Burning for the Baron

by Alyson Chase

  She planted an elbow into his midsection. “This isn’t a time for jokes.”

  “No, ma’am.”

  Pinkerton screamed again. Rothchild dug a knuckle into the man’s shoulder, holding him steady with his other hand so the American couldn’t writhe away from the pain. It seemed to go on forever but was probably no more than twenty seconds. Twenty seconds of bone-chilling screams that reverberated through Max’s head and turned his stomach.

  Colleen clapped her hands over her ears and squeezed her eyes tight. Her body jerked, as though the screams were a tangible force striking her frame.

  Max gripped her shoulders and turned her away from the wall. She held herself tight, even after the screams had ended. She had gone a bit green, and Max could feel the pounding of her heart against his torso. Turning her body, he gathered her close and rubbed soothing circles into her back. “Mrs. Bonner? Colleen. It’s over now. You can open your eyes.”

  She cracked first one eyelid, saw his face, and opened her other. The gesture would have been endearing if the circumstances weren’t so terrible. “He’s really loud,” she whispered.

  “Yes.” He drew his hand up to the back of her neck, frustrated by her high collar. Her skin had been so soft on the inside of her wrist. Kneading the base of her skull, he waited until the tension left her face. “This is necessary if we’re to discover the man responsible for many deaths. The man who’s threatening you. Perhaps it’s time you waited outside.”

  She shook her head, an auburn lock escaping from her tight knot. “I’m partly responsible for the man being here. I can’t turn my back now and pretend I have clean hands. It seems the least I should do is watch what I’m accountable for.”

  Warmth spread through Max’s body. She truly was a commendable woman. Stalwart and courageous. Her husband had been a fortunate man.

  Max’s throat went thick. And he’d taken her husband from her. It now fell upon his shoulders to be her protector. Even if she didn’t want one.

  “That’s an admirable sentiment but unwarranted.” He needed an argument for her to leave the room that she’d accept.

  His friend saved him the necessity of coming up with one. “There’ll be no more screaming, so you and Mrs. Bonner don’t have to worry. I believe he’s ready to talk. Isn’t that right, Mr. Pinkerton?” Rothchild gripped the man’s shoulder.

  Pinkerton heaved and vomited on the wood floor, the splash catching Rothchild’s boots.

  Max shook his head. “I didn’t want there to be any clean-up.”

  “What the hell are you complaining about?” Rothchild shook his foot. “I’m the one who got it on me.”

  “Men.” Colleen pressed her lips into a flat line. “You’re all such babies when it comes to life’s dirty bits. I’ll clean it up, and I’ll even clean your boots, too, Lord Rothchild. Just, find out what we need to know.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Rothchild gave Max a look, raising his eyebrow.

  Max tugged Colleen closer. The move was instinctive, and Max chided himself on his own folly. His friend was a happily-married man. But he was finding any man’s interest in his manager, casual or not, to be most aggravating.

  Rothchild gave Pinkerton a sound shaking. “Now, you were about to tell us how you came to be involved with the individual known as Zed.”

  “I was on the board of directors of the Chesseworth Corporation.” The American drooped, his fetters clanking. “I’d made my fortune in America and came over here on a world tour. I met my Isobel. She’s the second daughter of a Scottish baronet, and he wanted her to marry a peer. My money persuaded him to accept me for his daughter, instead.”

  Colleen snorted. “Isn’t that just like a man? And your wife? Did she want to marry you, or was she only bought and paid for?”

  “Of course, she wanted to marry me! We’re in love.” Pinkerton looked at her with big doe eyes. “Isobel is the kindest, most beautiful woman I’ve ever known.”

  Colleen lowered her shoulders, the tight set to her back relaxing. “How sweet.”

  Max met Rothchild’s gaze, and they both rolled their eyes. Women were so easy.

  “We don’t want your life history,” Max told Pinkerton. “Jump ahead to when you got involved with a crime ring.”

  Colleen elbowed him in the side and took a step back. “He’s getting there. There’s no call to be rude.”

  “As I said, I was on the board of Chesseworth.” Pinkerton straightened and jutted out his chin. “It was doing well. I invested most of my money in its stock.”

  A stab of pity struck Max but he repressed the emotion. He could see where this story was heading, but it still didn’t excuse the American’s actions. Max and his friends had discovered that Zed and his crime ring had infiltrated the boards of numerous corporations. When the Crown had gone after the criminals, many of those businesses had gone under. Chesseworth had been one of those that had gone bankrupt. The stocks had become worthless.

  “How much is most of your money?” he asked the American.

  “Nearly all.” The man glared at Max. “Because of you and your friends, my wife is forced to wear rags. Clothes hardly better than Mrs. Bonner’s.” The man jerked his head at Colleen, who looked down at her outfit, a wrinkle of confusion puckering her forehead. “My son won’t be able to go to Harrow. This is your fault.”

  While Max felt some sympathy, that was a step too far. “Who’s the idiot that put all his eggs in one basket? Besides, those businesses had become part of a criminal enterprise. The government had no choice but to shut them down.”

  “And I had no choice in my actions,” Pinkerton said. “I have to provide for my family.”

  “By threatening to cut a woman’s throat?” Max’s skin prickled with heat. “How low were you willing to sink to keep you wife in the latest fashions?”

  “I wouldn’t have done it.” Pinkerton’s voice was hoarse, his chin trembled. The man probably didn’t know whether he believed that himself.

  “How did Zed contact you?” Rothchild brought them back on course. “Did you meet?”

  “No.” Pinkerton rattled the chain at his wrist. “Can we take these off?”

  “When you’ve told us everything,” Colleen said.

  Max glanced at her in surprise. She rested her hands on her hips and tapped her toe. Max waited for it, waited, and when she arched one burnished eyebrow, heat flooded his body and his bollocks drew tight. A tiny taskmaster shouldn’t stir him so. Disciplinarians were never his predilection. But the more Max was around his manager, the more he ached for her.

  “I’ve never met the blasted man,” Pinkerton said. “I received a note. And included in that note was the payment for the back rent on our townhouse. Zed said more of the same was available if I worked for him. It was my salvation.”

  Rothchild leaned against the wall next to the American and crossed one leg over the other. “And what will happen to your family when you’re in prison?”

  “Prison?” Pinkerton jerked his wrists, the chains clanging.

  “That is the normal course of affairs for someone caught assisting in blackmail and threatening murder.” Rothchild buffed his nails on his waistcoat. “Or perhaps the courts will ship you off to Australia. That does seem to be the latest furor.”

  “Please.” Pinkerton closed his eyes, his chest heaving. “Please. I need to take care of my wife and son. If I’m sent away, they’ll starve. Her father won’t take her back; not if her husband has disgraced the family.”

  “You should have thought of that before you disgraced your family,” Colleen said tartly. She turned to Max. “He doesn’t know anything that will help us. Will you call for a magistrate?”

  Pinkerton blanched.

  “He might be helpful yet.” Curious, Max examined her face. “Have you no problem sending this man to prison?” Australia was a better alternative. The prisons in London were filthy, miserable places filled with desperate men. Even if a person wasn’t sentenced to hang for his crime, death resulted
from the imprisonment more often than not.

  “We all have to pay for our crimes.” She blinked rapidly. “We don’t ever escape what’s coming to us, not really. Justice will be served, either in this life or the next.” Fingering the brass chain of her pocket watch, she chewed on her lower lip. She took a deep breath and turned to the American. “But I have no objection if you wish to release him. So long as he promises not to cut my throat.”

  “A full release is out of the question,” Rothchild said. “But”—he clapped a hand on Pinkerton’s shoulder, and the man winced—“if our prisoner is a very good boy, he just might get to see his urchin matriculate.”

  Pinkerton licked his lips. “What do you mean?”

  Max smiled, feeling that for once, they just might have an advantage over their enemy. Their very own double-agent. A low-level one, to be sure. But it was more than they’d had yesterday.

  He pulled the key for the manacles from his pocket. “That means, my dear fellow, that you now work for us.”

  Chapter Six

  Colleen sucked in a deep breath, her stomach a bucket of writhing eels, and pushed open the door. Mr. Ridley’s cheerful face and clouded eyes greeted her, along with a thick cloud of perfumed air.

  “Good morning, Mr. Ridley. It’s Colleen Bonner.”

  “Good morning, my dear!” Keeping a guiding hand on the large table in front of him, he circled it to stand before her. “I wasn’t expecting you for another couple of days. You’re that anxious to send an old man into the country, are ye?”

  She pressed a hand to her abdomen. The telling wouldn’t get any easier by delaying it. “About that, I have some bad news. I …” She swallowed, but the pressure in her chest didn’t ease. “I have to stay at my current employment for a little while longer. I won’t have the earnest money this week as I’d promised.”

  “Well.” Mr. Ridley pursed his lips. “Well, well.”

  Colleen felt lower than pond scum. “It shouldn’t be too much longer. The owner of the club promised he’d give me my premium as soon as a certain job is completed. And it might be finished soon. Days even.” She cleared her throat. “But it could take up to several months, too.”

  Picking up a wrapped bundle of irises, Mr. Ridley shuffled to the front window and arranged the flowers in an old milk jug. “You see, it’s not just for me. My girl is going through some tough times. The money for my shop would help us both.”

  “I know.” Colleen traced a pattern on the dusty floor with the toe of her boot. A thorough cleaning of the shop from top to bottom had been the first item on her to-do list when she became owner. If she became owner. “And I know I promised you I’d be ready. I can’t tell you how sorry I am that I can’t keep that promise. But if you could only wait for a little bit longer. Maybe … maybe I can increase my monthly payments to you, if you’d only wait for me to sell.”

  He separated the stems, the blue veins in his wrinkled hands looking like they might burst from his skin. “I’d like to. I truly would. I just don’t know how long I can wait. Not when my neighbor is making me a good offer, too.”

  Colleen’s chest grew tight, her breaths short. She tried to swallow down her rising panic. All her dreams were slipping away. She’d been able to console herself after her husband’s death, after she’d become the temporary manager of The Black Rose, that from all her horror and shame, at least something good would take root.

  Perhaps this was her punishment. She’d said that everyone must pay for their sins. She deserved much worse than losing the shop.

  “I understand.” She inhaled a shaky breath. “I’ll check in every week. And I’ll hope that by the time I’m able to make the earnest payment, you won’t have sold the shop yet. But I’ll understand if you have.”

  Mr. Ridley nodded, his posture stooped, his upper back beginning to curve with age. “Good luck, dear. Here.” He felt among the bouquets and found a spray of daffodils. He pressed the small clutch of blooms into her hand. “I always think daffodils are the brightest flower. Sure to cheer you up.”

  Colleen looked around the small room, chock-full with color and growth, and thought nothing could ever cheer her. Not if she couldn’t have this. She wanted to be surrounded by the shop’s vibrancy, not locked away in a sterile office.

  But an office was where she was needed. Pulling her pocket watch from her waistcoat, she popped the lid open and checked the time. She’d invited the staff of The Black Rose to a luncheon and she needed to head back to make sure the kitchen workers had everything they needed.

  “Goodbye, Mr. Ridley.” She tucked her watch away and pressed her free hand to the old man’s gnarled one. “I’ll be in touch.”

  And without a backwards glance at her lost dreams, she swept from the shop and marched down the street. She convinced herself that the burning in her eyes could be wholly attributed to the yellow fog that choked the neighborhood.

  A hand snaked out of the alley she passed and grabbed her elbow. She yelped as the man hauled her close.

  “Would you care to tell me what, exactly, you are doing out of The Black Rose without an escort?” Sutton glowered down at her. His hunter-green eyes darkened to smoldering coals.

  “My lord.” Colleen sketched a short curtsy, hoping to placate him. She’d known he wanted her under watch until Zed was caught. But she’d thought she’d make it back to the club before he detected her absence.

  “Don’t ‘my lord’ me. Pretending deference to my title, when we both know you have none, won’t work with me.” He pinched her chin between his thumb and forefinger. “You, little goose, forget that your life is under threat.”

  She jerked her chin from his grasp and stomped from the alley. “And you forget that I’m not a child,” she threw over her shoulder. “And I’m not anyone’s wife. Not beholden to any man and not under anyone’s control. I will move as I please.” Besides, now that Mr. Pinkerton had agreed to work for Max and his friends, how much danger could she be in?

  He matched her strides. “Mrs. Bonner, I know you are a most capable woman. But the escort is for your own safety. Please take pity on my nerves and abide by my request.”

  His words wrapped around her like a fur cloak. She couldn’t lie. The concern in his voice did queer things to her heart. Made it twist and twirl. It had been awhile since she’d felt cared for. Mr. Bonner, God rest his soul, had looked at their marriage in a practical light. She was a companion, a help in the shop, a body to create children with.

  Sutton cupped her elbow and drew her around to face him. The heel on her new boot slid on a cobblestone, and she tumbled against his chest. He didn’t step back. Neither did she.

  The baron inhaled deeply, the buttons of his coat pressing against her breasts, making her tingle all over. The black centers of his eyes grew large, became so wide and liquid she thought she would drown in them. He was an enchanter, ensorcelling her, and she was unable to look away.

  Cupping her neck with his warm palm, he brushed a wisp of hair from her cheek with his thumb. “I’m trying to prevent any harm from coming to you, Colleen.”

  The hair on her nape raised. Hearing her Christian name on his lips … When he’d used her given name the night before in front of Pinkerton and the earl, she’d thought it a mere slip of the tongue. And she’d berated herself over the thrill it had given her. Such a small thing, hearing her name from a man’s mouth. Small, but precious. Her husband had rarely called her Colleen, preferring to address her as Mrs. Bonner. The baron’s deep rumble calling her name felt like a feather tickling her eardrum, and she wanted more.

  Their chests rose and fell as one. Sutton lowered his head an inch, and her gaze dropped to his lips. What would his mouth on hers feel like? He was a hard man, forceful. Would his kiss be the same?

  She’d never know. Stepping back, she ignored the chill that swept her body. Burying her head in the blooms, she inhaled, trying to replace Sutton’s raw, masculine scent. “A laudatory goal, to be sure.” She took another step back. �
�But as Mr. Pinkerton now works for you, I hardly see how I am in any danger.”

  Sutton’s hand slipped from her arm, and their connection broke. A numbness spread through her chest.

  “We can’t trust Pinkerton, not fully.” Sutton rubbed the back of his neck. His black hat sat crookedly over his large crop of dark curls. “And we don’t know how many others might be under Zed’s control. You can’t let your guard down.”

  “Well, isn’t this a treat?” a lilting voice cooed from behind Sutton.

  Colleen stepped to his side. Molly and Lucy stood there, each with a hat box wrapped in string dangling from their fingers. They both wore wispy gowns and tight pelisses that were just a smidge on the right side of decency, looking smarter and more daring than this neighborhood usually saw.

  Sutton nodded at the women. “Ladies. How are you today?”

  “Not as well as some.” Molly gave Colleen a significant look, one Colleen didn’t even try to interpret. “Lucy and I were shopping at one of my favorite milliners.”

  “In this neighborhood?” Colleen arched an eyebrow. The women at The Black Rose were paid well for their talents. Colleen could hardly fathom they’d purchase any of their clothes in this working-class district.

  Lucy glanced over both shoulders. “It wasn’t my first choice. But Molly insisted. And the shop did have good prices.”

  “And what are the two of you doing here together?” Molly stepped forwards and laid her gloved hand on Sutton’s sleeve. She arched her back and lifted her chest. “If you were looking for female companionship, all you had to do was ask for me.”

  Colleen tightened her fists, crushing the stalks of the daffodils. The strumpet was practically shoving her breasts in the baron’s face. The pair of them looked quite absurd together. Molly, dainty and delicate, and the baron a wild-bearded mass of masculinity. He needed someone much more sensible than an insubstantial lady-bird. Someone he wouldn’t be afraid to dishevel.

  For the right price, however, Molly could be whatever he needed. She was by far the most skilled lightskirt at The Black Rose. Molding her personality to suit whomever she entertained. The members clamored for her time, and Colleen had spent many an hour trying to calendar the girl in so she could meet the most requests. The members loved how perfectly attuned Molly was to each of their needs; and each of their needs were quite varied. She was a chameleon in a silk gown.