Sutton stood, crossing his arms over his wide chest. “You read things too literally, but communication is in the nuance. The threat is there. And it is a threat from a very dangerous man.”
“How do you know that? Who is Zed? And who are you?” Normal toffs didn’t run around with dangerous criminals. But, then, she’d always known the baron was different. That there was more to Madame Sable’s disappearance and herlegaltroubles. She narrowed her eyes. “Who do you work for?” There was only one option that made sense.
He ignored her questions. “I need to catch him, and in order for that to happen, I need you. Here.”
“No.” She matched his stance. She didn’t care if he did work for the government. “I refuse to stay here any longer. I’ll take my money now, thank you.”
“It pains me to say it, but you have little choice.” Bending, he swiped her boots off the ground and held them in one hand. “Not if you want your premium. But once Zed is in prison, I promise to make good on our arrangement. In fact, I’ll even double it.”
“You bleed freely,” she bit out. She turned to face the wall and wiped her fingers across her cheek. “And pardon me if I don’t believe your promises. They no longer hold any weight.” The air shuddered in her chest and her lungs refused to completely fill. She’d been so close. The loss of her flower shop hurt more than it should.
More than when she’d stood before the charred remains of her life.
She hung her head. She was lower than scum.
She heard a clatter before he cupped her shoulders. The weight was reassuring and warm, but she refused to find comfort. Not from the man who’d just ripped her future from her. She jerked forwards, but he drew her back.
“I know I’ve let you down, and it pains me to do so.” His voice was soft as velvet. She didn’t want to find it attractive. There could be nothing about the brute that she liked, not after his betrayal. She’d thought him better than the rest of the Quality. He’d seemed to care about her and her dead husband, genuinely wanting to help her. And he looked nothing like the coifed and pampered swells that she’d seen rolling about in their fancy carriages.
She’d thought he was different, but he was like all the rest. Only in it for himself. No faith behind his words, only carelessness.
She swallowed past the thickness in her throat. “How long?” she asked, pleased with how even her voice sounded. He wouldn’t know how deep his lies had cut.
“It could be a week. Or several months.” He rubbed her upper arms, the thin fabric of her shirt scraping against her skin. “Investigations like this take time.”
She turned and cocked her head. “And why are you investigating? Isn’t this a matter for Bow Street? It’s not like a toff to get his hands dirty.”
She thought his smile looked tight, but it was difficult to tell with the beard covering his cheeks.
“Not all toffs behave the same. This man is threatening my club. Threatening my manager.” His nostrils flared. “That isn’t a situation I’ll tolerate.”
Colleen’s mouth became moist, and she swallowed. He didn’t raise his voice or punch a wall, but his anger was intense, nonetheless. It wrapped around her, promising protection in its power. Her anger leeched away, replaced by a sharp longing. The baron wore a look she’d hoped to see on her husband, back when she’d been young and romantic.
She stepped from his grip. Picking her boots up from the desk, she strode from the room. The baron was silent, but she could feel him following. She pushed into her chambers and placed the boots at the foot of her wardrobe. Hands on her hips, she examined her options. Without the premium, they were few. And putting her feet up and snoozing by the fire wasn’t one of them. It was time to get back to work.
Her options for footwear were just as limited. Either the stiff boots that had caused the blisters, or … With a sigh, she slid out the discolored and frayed slippers from under the wardrobe and went to sit on the bench at the foot of her bed. She covered the guinea-sized hole the fire had burned through the toe of one of the slippers with her hand and slid it onto her foot.
Sutton stood in the doorway, her coat tossed over one arm, his eyes tracking her every movement. “Why haven’t you purchased anything with your clothing allowance?”
She stood and shook her skirts out. Unlike the floor-length gowns the upper class and her lady-birds wore, her skirts ended at the ankle. Doing little to hide her pitiable footwear. “I have no need to dress like a fancy lightskirt. That isn’t my position here.”
“Forget ‘fancy’. It would be nice if my manager didn’t walk around in shoes that didn’t allow her feet to touch the floor. And didn’t wear coats”—he held out her borrowed wool one—“that would serve better as a rag.”
She moved to him and snatched the coat from his grip. Removing the flower from the buttonhole, she hung the coat in her wardrobe. “Most of my things were destroyed in the fire. My cousin gave me this. It serves its purpose.”
“Your cousin.” Sutton curled his upper lip. “From the little I know of the man, I suspect his act wasn’t done out of charity. Giving his old coat to you likely saved him the bother of burning it.”
Colleen refused to feel ashamed of her appearance. All she had was honestly earned, and that meant more to her than fancy gowns or delicate kid slippers. A man like the baron wouldn’t understand that.
She tipped her chin up. “Now that you’veconvincedme to remain on as manager, what is it exactly you wish me to do? Write back to your Zed with shocking stories? I don’t know where to address the letter.”
Sutton rested his forearm against the doorjamb above his head. “No, the man will have to find a way to contact you again. Another letter, a courier. If Zed wants a response, he’s going to have to reveal himself. And I’ll be waiting.”
“So, I continue running The Black Rose and when I hear from the blackmailer again, I contact you?” It didn’t seem like much of a plan. Not the zealous and speedy prosecution Colleen would have preferred.
He smiled, one side of his mouth curving higher than the other. His beard framed his sinful lips, and she wondered what it would be like to kiss such a man. He had the sort of smile she imagined a highwayman would have. It did funny things to her knees and made her breasts heavy and achy.
She swallowed and fought back the illogical blush that threatened to sweep her cheeks. Just because she was standing in her bedchambers with a man was no cause to think such improper thoughts. Besides, the baron could have no way of knowing what was running through her mind. Nothing to feel awkward about.
