Free The Trouble With Moonlight by Donna MacMeans Page A

James thought he would have to back up his threat. Judging from the long scar on the man’s face, he was well used to confrontations of a physical nature.
    “For the sake of the men whose lives have been placed in jeopardy,” Tavish interrupted, “let’s remember what we are about here. There are more important concerns than the antics of a ch”—he glanced toward Locke, then substituted— “lady.”
    James glared at Hopkins, who visibly backed down and shuffled to a new position along the wall. James readjusted his jacket.
    “I trust your plan involves more than pleasuring the feminine populace of the whole of London.” No humor marred the solemnity of the colonel’s face. “Need I remind you that your name is most likely at the top of that bloody list?”
    “No, sir,” Locke replied tightly. “I understand the stakes.”
    “Make sure that you do, Locke. Make very sure that you do.”
    JAMES USED THE MAIN STAIRWAY TO DESCEND TO STREET level, and noted a burly man better suited for the docks than the marble lobby, standing near the base of the steps.
    “Mr. Locke, Mr. Locke!” Miss Havershaw sprang forward from a small alcove set beneath the steps, only to be blocked by the guard’s massive arm. A vision in bright blue and white stripes, she pummeled the arm ineffectively, much to the amusement of her keeper. “Let me go, you oaf.”
    Locke jerked his head toward the leering man, who reluctantly released her. Miss Havershaw dashed forward like some bright exotic bird, freed from a dull oppressive cage.
    “Mr. Locke!” She gasped, her eyes wide and vulnerable. “Thank heavens you are here. You’ve no idea what I’ve been subjected to.”
    Wispy tendrils of hair had pulled from her otherwise well-ordered topknot. The placement of her beribboned hat had shifted, causing an ostrich plume to dangle erratically like some contemptuous caterpillar. Every well-placed tassel on her attire shook with aggravation. The sight normally would have brought a smile to his lips, but the situation had moved beyond levity. He schooled his voice to a hard, stern tone.
    “What are you doing here?”
    Her eyes impossibly widened a moment before the vulnerability receded behind a cool, pointed glare. She straightened her blue bodice with a quick tug. “You said you had a meeting this morning. I thought it best if I was aware of the particulars.”
    “ You thought it best?”
    She nodded, the ridiculous plume dancing with the movement.
    James placed a hand on her elbow and turned her toward the doors, away from the grinning guard who seemed enthralled with their conversation. Once they were again on the noisy pavements of London, he hurried her away from the building before continuing his diatribe.
    “Did it not occur to you, Miss Havershaw, that I would have invited you to the meeting had your presence been desired? ”
    “I had to know that you would not divulge my abilities. I saw no other way—”
    “So you followed me into the lair of the beast? Into the one place in all of London that specializes in uncovering one’s secrets?”
    Whatever she was about to reply died on her lips. She stopped her forward progress and gaped at him in dawning understanding. “I hadn’t thought—”
    “That’s stating the obvious, is it not?” He scanned the faces behind her, looking to see if Hopkins or one of his kind had followed them. No one appeared suspicious, but that didn’t mean they weren’t there. He tugged her brusquely forward.
    “Does not the word ‘trust’ mean anything to you?” He glanced askance at her profile while they walked through the streets of London like a couple long familiar with each other.
    She stiffened. “You dropped a net on me. Does that denote trust?”
    The dour governess walking in front of them ignored her young charge to turn on the sidewalk and stare. James noted a flare of rosy pink rise in Miss Havershaw’s cheek. Her head dipped and her voice dropped to a near whisper. “I