by Alyson Chase
Colleen was lying to Max. Letting him carry the weight of her guilt. Letting him believe she was a better woman than she was.
If she told him the truth, he might fire her. Perhaps not deliver on her premium. But it was the knowledge that he would never look at her again with worship in his eyes that made her own eyes burn.
That was the loss that would cut the deepest.
***
“I can’t drink another sip of this horse piss The Boar’s Head passes off as ale.” Summerset wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve.
Max raised an eyebrow. His friend must truly be disgusted to forego using his pocket square. Or perhaps the horse piss was stronger than he thought.
He glanced across the crowded tavern. Montague and Rothchild were nursing their drinks, seemingly underwhelmed with the brew, as well. All four men wore clothes borrowed from their footmen and valets in order to conduct their surveillance of the public house Dancer was known to frequent. The man’s ship, the Teresa May, had docked that day, and the first stop of any sailor worthy of his name was his local tavern.
“Dunkeld’s journey up to Scotland isn’t looking so bad now, is it?” Max lifted the mug to his lips and pretended to take a sip. Aside from the rancid flavor, he needed to keep his wits about him. Dancer was starting to feel like their last chance to find Zed. Max was growing tired of going around in circles.
“I did have a lovely new winter coat made that would have been perfect for Scotland.” Summerset fingered the rough collar of his shirt. “Braving a bit of cold would have been preferable to wearing … this.”
Max snorted at the horror in his friend’s voice. “You didn’t have to come tonight. Montague, Rothchild, and I would have managed fine without you.”
“So you think. Without me, you might not have noticed that a man of five feet and a couple of inches with deep-set eyes and cadaverous cheeks and sporting disgusting tufts of hair out of his ears has just seated himself at the bar.”
Max kicked a boot up on the table and glanced over his shoulder. “How did you know the man’s description?”
Summerset stared at his nails and buffed them against his coat. “After you gave us his name, I had my men run my own check on him. It came with a description of his personal appearance.”
“A colorful one at that.”
Summerset shrugged. “What now? Do we wait for him to get deep into his cups? Perhaps speed the process along?” He patted the breast of his coat. Summerset was a bit of a chemist, and Max didn’t want to even guess what drug lay bottled within. “Or do we follow him and hope he leads us to Zed?”
Max pushed to his feet and cracked his neck. “None of the above. I’m tired of chasing after our prey like a pussy cat. I say we take a more active approach.”
“All right,” Summerset drawled. “What, exactly, does that … hey, wait up!”
Max felt the earl fall into step behind him, saw Montague and Rothchild rise from their seats. Knowing his friends would stand beside him, Max didn’t hesitate. He walked up behind Dancer, grabbed the back of his neck, and dragged him from his stool. “Last order. Let’s go.”
Swatting at Max’s hand, the man stumbled to one knee. Max dragged him until Dancer regained his footing.
Two burly sailors stood, and Montague and Rothchild blocked their access to Max and Dancer, staring them down. Summerset followed Max to the rear exit, walking backwards, assessing any potential threat.
None came.
Kicking open the back door to the alley, Max pushed the sailor outside and into a rubbish heap. Empty bottles rolled along the dirt, dislodged from his sprawl.
Dancer rubbed his back. “What the bloody hell are ye fuckwits on about? I just came in from a month’s paddle. If you won money off someone, it weren’t me.”
The door squeaked open, and Montague and Rothchild slipped through.
Max rubbed his forehead. “I’m tired, I’m hacked off, and I’ve run out of patience. To save time, I’m going to tell you what we know.” Dropping to a squat, he brought his face level with the sailor’s. “Your name is Harvey Dancer and you live off Brook Street. You have a lady friend who lives in Lambeth and whose children call you Uncle Harry. You’ve worked for Bellweather Shipping for eight years, and until three months ago, also took on the odd job with a crime organization run by the self-named Zed.” Max had his own men, and they could run background checks with the best of them. They had failed to mention the ear hair, however.
Dancer started to protest, his chin drawing back into his neck.
Max slapped his face. “Focus. You could spend from here to eternity denying your connection to Zed, and we wouldn’t believe you.”
Rothchild stepped forwards. “Perhaps answers would be more forthcoming if I applied a little pressure.”
Perhaps. But they’d already encountered one man who preferred death to talking. Max didn’t have the time to test the pain limits of another fanatic. Besides, it wasn’t information he was after.
“Let’s save that as an option, shall we? If Dancer refuses my simple request.” After riffling through Dancer’s pockets and removing his only weapon, one small blade, Max stood. He planted his fists on his hips. “You are going to deliver a message for me. Tell Zed I want to meet. Just him and me, at a location of his choice. Tell him my only objective is to rid England of his presence, and I’m willing to pay handsomely to set him up in a residence abroad.”
Rothchild inhaled sharply through his nose. Max knew his friends wouldn’t approve. They each wanted their pound of flesh. Max just wanted it over. He wasn’t so foolish to think that Zed would take him up on his offer. But they’d tried roundabout ways to find the crime lord without success. It was time for the direct route. He was going to offer himself as bait.
The eight men he’d set to follow Dancer back home made a solid secondary plan.
Max tossed a small bag of coin at the man’s feet. “Every delivery man deserves payment. Tell Zed that the Baron of Sutton has issued an invitation. Deliver this message, and you’re out.” Toeing his boot under the bag, he tossed it, and it hit Dancer’s chest with a thump. “Fail to deliver it, and the consequences will be severe.”
Clutching the sack to his stomach, the sailor looked between it and Max. Slowly, he nodded and heaved to his feet. “I hope you know what you’re about. You don’t just invite the devil to a party and expect him to drink the punch.”
Summerset rolled his eyes. “Everyone’s a damn poet these days. I blame Wordsworth.”
Dancer shrugged. “It’s your funeral if you meet with Zed. But I warn ye, that one don’t have both oars in the water.” Tugging up his collar, the man sidled past Montague and Rothchild and scuttled down the alley.
Montague slapped dust from his thigh. “Interesting technique. I thought for sure you’d be the one I had to stop from inflicting too much damage.”
Summerset huffed. “Ever since he’s given his manager carte blanche, he’s gone soft.”
“Soft?” Rothchild raised his eyebrows. “With those tight, little waistcoats the woman wears, I would have thought it would be the opposite.”
“Enough.” Slashing his hand through the air, Max glared at his friends. “You wouldn’t tolerate me making lewd comments regarding your wives, would you? Show Colleen the same respect.”
“We respect all women,” Montague said mildly. “But there is a difference between jesting about a man’s wife and his mistress. Rothchild’s joke was no more than we’ve all said to each other before.”
“Unless Mrs. Bonner is more than a mistress?” Rothchild gave him a sympathetic smile. “I apologize for my remark. It won’t happen again.”
Max nodded his thanks. He turned and made his way out of the alley.
Summerset trotted by his side. “No,” he said, shaking his head. “I won’t allow it.”
“What are you on about?” Max asked.
“Another friend becoming imprisoned in a life tenancy.” Summerset waved his arms in the ai
r. “We’ve already lost two men. I won’t allow another.”
“What?” said Rothchild as Montague huffed “I object!”
“We haven’t lost anyone.” Hitting the street, Max looked for their driver. The man was down the block but put leather to horse when he saw Max wave. Max strode down the sidewalk, meeting the carriage half way.
“Really?” Summerset clambered into the carriage behind him and scooted over to make room for the others. He jabbed a finger at Montague. “Where are you heading now that our work is done for the night?”
“Home. To Liz.”
“Uh, huh. And you?” He knocked Rothchild with his knee.
“To Montague’s to collect Amanda.” He shrugged. “The sisters wanted to spend their evening together.”
“So, instead of going to King Street or The Black Rose as we used to, the two of you are going home. To your wives.” Derision dripped from his words like water from an icicle. “You’ve been domesticated.”
“Don’t include me in that group. I’ve spoken no vows.” Max tugged the hem of his waistcoat.
“So, after we drop off this lot, do you want to go to a hell? Find a little trouble?” Summerset asked, skeptical. “I know a couple of women who would be more than happy to entertain us.”
“Can’t.”
“Because you’re going to your Mrs. Bonner?” Summerset shook his head sadly. “Domesticated and you don’t even realize it yet. Pathetic.”
Max shoved his friend, and the carriage rocked with the ensuing scuffle. Max had to admit his heart wasn’t in it. Going home to a woman he cared about each night might be tame, but it did sound pleasant. Montague and Rothchild were lucky bastards.
He thought of Colleen’s forgiveness and hoped that he might be allowed into the ranks of lucky bastard, as well. He took Summerset’s elbow to the ear with equanimity and settled back into his seat. His life was changing, and even though his friend might not be pleased with the outcome, Max was. His jobs for Liverpool would soon be a distant memory, and he could spend his days relaxing with Colleen, puttering around the conservatory, helping her run her shop.
No, things were looking up. Even under the heavy cloud Zed cast over their lives, the bad times wouldn’t last. With a remarkable woman like Colleen at his side, his future was bright.
At Montague’s townhouse, Max practically kicked his friends from the carriage.
“Hey!” Summerset stumbled to the sidewalk and ran a hand through his hair. “This isn’t my stop.”
“I’m certain Montague can lend you a horse. I’m going in the opposite direction.” And didn’t want to waste a minute before returning home. To Colleen.
Crossing his arms, Summerset shook his head. “At least I still have Dunkeld. That lout will never leg shackle himself.”
Max ignored that. “I’ll notify you if I hear back from Zed.”
“His response might be a bullet to the head.” Rothchild closed the carriage door and rested an arm in the open window. “Have you thought of that?”
“I have.” Max shouted directions up to the driver. “We’d be in no worse position if Zed rejects the idea of a meet than if I’d never issued the invitation.”
“Except you could be dead.” Rothchild shook his head. “Don’t underestimate the threat.”
“I don’t.” Sitting back, he pounded on the ceiling, and the carriage started to roll.
Rothchild slapped the side, a wordless farewell.
Max knew his friends were concerned about him. They all put themselves at risk, but with Zed focusing on the club and Colleen, Max couldn’t deny he stood closer to the line of fire.
He wasn’t overly worried. Zed was a threat, but Max was prepared. His life was finally falling into place, and he wouldn’t let anything stand in his way.
Not when, for the first time, he felt like he had everything to live for.
Chapter Fifteen
Max peered through the row of plants, searching the shadows. The guard positioned at the door between the sitting room and the conservatory swore Colleen was within, but so far Max had seen no evidence of it.
“Colleen?” His voice seemed to melt into the glass walls. A rustle came from his left, and the woman he was looking for materialized next to the trunk of a palm tree.
Rolling to her feet, she brushed dirt off her bottom and came to meet him. “You’re home earlier than I expected. You weren’t able to find Dancer?”
“We found him.” Wrapping his arms around her waist, he drew her close, resting his chin on the top of her head. The smell of her soap was faint beneath the citrus scents of the nearby lemon trees, but it was there. And it settled him like no nightcap ever had. “Let’s go to bed.”
She pulled back. “Well, what happened? You can’t just tell me you found him and leave it at that.”
“Can’t I? You shouldn’t have to worry about men like Zed.”
She leveled him with a look, crossing her arms over her chest.
Max sighed. She shouldn’t have to worry, but she would. And much as he hated it, Colleen was involved. Placing a hand at the curve of her back, he guided her towards the sitting room. “I asked the man to deliver a message to Zed. Nothing more. I hope Zed will reply with a time and place for the two of us to meet.”
“That’s a silly idea.” She nodded at the guard and led the way down the hall to the stairs. “And it will be the three of us meeting.”
That was an argument he didn’t want to have. Not when his bedroom was mere feet away. But there was no way in hell Colleen was going to accompany him to meet with the devil.
“I think the financial incentive I offered Zed to leave England, coupled with his desire for revenge, will make the meet happen,” Max said. “He’ll be curious. And we’ll use that to trap him.”
Colleen stopped in front of her chamber’s door, but Max herded her on to his. Pushing it open, he dragged her inside, kicking the door closed behind them. “Now,” he began, shrugging out of the coarse coat, “no more talk of criminals tonight. Nor the club. I want you all to myself, your mind focused on what I’m going to do to your body.”
She licked her bottom lip, sending a shaft of desire straight to his groin. Her mouth was so utterly fuckable, and the need to feel her lips wrapped around his cock pounded under his skin.
Tucking his fingers into the top of her waistcoat, he yanked her forwards, enjoying the sweet way she sucked in her breath. He unbuttoned her vest and tossed it on top of his coat. Her skirts and shirt soon joined the pile. Swinging her into his arms, he strode to the armchair in front of the low table before the fireplace. Warmth from the flames heated his back as he lowered her into the chair. He sat on the table and placed one of her feet on his thighs.
“Max?” she asked as he slid off her boot and stocking. She took a deep breath. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to speak to you about.”
“Oh?” He lifted her foot and bit down on the fleshy pad of the ball. “I did say no work or Zed talk.”
“Yes, but …” She raised her bent arms, grabbing the top of the chair behind her head. The motion gave her back a delightful arch, lifting her nipples to point straight at him.
He placed her bare foot on the bulge behind his trousers and picked up her other foot. She rubbed her toes around his hardening length, distracting him from his task.
“Whatever it is can wait.” Fumbling, he scraped her stocking off and chucked it behind him. “Right now, I’d rather you use your mouth for a different purpose.”
With a shy smile so unlike his Colleen, she scooted to the end of the chair and leaned her face forward. “I like kissing you, too.”
Toeing off his boots, Max stood and stripped off his clothes. She looked up at him, a tiny crease etching her forehead. Placing a hand on her shoulder, he stopped her from rising.
“If you have no objection, I’ll take my kiss a bit lower than my mouth.”
Colleen followed his gaze down, her cheeks turning pink when she caught his meaning. She licke
d that damn bottom lip again. Her hand was no longer tentative when she reached for his cock, and she stroked him from base to tip, her grip firm. But uncertainty filled her eyes as she inched forward and brought him to her mouth.
Her moist lips grazed his tip, the lightest of touches. When she exhaled through her nose, the delicate stream of air fluttered around his crown, like he was being kissed by a fluttering butterfly.
It was a singularly erotic sensation.
He forced his hands to remain loose on her shoulders though they ached to ball into fists. The contact was a tease. A promise. One that he needed her to deliver on.
Closing her eyes, she eased her head from side to side, dragging the soft cocoon of her lips over his head. He wanted to let her explore. To take her time to discover just how to pleasure him.
He wasn’t that patient of a man.
“Open your mouth, love.” He nudged her lips with his cock. “Everything you’re doing feels good, but I need a little more.” Cupping the back of her head, he pushed inside a couple inches. “Fuck. Just like that.”
Her hot little mouth closed around him, the velvety rub of her tongue on the underside of his length an overwhelming contrast to the wet slide against the roof of her mouth.
She pulled back and wiped saliva from her lip. “Am I doing it right?”
She was unpracticed, inexperienced. And none of that mattered. More than just the fact that a woman’s mouth on his cock would always feel good, regardless of expertise. It was Colleen’s mouth. Colleen’s eyes staring up into his.
Perhaps it was wrong of him, but the fact she hadn’t pleasured her husband in this way sent a bolt of satisfaction spearing through his gut. He was her first.
Plucking the pins from her tight knot, he shook out her thick hair. He rolled a burnished lock between his fingers. “Anything you do down there will be right. Except, take care with your teeth, please.” He chucked her chin and smiled.
Gripping his base, Colleen nodded. Eying his cock like a column of numbers in her ledgers, something she needed to figure out, she stretched her mouth wide and guided him inside.
