his mouth, before she folded the newsprint. “Lady Sutherland mentioned your family. It seems Clan Gunn has quite the reputation.”

  “So you heard what troublemakers we are.” He grinned. “Four hundred years ago, the Gunns managed to cause enough mayhem that they were appeased with a nice bit of land north of Sutherland. There was even a baronship at one time, long since forfeited. The relatives managed to hold on to the land and the estate in Helmsdale. Nothing closely resembling a castle, mind; more of a rambling pile of stones.”

  “Do you visit your family often?”

  Finn settled in beside her. “I haven’t been home in years. Mother comes down once a year to nose around a bit—check on Hardy and me, do a bit of shopping.”

  “Neither you nor your brother speak with much of a brogue.”

  “Mother’s a Lowlander—insisted on the Queen’s English. College and university finished off the rest of the Scot in our speech. More o’ the burr comes back with a dram or two.” His eyes fell to her mouth. “You’ve a sweet dimple when you smile, lass.”

  Finn dipped his head to see out the window. The carriage rounded Eaton Square, blocks from Baron Brooke’s residence. He eyed his new partner in crime and reluctantly returned to the task at hand. He removed the Panther Brooch from his sporran and placed it in Cate’s reticule. “We’re going to need several proofs of ownership. And a provenance would help, as well.”

  “Provenance?”

  “Rare gems have a pedigree, as does any jewelry of this caliber. I suspect the pieces on your list have a royal legacy. But whatever their history, a provenance is necessary to assure you the best possible price either by private sale or auction.

  “There is a jeweler in Hatton Garden, a Hungarian chap by the name of Fabian. It’s possible he might know something about your uncle’s jewelry collection. He is also discreet, if you take my meaning. If we are able to locate the original thief and obtain a confession, that, and an appraisal from Adophe Picard, should give you the proof you need to resolve your claim in the courts.”

  “I must thank you for helping me.” Deep sapphire eyes glistened in the dark. “You really didn’t have to get involved in any of my difficulties.”

  Finn exhaled. It had been simple enough to lay the bait. So why was he feeling so miserable? No, he knew why. He wanted to believe her story. Silently he ticked off the reasons why Cate’s story was viable. The jewels were very likely a legitimate legacy of Baron Brooke’s estate. And why would she recover—her word—only those jewels on the list? She was either rollicking mad, or a sly little anarchist sympathizer.

  Obviously, he needed some convincing. “I will continue to help you locate and identify the baron’s jewels as long as we also search for proof of ownership.”

  Cate sighed. “I am tempted to kiss you again, but I’m rather irritated by the notion.”

  “Too enticing?”

  “No, that isn’t the word.” She bit her lower lip. “You are a distraction.”

  Finn nearly hooted aloud. He was a distraction? A pleasant tension lingered in the air between them. In the past, Finn had experienced sexual attraction with other women, but nothing quite as arousing as this lovely ballet girl. A tightness in his throat made it hard to swallow. Christ, the precocious Miss Willoughby was actually making it hard to breathe. Earlier this evening, he had experienced an enchanting intuition about her. A feeling of inevitability, which was both familiar and pleasing. He also knew, without having to ask, that she had felt it, too.

  The carriage reached the end of the stately block of terrace homes and slowed. Cate peered out the window, taking particular interest in a stand of shrubbery at the corner churchyard. “Why are you having me followed?”

  He didn’t hesitate to lie. “Scotland Yard is having you followed, for your own protection.” Honesty was impossible at this junctu
re, and her curiosity played neatly into his scheme.

  “I thought we agreed—no Scotland Yard.” She glared at him. “You told them about me? About the jewel thefts? How could you?”

  “Ha!” Finn tossed his head back. “You admit you engage in thievery.”

  Cate looked as though she might blink back tears. “I find this most disloyal of you, Finn.”

  He hated himself. “Actually, it was Scotland Yard who informed on you.”

  Her gaze stretched into the dark corners of the coach and narrowed. “This has something to do with Eduardo.”

  “They believe you may be a Los Tigres sympathizer, involved in the recapture of your uncle’s estate jewelry for resale on the Continent.”

  “Me?” A furrowed brow deepened, but he quite liked her angry pout. “Any sympathy I might have had for my brother’s politics died with him, Mr. Gunn.”

  Mr. Gunn. This was grim.

  She uttered a frustrated growl. “Did you tell them about the ruin my uncle’s estate is in?”

  He exhaled. “Yes, of course. If everything checks out, you’ll have your jewelry returned to you.” His grimace tightened into a thin line. “I’m afraid I’ve been ordered to confiscate the items in question.”

  He endured a quiet sulk punctuated by a sigh. “Very well, I suppose the jewels will be safe enough at Scotland Yard.” When her gaze met his again, something had changed. “Mind the jewels are returned before I am forced into receivership.” Her expression was shuttered. There was a distance between them now.

  “Cate, I make an excellent income from my book royalties and consultations. If you would allow me to help—”

  She turned the latch and sprang from the coach.

  He followed her out of the carriage and caught her arm at the door. “Cate.”

  “Come back in the morning.” She turned to face him. “I’m tired and brokenhearted. You don’t trust me.”

  Gently, he took the key from her hand and pushed it into the lock. “I do trust you . . . a little.”

  The moment the latch clicked open she slipped inside and slammed the door in his face. “¡Hombre odioso! Usted me engañó. Usted finge ser mi amigo. ¿Si no confía en mi, por qué debo confiarme en usted, Phin-e-ass Gunn?”