by Alyson Chase
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.
