Enemy's Kiss

by Jun, Kristi

“And you do?”

  She looked away from him.

  “Oh, my foolish, foolish child. You need to see the world for what it is. Don’t you see, you will better off with me?”

  “I’d rather rot in prison than go with you.”

  “If you’d spent even a single day in Newgate, you’d see things a little differently. Life in prison has a way of churning a soul into a retched animal.” He shook his head.

  “You speak from experience?” she bit back.

  Tomkin reached out to touch the lose tendril of her hair, and she pulled away. “It will take some time, but you will come around I am sure of it.” Tomkin walked to the bed where he placed his satchel and dug through it looking for something. Smiling wide, he pulled out a long metal pipe with an opening that protruded out about two-thirds way down the pipe.

  Emma said, “What is that?”

  “It’s a pipe.” He approached her. “I have just enough to help you relax, I promise.”

  “What is in there?”

  “You don’t need to concern yourself with that, my dear girl.”

  Knowing she could not win by resisting him, she thought about negotiating. “There is no need for this. Clearly, I am not going anywhere.” That didn’t seem to convince him. “How do you expect me to trust you, if you won’t give me the chance to prove myself?”

  He studied her words carefully. He shook his head. “Tsk, tsk, tsk…nice try, but I am afraid this is the only way.”

  With that she watched him prepare the pipe as her blood quickly rushed to her chest in panic.

  CHAPTER 29

  Masquerade Ball

  The two assassins posing as French diplomats, Dubois and Fournier, were tracked down at the Pulteney’s Hotel in Piccadilly earlier today. With the help of Blackthorn and Hansford’s agents, they were detained and questioned at the underground interrogation room at the Foreign Office.

  They discovered that exactly at ten o’clock, the two hired guns were ordered to assassinate two men: Wellington and the Prince Regent, England’s future King. Once Michael and Blackthorn retrieved the costumes the assassins were supposed to don for the ball, the team was ready for their attack.

  Michael stepped into the large foyer of Shaw’s elaborate estate dressed as a gladiator. Dozens of footman were lined up to see to the guests. Next to him was Blackthorn, dressed as Rembrandt with a black mask.

  The chandelier hung from the ceiling with hundreds of candles. A crowd of people dressed in their costumes made their way toward the west wing to the ballroom. Marie Antoinette rushed by Michael with Caesar by her side. Genghis Khan and his minions and other historical figures slowly filled the foyer, some rushing to get to the ballroom, while others stood sipping their drinks and conversing.

  It was clever of Tomkin and his accomplice to plan out the assassinations this way. As it was, there were already three other men dressed as gladiators. Wellington always dressed in military uniform and the Regent always came as himself. Everyone involved in tonight’s plan, including the Regent and Wellington saw no reason to do otherwise with dozen of agents around them all evening. Besides, the team did not want to risk suspicion of Shaw and Tomkin.

  “Once the Regent arrives, I’ll check out the east wing. You check the other,” Michael said to Blackthorn in perfect French.

  Once they entered the grand ballroom, Michael handed his card to the butler.

  The butler called out: “Monsieur Armand Dubois.” The crowd looked his way. Then, the butler took the card Blackthorn gave him and read: “Monsieur Burrell Fournier.”

  Michael and Blackthorn entered the ballroom and split up in opposite directions. Beeswax candles, small and large, were scattered about and perfumed the ballroom. To his left he saw a rectangular table with dozens of edible bites and punch for the guests.

  Up ahead, he saw Wellington dressed in his uniform of red and gold speaking with a gentleman dressed as Alexander the Great. Shaw could be any one of these people.

  Carefully watching the crowd, Michael walked deep into the ballroom. Making eye contact with Wellington, he gave him a quick nod and walked in the opposite direction.

  Soon, he’d slip away to the east wing of the estate as planned and search for Emma.

  * * *

  “What the bloody hell is wrong with her?” Shaw entered the guest room on the east wing of his estate. He saw Emma sitting by the hearth and staring into the fire as if she was transfixed by the flames. “What is that damn smell?” He waved away the strange stench.

  His partner grimaced. “It’s opium. Don’t you have guests to attend to? You could have been noticed by the servants.”

  “Dubois and Fournier are here.” Shaw looked back at Emma for a brief moment.

  “Good.”

  “There is something more,” he said pointing to his stomach. “Prinny just arrived with an unusual number of entourage. They are not leaving his side.”

  “Why does that surprise you? Prinny is the future King of England. It is only fitting that he has a large number of servants and friends to entertain him.” Tomkin pulled out his pocket watch and looked at it. “Don’t fret. It will all be over soon.”

  “Not soon enough.” Shaw paced the room. “Your unmarked carriage is ready in the stable yard. I suggest you take your leave now while the guests are still enjoying the festivities.”

  “Not before I make sure the deed is done. That is when I shall make my escape.”

  “You will take that bitch,” Shaw said, pointing his finger at Emma sitting by the fireplace, “and leave now.”

  “Or what?”

  Shaw said, “Or that particular letter you’re missing will be delivered to the authorities.” He watched Tomkin’s expression morph into a scowl.

  “You stole the letter from my study?”

  “If anything happens to me tonight, the letter will be delivered to the proper authorities. You underestimate me, Tomkin. I told you, you shouldn’t have brought her here.” He backed away and felt the door knob. “If I don’t get what is owed to me, you will be very sorry.” With that, Shaw quickly exited the room.

  * * *

  Michael noticed Shaw’s thinning red hair; he was donned in a William Shakespeare costume leaving the ballroom. Keeping an eye on the fop, he trailed behind his target, but kept his distance. The man’s steps quickened as each second ticked by.

  When his target came to the last room in the east wind and stopped, Michael quickly slipped into the adjoining room to avoid being discovered. Keeping the door ajar, he saw Shaw slip into the room.

  Michael went to the adjoining wall and pressed his ear to listen. A murmur of voices was heard, but it was difficult to discern who Shaw was speaking with or the content. This went on for several minutes. Then the door clicked open again and someone exited the room.

  Moving back to the door, he looked through the crack and saw Shaw walk away. The man looked distressed, irritated. Once Shaw left the premise, Michael pulled off his gladiator mask, set it on a chair, and waited a few more minutes for good measure.

  Just then, Tomkin came out of the same room Shaw had walked out of. Blood pumped through Michael’s veins, but he reined in the rage to beat his enemy to a pulp. The Home Secretary quickly looked side to side before he walked off in the same direction as Shaw.

  Taking the opportunity, Michael quickly twisted the door knob and slipped inside….

  CHAPTER 30

  Emma watched the hot fire crackle in the fireplace before her. Burning woods fell apart and tumbled down to the ground, sparks flying. A sudden surge of euphoria pulsated through her body as she watched the red flecks dance before landing on the ground.

  Ohh…pretty.

  Mesmerizing.

  The door clicked opened and the floor beneath her squeaked, alerting Emma. A tall figure approached her, closer and closer. Facing the intruder, Emma squinted to get a look at the looming figure. Too dark to see. Giving up the attempt to figure out who it was, she turned her attention back to watching th
e bright red flecks. Reaching for the pretty colors showering down like fireflies, a large hand snatched her hand away from the fireflies.

  “Emma,” a man said. “Look at me.” The man’s tone was laced with concern. She blinked for several seconds looking at the handsome man with very familiar piercing blue eyes….

  When recognition took hold, she wrapped her arms around him. “Oh, Michael, darling,” Emma said, kissing him. “I missed you.”

  “I missed you too.” Michael voice was laced with warning. He pulled her to him. “Can you can stand up for me?”

  Smiling wide, she kissed him. He kissed her back. Then, Michael’s gaze lowered to her cheek and landed on her lips with the strangest look on his face. He touched her cheek with his hand, caressing the sore spot there.

  “He hurt you,” he said. “I’m going to kill him.”

  She looked into his eyes. “Has anyone told you how devilishly handsome you are?”

  “We need to go, Emma.”

  She shook her head. “But why?” she said. “Stay with me here.”

  “I’m going to take you home,” Michael said. “Don’t you want to go home with me?

  “Home?” Emma smiled at him. “With you?”

  He nodded and gave her a wide smile. “Yes, love.”

  Emma smiled and attempted to stand, but her legs felt like mush. She nearly fell, but Michael caught her. He whisked her up in his arms as if she weighed nothing.

  Wait, there was something she needed to tell him. Something, but it slipped from her mind. “Michael…?”

  “Yes?” he said, walking toward the door.

  “You aren’t angry with me, are you?” What was it that she had to tell him?

  “I could never be angry with you.”

  She kissed him. Just then, the door clicked open and she saw Tomkin enter with a pistol in his hand.

  Michael saw the bastard enter the room from the periphery. He gently released Emma back on the floor next to the fire. Reaching into his boot, he pulled out a knife and swiftly tossed it at Tomkin. It landed in the culprit’s arm and he let out a shrill cry of pain, dropping the pistol in his hand.

  For a brief second he looked as though he might fight back, but instead took off in a run out the door.

  “Stay here. I’ll be back for you.” With that Michael stormed after Tomkin. As soon as he exited the room, he saw Tomkin heading to the servants’ stairs.

  In hot pursuit, he rushed after him, following his trail. Down the winding stairs, he came to a landing. He looked right and left. There he saw the cull running down the hall toward the west wing.

  Picking up speed, he dashed after him, but the bastard disappeared through one of the service rooms. As he rushed after Tomkin, Michael nearly collided with a footman carrying a tray of empty glasses, causing the glasses to tumble down like rain and onto the floor. The footman cursed and lowered to pick them up.

  Michael pursued his foe, but lost the trail when he was funneled into a large kitchen with several maids scatteringd about.

  Damn it. “Did you see a man running through here?” Michael said.

  One of the young maids, wide-eyed, pointed through an opening, “He went that way toward the ballroom, sir.”

  Christ, taking the route the maid had pointed out, he ran out of the kitchen. There he saw Tomkin exiting the servants’ hall into the west wing. In a mad dash, he sprinted after his enemy.

  As soon as he entered the main gallery of the ballroom, he heard shouts and screams. Michael stormed into the ballroom and saw Tomkin shoving and pushing his way through the large crowd of guests. Marie Antoinette fell on her behind when his target shoved her aside to get out of his way.

  Tomkin looked back at Michael, flushed. When Tomkin grabbed one of the guests and shoved him toward Michael, he swiftly dodged the fallen man and continued to chase after the traitor.

  Catching up to him, Michael lunged forward and landed on Tomkin, both falling onto the marble floor.

  Grabbing him by the coat, the man tried to claw his way free of Michael’s grip. When that didn’t work, he proceeded to kick Michael and nearly struck him in the face.

  “No, you don’t.” Michael grabbed a fistful of clothes and pulled him up and proceeded to punch him, until all he saw was red, rage pumping through him. Just before Michael’s fists rammed down Tomkin’s face again, someone caught his wrist.

  “Enough,” Wellington ordered.

  “This bloody bastard deserves to die,” Michael said.

  “Indeed, Michael,” Wellington said. “But that isn’t your job. Let him go.”

  Michael looked back at Tomkin, all bloodied. Backing away slowly, he looked around the ballroom, all eyes on him and silent. Blackthorn had just arrived and was making his way through the crowd. The Prince Regent arrived and looked at Tomkin.

  The Regent joined them, his secret agents trailing behind him.

  “Your highness.” Tomkin kept his eyes closed, defeated.

  His grace patted Michael on the shoulder. “Well done. Now that our enemy has been apprehended, I shall like to return home.” With that, the entourage of agents quickly escorted the Regent out.

  “I will leave our prisoner to you, sir,” Michael said to Wellington. “I need to see to Miss Willoughby.”

  “Go get her,” Wellington said.

  Just then Blackthorn joined them. “I have Shaw in custody.”

  “Good.” With that Michael went back to the guest room to retrieve Emma.

  CHAPTER 31

  Emma opened her eyes, bright sun streaming in through the half-drawn curtains. She closed them again at the shocking brightness of the room; her head pounding like the devil.

  Where am I?

  Looking around, she found herself sitting up in the middle of a large wood-framed bed, a hint of oiled wood and musk arresting her senses. She recalled Tomkin kidnapping her, Lord Hansford being shot, the poor man, and finally being held hostage at Shaw’s estate. Recalling the awful tasting pipe, she remembered being drugged, and the angelic image of Michael descending from heaven to save her. Had he succeeded in his quest to capture Tomkin? Or was she still his prisoner, she thought with dread.

  She needed to know where she was. For all she knew, Tomkin may have taken her to the Continent. She pulled the coverlet aside, shielded her eyes with her hand, and walked up to the window to pull the curtain aside. Looking down, she saw the familiar street of Mayfair bustling with carriages and pedestrians going about their day. The door clicked opened and she froze, held by the fear that she may not have been rescued, and that her enemy had somehow managed to escape, and she was still his prisoner.

  When Michael slipped in, joy and utter relief bubbled inside her. Swathed in light tan breeches, finely polished boots, and a finely-tailored waistcoat, he crossed the space between them. Overjoyed, she reached up and touched his cleanly shaven cheek. He shifted to take her hand and kissed her palm before pulling her into his arms.

  “How are you feeling?” Michael said, looking into her eyes.

  “I have a splitting headache, but I’ll live,” she said with a wide smile. He could not know the utter relief she felt now.

  “The effect of the opium is wearing off.”

  “How long was I asleep?”

  “Two days.”

  “Two days?” she said with a heavy sigh. “Was anyone else hurt? Has he been apprehended?”

  He nodded. “Everyone is fine. Tomkin has been apprehended by the authorities.”

  Still, an uncertain dread pumped through her veins. Pulling away, she walked back to the bed and sat down. He joined her. “Has he revealed what he’s been planning all along?” she asked. “He’s been one step ahead every turn and I fear this may not be the end.”

  “We can talk later,” Michael said. “Right now, you need to eat. You must be famished.”

  She touched her stomach and nodded. “I’m a bit hungry.”

  “Good,” Michael said. A quick knock alerted them. “Speak of the devil. Come in
.”

  The door swung open and a servant walked in with a breakfast tray. Michael met her half way, took it from her, and politely excused her before putting it down on the bed next to Emma.

  Suddenly, her tummy did a somersault as she looked down at the tray of food Michael had placed before her; memories of their time at the inn rushing back to her: perfectly done eggs, bacon and toast. An overwhelming sense of gratitude washed over her with the realization that she could never love anyone more than she loved Michael.

  “I know how much you enjoyed the eggs the last time you had them at the Inn….” A soft cry shattered Emma’s exterior and her lips trembled. “What is wrong?” He reached out to touch her.

  “Nothing is wrong.” She wiped her cheek. “Everything just looks so delicious….”

  “You needn’t be afraid anymore,” he said softly.

  “It’s not that,” she confessed. “I am very thankful…,” she looked up at him, meeting his eyes. “For everything you’ve done.”

  “Anything for you,” he said, touching her reassuringly. “Now, dig in.”

  Emma picked up the fork and started to enjoy her breakfast. When she asked about Tomkin’s plan, he told her the whole story of what had transpired at Shaw’s estate. How Shaw had made a deal with the government to lessen the punishment for his crimes. They discovered Tomkin’s plan to assassinate Wellington and the Regent and make his escape while the country mourned, including the emperor’s plan to escape Elba. And, how Michael, Lord Blackthorn, and a few trusted agents had prevented the assassination by taking down the two assassins that had posed as two French diplomats before they arrived at the estate. She was entirely impressed by the story, she thought as she cleaned the plate.

  “Where is the emperor now?” she said putting down her fork. “I assume he will be moved.” With that, Michael’s expression churned and she knew the inevitable.

  Michael sighed. “Napoleon has escaped. He and his men are charging through the streets of Paris. Wellington’s men are preparing their attack as we speak.”