Читать книгу Beloved Beast - Karyn Gerrard - Страница 11

Gillian turned toward the source of the husky, masculine voice. Heavens. A tall man wearing a trench coat stood in shadow. Due to the muted lighting, she couldn’t make out much else, except his profile was absolute perfection. In fact, he reminded her of the American film actor Robert Taylor, though this man didn’t have a moustache as far as she could tell. Yes, she’d seen the movie Waterloo Bridge at the cinema. He flipped the chair open and placed it next to her. She sat. Looking up at him she murmured, “Thank you.”

“You are quite welcome.”

His voice was cultured and smooth. The soft gruffness of it sent prickles of awareness through her. Everything feminine about her sprang back to life. Her heart pounded, and her eyelashes fluttered as her breath quickened. Gillian had not been affected by a man in years. She turned away from him as she had no business finding any man attractive.

“May I fetch mugs of hot tea for you ladies?” he asked politely.

“Ooo, luv. I’d murder for a hot cuppa. What a gentleman.” The old lady smiled.

“Thank you, most kind,” Gillian replied. He touched the brim of his hat and headed toward the canteen.

The old woman poked her with her elbow. “Cor, he be a tall one. And those shoulders. Too bad we can’t see his face, though with that build, in the dark who’d care?” The woman cackled. “His posh voice is like a pot of honey simmerin’ on the cooker. Sweet and full of heat. Ah, if only I were thirty years younger, eh, dearie?”

Gillian’s face flushed hot with embarrassment. The woman was not quiet. Did the stranger hear what she said? How mortifying.

“My name is Muriel Green, and yours, luv?”

Gillian did not need or want a chatty old lady yammering in her ear. She should’ve moved away as soon as she gave up her chair. “Gill O’Keefe.”

“Take my advice, when Mr. Tall and Broad Shoulders comes back, find out his name and chat him up. He’s considerate, a real plus. I didn’t see any of the lugs standin’ nearby offerin’ to fetch us hot tea as he did. Besides, more than one romance has started in air raid shelters, I’ll be bound.”

Oh, lord. Gillian rolled her eyes. The man returned and passed the enamel mugs to them, and Gillian observed his left hand was covered with a black leather glove while his right was not.

“Cheers, luv. Many thanks. My name is Mrs. Muriel Green and this here young lady is Miss Gill O’Keefe.”

He bowed slightly, but Gillian still could not see his face clearly. “Pleased to meet you. I am Luke Newman. At your service.”

Someone began to play the violin. The crowd hushed. Whoever was playing was extremely skilled. Oh, drat. What was the piece? It was obviously classical…

Mr. Newman leaned down and whispered in her ear, “Tchaikovsky’s Violin Concerto in D major,” Oh. Again, his voice caused her heart to stutter. It was if he read her mind.

Gillian pasted an indifferent look on her face in case he could see it. Even though her insides tightened in sensual awareness at having such a virile male in close proximity, she refused to show it outwardly. “Thank you, Mr. Newman,” she replied coolly. She turned her attention toward the mournful music. It continued for close to fifteen minutes and when the musician concluded, he received enthusiastic applause from everyone on the platform.

Mrs. Green dabbed at her eyes with a tattered handkerchief. “Blimey, that were beautiful. I feel as if I were at a concert at the Royal Albert Hall.”

“Considering the talent and ability, I am sure the musician is from the Royal Albert Hall since it is not far from here. Can I refresh your tea? Fetch you both some sandwiches perhaps? The canteen does have cheese and pickle or ham if you wish,” Mr. Newman said.

Why was this man paying such attention? Gillian’s inner alarm pealed. “No thank you I…”

“Steady on, dearie. I’ll not say no to a cheese and pickle butty. I’m gaspin’ for a bite. Cheers, Mr. Newman. You truly are a fine gentleman. I am much obliged for your kindness I’m sure.”

Because of Mrs. Green’s sincere speech, Gillian suddenly felt ungrateful. “You are kind, Mr. Newman. Thank you. I would like more tea. I’ll come with you, if you like.”

“It is no problem at all. I will see to it.” He took their empty mugs and disappeared through the crowd. Soon a chorus of “Roll out the Barrel” started, with everyone joining in. Mr. Newman returned as the music died down. He waited patiently as Mrs. Green tucked away her knitting. When she finished, he handed the pickle sandwich to her. Slowly and with deliberate care, she peeled away the parchment paper. She smiled up at him as he handed her the mug. “Ta, Mr. Newman.”

He handed Gillian her tea, and his long fingers brushed by hers causing her breath to catch. A fiery heat travelled through her at his touch. She flushed once again in embarrassment, for he must have heard her sharp intake of breath. These past three years she’d forgotten how alluring a man could be, his height, voice, the brush of his fingers, his soft, warm breath feathering across her cheek…Stop it. Silly woman.

Mr. Newman pulled a wrapped sandwich out of his side pocket. “Care to share this ham sandwich with me?”

She sipped her tea, keeping her eyes forward. “It could be a long night. You may wish to save it for later.”

“I doubt it, I don’t hear any bombs. In fact, I will bet the all clear will be sounded soon.”

She gazed up at him, but only his silhouette was visible. “How can you hear anything outside through this din?”

He took a bite of his sandwich and shrugged. “I have exceptional hearing. Besides, the stuka bombers have a distinct sound. It’s the siren they use when they dive. I haven’t heard it tonight. But then, the Luftwaffe has been using the stuka more on the Eastern Front of late. I also haven’t heard any bombs making impact. The ground has not shaken at all.”

Come to think of it, she hadn’t felt any impact either. He held out the sandwich wedge sitting on the paper, she took it and murmured her thanks. A good thing there was no bombing run tonight by the Germans as her frayed nerves could not take it.

Gillian no sooner finished the sandwich when the steady whine of the all clear sounded. Thank God. She couldn’t abide crowded, enclosed places. It was why she sought out tube stations during an air raid instead of basements in public buildings or other smaller shelters. All she wanted was to breathe fresh air into her lungs, or at least fresher than the stale, smelly air down here. She stood, eager to move off when Mr. Newman clutched her elbow.

“Allow me to escort you ladies to the safety of the street.”

Frowning, she tried to shake her arm from his tight grip but there was no shifting him. “There is no need to escort me,” she sniffed haughtily.

“I am afraid I must insist.”

Oh, the audacity of the man. Annoyance clutched her insides at his forwardness. Before she could reply, he steered her and Mrs. Green toward the stairs. Maybe once they reached street level she might finally be able to see his face. Gillian admired his patience with the older lady who experienced difficulty ascending the stairs. Several minutes later, they stepped out onto Broadway and Gillian was disappointed to see the street was still in complete darkness for she wanted to have a good look at the man. Mrs. Green thanked them both profusely, toddled off down the sidewalk, and soon disappeared in the crowd.

“May I see you home, Miss O’Keefe? I am assuming you do not live far from here,” he asked politely.

It was entirely possible this man had the best intentions, but paranoia was part of her life, she lived and breathed it. She could not chance this stranger knowing where she lived. On the other hand, she should not be too impolite, for he acted as a perfect gentleman and not to acknowledge it would raise his suspicions. If he had any.

“You are most kind,” she demurred, giving him a brilliant smile whether he could see it or not standing here on the darkened street. “You may escort me to the end of Broadway, which is far enough, thank you.”

Mr. Newman reached for her hand and tucked it through his right arm. Gillian was tempted to pull away, but let her hand rest lightly on his sleeve. Muscle flexed under her touch causing her stomach to flutter. Honestly, this was ridiculous. Reacting to him this way made her feel weak, not in control of the situation. Which she was not, and it merely annoyed her further. The sooner she was away from this Robert Taylor look-alike, the better. The last thing she needed was a man in her life mucking things up.

They reached the end of the street. Gillian tried to pull her hand away, but he held it, slowly raised it toward his lips. No. He wouldn’t. What astonished her was how cool his skin felt. And it had a pale shade from what she could make out in the shadows, which followed this mysterious man everywhere he went. Bowing slightly, his full lips barely brushed past her knuckles, but made enough contact for her breath to quicken. Reluctantly, he let go of her hand, his fingers stroking along her palm leaving a trail of heat in his wake. “Good night, Miss O’ Keefe. Until we meet again.”

She stepped back, her legs jittery from his arousing touch. His fedora was pulled low over his face and all she could make out was his perfectly-shaped patrician nose. “Meet again? It’s highly unlikely.”

He touched the brim of his hat. “You never know.”

Gillian turned and quickly walked away. She could have invited him up to her flat for a drink. But that would be an invitation of another kind, and taking a stranger to bed for quick sex was not a wise idea. A stranger she met in an air raid shelter of all places. She picked up her pace knowing he watched her as she could feel his intense stare boring into her. Rounding the corner, she stopped and leaned against the brick building, trying to catch her breath. She waited five minutes to see if he would follow her. He didn’t. Exhaling a sigh of relief, she sprinted to her flat, her heels clicking on the pavement.

Once inside, she stood by the window and pulled aside the blackout curtain enough to peer out. The street was empty. After she let go of the curtain, she removed her wool coat and headed for her small kitchen. With shaking hands, she reached for the bottle of brandy. Yes, it was best she did not let her attraction to a mysterious stranger go any further. How could she not be attracted by his obvious masculine power? He radiated virility from the broadness of his shoulders, the sensual tone of his voice, to his hidden-in-shadows perfect profile. Emotionally, she was a wreck. The guilt she carried overwhelming. It took everything she had to get through the day. Never again would she allow any man to engage her heart.

* * * *

Once Gillian rounded the corner, Luke waited thirty minutes before fetching his car. He rented the loft of a large chalet-style home on Hastings Avenue in Redbridge which afforded him a modicum of privacy as the older couple who lived in the main house stayed out of his business. All the greenery surrounding the property along with the separate rear entrance also met his privacy requirements. The street was suburban in look and quiet for the most part. Since leaving Cornwall eleven years ago, he rented small, private flats and never stayed in one place more than two years. His previous life was packed in boxes in storage, and he basically lived out of two pieces of battered luggage.

Luke didn’t sleep much during the night. Instead he relived his encounter in the air raid shelter with Gillian Browning. She was attracted to him, what little she saw of him. He made sure he remained in shadow. Her heartbeat increased and her breathing became shallow when he was near, especially when he leaned in and whispered in her ear.

One particular talent he honed over the years is if he concentrated hard enough, he could hear a person’s heartbeat, gauge their pulse, and ascertain if they lied or experienced an emotional response. He also became skilled at reading a person’s facial expressions. Gillian had definitely reacted to him. But only because she never saw his face in the light of day. The lady would be in for a shock when she did.

Regardless, even in the low lighting, he observed the pulse at the base of her throat beat rapidly at his nearness. Along with the delicate flush of her cheek, the parting of her lush lips, and the soft, barely audible sigh that escaped them.

But what disturbed him more was his own reaction. When he took her hand to escort her along the street, rolling warmth gripped him and nearly made his knees buckle. What's more, when he passed her the mug of tea and their fingers brushed, it caused his heart to skip a beat. The only woman to cause such a response had been Glenna. The few women he’d been with since never registered any reaction from him and certainly not any warmth. But this one did. It concerned him. In truth, he should notify Fred and demand he find another operative to see to her safety and protection.

For the most part, he’d moved past the melancholia that settled in his soul at Glenna’s untimely and violent death, but it made an impression, enough to convince him he did not want to love again. The hurt and pain too much to bear. As if any woman would love him. Glenna had been special as were the circumstances surrounding their unconventional romance. She encouraged him more than once to live on for the both of them, embracing all life had to offer including love. With an unknown number of years ahead of them, it was a promise easy to keep. Now with her gone, the promise was easy to forget.

Eventually, he managed three hours sleep and after bathing and dressing, he even ate a piece of toast with marmalade, washing it down with watery coffee before making his way to the SIS offices at fifty-four Broadway. The front of the building had a sign stating The Minimax Fire Extinguisher Company resided there. Nothing could be further from the truth. No one who worked inside used the front entry. They used a secret entrance at the rear at twenty-one Queen Anne’s Gate. Luke usually parked a block away and walked to the back door as he did this morning.

Once inside, he sprinted up the stairs taking them two at a time and headed straight to Fred’s office. He always liked the interior of this building with its twelve-foot vaulted ceilings, nineteenth century gable windows, and ornate plaster walls and trim.

Of course, Fred was already there, a mug of steaming tea sitting before him on the desk. “Ah, Luke. Take a seat. I’ve sent word and Miss Browning is to join us at quarter past ten, which will give us time to go over her file more closely.”

Luke hung his trench coat on the hook along with his hat and scarf, but kept his French-made aviator sunglasses on. When he was reanimated, his eyes were affected. It was as if his irises exploded, and they now resembled the color spectrum of a kaleidoscope. Glenna had found them attractive and mesmerizing. Since most people were put off by the strange mixture of colors, he wore dark glasses to hide them. People stared at him enough as it was. Sitting opposite, he reached across the desk and took the file folder from Fred’s outstretched hand. “A little thin, is it not?”

“Not much background on her apparently.”

Luke frowned as he flipped back and forth between the sparse pages. “I would ask her questions on her family when she arrives. Fill in the blanks.”

Fred arched an eyebrow. “And you will be the lie detector?”

“I’m certainly more accurate than a polygraph test. Also, there are not many details of her affair with this Otto Kroger.”

“What did it matter? As long as she got the information we needed, which she did.” Fred crossed his arms. “I agree the reporting is slipshod, she wasn’t my agent. The man who ran her is now dead, and because of it, we cannot question him on why he kept such sketchy records. At the start of the war things were chaotic, poor records kept, many mistakes made. No one sure of whom was in charge of what. We have a firmer handle on it now.”

Luke stared at the picture of Otto Kroger. The headshot photograph was professionally taken for his business due to the pose and expensive suit. He observed a coldly handsome man with amazing bone structure, a high forehead, and prominent cheekbones. The man’s nose was long with a high bridge, but it didn’t mar his Nordic good looks. Judging from the width of his shoulders he must have been tall and seeing his face was lean, Luke assumed his body type was as well.

If he were a woman, he supposed he would be attracted to the strong line of his jaw and the full lower lip. A stab of envy slid in between his ribs thinking of Gillian in bed with this man. “Obviously it was not a hardship for her to seduce this Germanic God,” he mumbled sarcastically.

The corner of Fred’s mouth quirked in amusement. “Do I detect a touch of envy, Uncle?”

Luke shrugged. “I do not believe it is the case. But using sex as a weapon to get what you want from a person is distasteful.”

Fred laughed. “This coming from you, the dissolute rake of the Victorian age?”

Luke closed the folder and tossed it across the desk. “You may find the irony amusing, but I am no longer that man. I am the furthest thing from a prude, but it is a low, devious way to secure information.”

Fred reached for the folder. “Well, it is an effective weapon and all part and parcel in the world of spying, a human weakness easy to manipulate. If her efforts helped speed along the code breaking work being done at Bletchley Park, then I applaud her for it.”

Luke felt a little sheepish. Miss Browning deserved his respect, not his censure. To be blunt, he was jealous. He envied the man for being the recipient of her attentions. A disturbing thought. Luke shook away the overwhelming emotions. “Perhaps you should find her another protector. She is stirring up forgotten…. Forget it. Let me tell you what happened last night after I left you.”

He told Fred of the air raid shelter, the exchange of conversation, and him walking her to the end of the street.

“Ah,” Fred said in a soft voice. “She moved you. I can assign someone else, but I’d rather it be you, Luke. I trust you implicitly. Besides, the arrangements should not take long. We will temporarily relocate her at one of our safe houses nearby until we can see to her secure move to Canada. I can’t see the assignment taking any more than two weeks, three at most.”

Luke didn’t want to disappoint his nephew. Surely he could control his wayward and unpredictable emotions for the length of the assignment. “All right. I will see the job done. I will stay detached and professional. One more thing, she acted nervous and wary, not sure the reason behind it.”

Fred crossed his arms again and smiled. “Maybe you affected her.”

About to protest even though he knew he affected her, Fred’s intercom buzzed. “Miss Browning to see you, sir,” Fred’s secretary trilled.

Luke jumped from his chair and stood at the window, looking out onto the street, his hands clasped behind his back.

“Send her in.”

The door opened and the sensual scent of Chanel No. 5 slammed his senses, causing his breath to hitch. “You wish to see me, Mr. Parker?” Her soft, feminine voice affected him afresh. Due to her presence, trying to stay detached and professional became more difficult.

“Yes. First, let me introduce you to Special Operative Luke Newman.”

Luke slowly turned to face her. Gillian stumbled, her hand flying to her mouth in shock.

Then she screamed.