“The Savoy? Have we risen up in the world, Tristan? I’m not saying I cannot afford such luxury, but the Savoy?”
“Taking the papers, you would have extra security. It would be harder for them to find you. I doubt my ability to keep you safe here given the stakes and the perseverance of our enemy.” With that, Tristan returned to a crouch to clean up more broken pieces of china.
Michael pushed away from the wall and crouched down next to his servant. “It will be as you wish. How soon can you make ready?”
Tristan glanced to the side to meet Michael’s eyes. “I could have your most important items out within the hour. If anyone is watching the house they will be none the wiser.”
“That sounds reasonable. I will meet you there in a little while. Hire a maid to come and put this all to rights tomorrow.”
Tristan nodded, and both men rose to their feet. The servant left the room, and Sir Tidley gained access to his study. Reaching his desk that so recently had been searched, a surge of anger coursed through him. Somehow his secret had been compromised. Someone searched for the document for now, but how long before they came after him? The previous evening had been a wake-up call. He scribbled off a note to Lord Hughes to pass information to Mouse regarding the change of location for the meeting.
He grinned. How would this Mouse gain entrance to his rooms at the Savoy? He almost relished seeing how she would get past all the security there. And yet, he anticipated spending time with the blonde who haunted his dreams last night with her breathtaking kisses. Michael licked his lips. Lord Hughes was wrong, the Mouse was far from a lady and while he was a gentleman with a task to accomplish, he didn’t understand why he couldn’t enjoy himself a little.
~*~
Michael fell asleep in a comfortable chair in front of a warm fireplace in his luxuriously appointed suite at the Savoy with Fidget curled up on his lap. He waited for Mouse to come and the papers were secure. He sent Tristan out to guard the townhouse again, and discover if there were any further attempts at a break in. He almost hoped there was, as it would justify the expense of his temporary digs.
Tristan burst into the room at quarter past one. His reddish hair was mussed and the man was out of breath.
“Tris, what happened?” Michael yawned as he rose and shook his head to clear the sleep from his brain. Fidget jumped to the floor, bared his teeth, and clicked at Michael before stalking off to the bedroom to find a more secure nest. Michael glanced at the clock. “Mouse never showed up.”
Tristan was bent over with his hands on his knees, gasping for air, but raised his head. “You were broken into again. Several men. A huge fight broke out. Came as fast as I could.”
“After you catch your breath, we will go survey the damage.” Michael went to change into clothes more suited for an evening that held the possibility of dirty work, and the two men departed. Michael hailed a hackney, and they arrived a block away from the townhouse, alighted and reached the home through the alley and garden. Surprisingly, the back door was secure. Michael opened it with a key, and they stealthily entered using only the moonlight illuminating through the windows to guide them.
Gaining the study, Michael cautiously peered in to find three bodies scattered about in odd positions. One had been knifed, but still lived. Tristan tied him up. The other two were dead. No information would be obtained through them. They slowly moved through other rooms on the ground floor before taking the steps to the next level.
The master bedroom door was ajar. Michael cautiously approached. This would be the first time the intruders invaded his personal space. Two more men lay dead. One shot and one with a judiciously applied short knife. A third was underneath the knifed man, but unconscious. Working together they removed the dead body. Michael motioned to Tristan to pick up the smaller man to take him downstairs. The man had suffered a gunshot wound to the left shoulder. Hopefully, he would live to be interrogated.
Michael surveyed the damage to his room and followed Tristan down the stairs. The injured man was placed on the couch. Michael motioned to him as he spoke to Tristan. “Check out that wound.”
Tristan peeled off the dirty brown coat and suddenly stopped. “Sir?”
“What is it, Tris?”
“The gent here.”
“Yes?”
“Isn’t a gent.”
“Excuse me?”
“’Tis a woman, sir.”
Michael rushed over to the divan and glanced down at the individual lying there. The coat had been pulled halfway off, but there were definitely the curves of a woman showing against the white shirt that was exposed. Blood saturated the shoulder area. Michael knelt down next to the furniture and placed a hand up to the face. Smooth skin, smudged with dirt. He tugged the hat off the head. Brown hair pulled back but starting to escape the confines of the pins loosened from the hat being removed and the struggle she had undergone. He glanced back to the face. Who was she? This was no mere burglar. He was sure of it. He carefully searched all the pockets. Nothing. Michael checked for a pulse. It was weak.
Slowly the trussed-up man became conscious. He moaned and weakly struggled against the ropes that bound him to the chair. Tristan went over to check on him. The young woman’s wound still bled. Michael removed the loose cravat and pressed it against her shoulder, applying gentle pressure to staunch the flow. His mind raced through his options. He couldn’t take her back to the Savoy but obviously, she needed immediate medical attention. He didn’t dare strip her here, but if the clothing were not removed soon, it would be plastered to the wound fostering infection. Where could he take her and not arouse suspicion? Lord Hughes was also a single gentleman, having been recently widowed. Not a good option.
Tristan appeared by his side, glancing down at the girl. “The man won’t give his contact. He was hired by a middle man. He said that this—person—surprised them and fought them all. She is not a part of their group, and they had no idea where she came from or why she was here. It appears she was a fierce little warrior.”
There was admiration in his valet’s voice. Was this Mouse? Perhaps the message failed to reach her about the changed location? Michael ran a hand over his face in frustration. Lord Hughes would flog him if anything happened to this agent. He glanced again at her pale face, the perfect eyebrows, and the long lashes fanning her cheeks. Lips that would appear better formed into a smile. It wasn’t an extraordinary face. It was, however, perfect and heart-shaped and he wondered who this master of disguise was. He reached over and opened up one eye that stared blankly at him. Hazel. Her eyes were hazel. Well, at least he’d satisfied his curiosity about that.
Lord Westcombe and his bride were in town. Beth would make sure Mouse was safe, wouldn’t she? There weren’t many other choices. “Call a hackney, Tris. We need to get her to the Westcombes’s.”
Tristan betrayed no surprise and immediately left the room. Michael took some extra rope, and tied the cravat around the shoulder and under the arm to hold it in place. He gently put his arms under her neck and knees and lifted her. She was surprisingly slight. She gave a soft moan of pain at being moved.
“You’s ain’t leavin’ me?” the tied-up man asked.
Michael stopped and glanced back. “Someone will return to take care of you.” He made his way out the door and down the steps of the townhouse to the waiting carriage and with Tristan’s help, entered, still holding the young woman in his arms.
Tristan gave directions to the Westcombe house and climbed in.
Arriving at the darkened residence, Tristan went to the door and banged loud as Michael stood behind him holding the injured woman. Soon the butler was there and Tristan and Sir Michael were escorted into the foyer.
“A room, my good man. There is an injured woman here. Tris, go fetch a doctor please.” Michael began to make his way up the stairs with his armful and made his way to the room he used when he visited. The butler followed after him, in his night rail, quite flustered. Michael entered the room and lay his c
harge on the large canopied bed.
“Michael, by all that is holy, what are you doing here at this hour?” Phillip rushed into the room tying a robe around himself.
“I cannot fully explain right now, but I have an injured woman here. I’m obligated to provide care. Tris has fetched a doctor. She’s been shot. The bullet needs to come out.”
Phillip came up to the bed.
The woman’s hair was completely loose now. Her tresses fanned across the pillow to one side and flowed down the side of the bed.
“Kat?” Phillip whispered.
“What?” How could Phillip be aware of his code name?
“Miss Katrina Shepherd. How did she end up getting shot, Michael? Marcus will have your hide for this. I would not want to be in your shoes.” Phillip patted Michael on the shoulder. “I’ll get Beth. With the baby, she doesn’t get much sleep anyway. You’ll need her.” With that, he left the room.
Michael stared down at the woman lying unconscious before him. He stared hard at her features. Kat? Could it really be her? How? He reached for her left hand. There was a scar there from pinky to wrist from a fall she took from a tree when they were younger. He reached up and pulled her hair back so he could see behind her right ear. Birthmark. Phillip was right. It was Miss Katrina Shepherd. If she also happened to be Mouse, he was in trouble from every angle.
Beth rushed into the room with a purple robe flowing around her tall, lithe body and soft red hair flowing down her back. “Michael! Phillip says you brought us an injured young woman?”
Michael reached out to grab Beth’s hands and planted a kiss on her cheek. “I did. I couldn’t think of where else to take her where she could get the care she needed and preserve her reputation.”
“You did the right thing. Phillip said her name was Katrina.” Beth gently pushed Michael aside to untie the rope and peel back the cravat. “Oh. My. Michael, you need to leave. I will take care of getting these clothes off her so the doctor can extract that bullet. I believe Phillip will meet you in the study downstairs.” She glanced over at him. He was a few inches shorter than her. “Don’t worry. I will take good care of her.”
Michael nodded and looked again at the woman in the bed. Kat was Mouse. A childhood playmate and cousin to Viscount Remington. He was in deep trouble. What else could he expect when a woman was involved? He nodded to Beth. “Thank you.” He left to find Phillip.
3
A fire blazed in the library by the time Michael reached it. Phillip had changed clothes, but his hair was still mussed up. Marriage had changed his fastidious friend. Before that, one would never catch his friend with a hair out of place. He blushed as he remembered that his friend was a married man. Maybe he’d come at an inconvenient time?
“What were you thinking, Michael? Katrina? I know she’s pluck to the backbone and was always getting into trouble, but I thought Marcus said she was staying with a relative?”
Michael went to the sideboard, poured a brandy, and took a sip. What excuse did he have? How could he have been so blind? Katrina had been a burr in his saddle since he was a young man. Following the boys everywhere, constantly getting into trouble that he usually needed to rescue her from. And gazing at him with those adoring eyes. Calf love. He resented that as a university graduate full of himself, but he would never have wanted her hurt.
“Michael?”
“I didn’t realize it was her, Phillip. Until you said it, I didn’t recognize her. I don’t know how she came to be in this situation.” Well, at least that much was true. Until he spoke with Lord Hughes. He assumed that estimable man knew what was going on. Michael’d been tricked and was not happy about the surprise.
“Can you tell me what you do know?” Phillip asked quietly.
“Not really.”
“Are you in trouble, Michael?”
“Possibly.”
“I would help you if I could.”
“I’m not sure that will be possible.”
“You keep your own counsel. You always have. I often suspected there is much you withhold from your friends.”
Michael’s eyes grew wide.
“All right, so maybe I got it right this time. Whatever you are involved in, I will do what I can to assist you. I suppose we need to send a message to Marcus in the morning. He was due to arrive in a few weeks anyway. He may want to come sooner.”
“I would rather we didn’t,” Michael said as he walked over to the window to stare out at the dark early morning. It was close to three now.
“We can’t wait too long. Marcus takes his responsibilities as head of his family seriously. He would be displeased to find Miss Shepherd in such a state.” Phillip went to the sideboard, poured a drink, and took a sip.
“Do you think this doesn’t bother me? What was she doing in London anyway? Why wasn’t she home?” There was something missing that he ought to know but couldn’t put his finger on.
“You don’t remember? Her father died under suspicious circumstances around a year ago.”
“Wasn’t it ruled an accidental death?” Michael asked.
“Was it murder or suicide? His name was smeared and tarnished with unanswered questions. Marcus reported that Katrina was devastated to lose her father, which is only natural but she also vehemently defended him. There were whispers he was a traitor to the crown.”
“Impossible. Mr. Shepherd was an outstanding man. I cannot picture him as a traitor.”
“Nor could most who truly knew him, but rumors take on a life of their own.”
“Miss Shepherd must have been doubly devastated.”
“She was. If I remember correctly, Marcus invited her to live at Rose Hill, promising her a season. Her father’s ill health the past few years kept her by his side, and she is no longer as young as most debutantes.”
“I’m assuming she refused. She always was a stubborn little thing.” Michael grinned as memories of a younger girl standing up to him and throwing down challenges came to his mind. “I haven’t seen her in probably seven years, Phillip. When did she grow into a lady? I truly didn’t recognize her.” Michael sipped his drink as he watched his friend. He let the warmth settle in his mouth before swallowing, closing his eyes as he savored the heat moving down through his chest.
“Be honest, Michael. She always favored you. I was always a bit jealous. She was such a spirited little thing and tried so hard to fit in with our gang. But it was you she trailed after. I even wondered at one time if she would have ended up being a good wife for you someday.”
Michael set his glass down with a bang. “Recant that.”
Phillip chuckled. “Or what? Will you pummel me in my own home because an injured young woman threatens your bachelor status in my imagination?”
“No. I’ve no need of a wife. I remember her following me around like a puppy dog. A cute, friendly pet.”
“What did you always call her?”
“Mouse.”
“That’s right! You nicknamed her mouse because she would be so quiet and sneak up on you, but when you caught her she would squeak.”
Michael smiled at the memory. Mouse. Why didn’t he make the connection? How dense was he? He obviously was not on top of his game anymore. Maybe after this case, he would retire from the espionage business. He was weary of the intrigue anyway. With any luck, he would die doing his job and not need to deal with the loneliness of the future stretching before him. If it happened before Marcus got a hold of him, all the better.
“Phillip, can we keep this silent for now? I need to find out how Katrina got where she was. I need more information before we contact Marcus.”
“But someone will surely be worried about her.”
Michael sighed and set his glass down. “I need to investigate. I will return shortly to see how she fares.”
“I’ll have a room made up for you.”
“Thanks, Phillip, but that is not necessary. I’ve rooms at the Savoy for the night. I will return in a little while.”
~*~
Michael gained entrance to the grand mansion that was home to Lord Hughes. Part of it was a challenge. Could he break in? He’d suffered a terrible shock and Lord Hughes deserved a return favor for the prank he pulled on him. Cat and mouse game? He would put an end to that.
Michael sneaked up the stairs and entered the private master suite. Lord Hughes slept on his stomach under the covers of a massive oak bed with intricate carvings. Michael got close to the bed and pressed sharp cold metal against the flesh of Lord Hughes’s neck.
“Who are you and what do you want?” the man in bed whispered.
“I would like some answers, my lord.” Michael removed and sheathed the knife and went to light some candles from the embers of the fireplace.
Lord Hughes arose and found his robe. “Sir Tidley. To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?” The polite words were edged with steel.
“Miss Katrina Shepherd was shot tonight,” Michael said baldly.
Lord Hughes blanched and fell into the chair close to him. “What happened?’
“I would like the answer myself, but she is not conscious to tell me. She obviously did not get my note of a change of location for our meeting and arrived at my home while it was again being pillaged by our enemy. It appears she fought skillfully, leaving three dead and one injured, but unable to tell us about who sent them.”
“You said she was shot?”
“In the shoulder. She is at Lord Westcombe’s being attended to by the lady of the house, and a doctor has been summoned. She has not awakened.”
“How did you learn it was her? She was certain she would be able to pull this off with you none the wiser.”
“She might have succeeded if I hadn’t taken her to Westcombe. It was Phillip who recognized her. When I checked for a distinctive scar and birthmark, I was able to confirm his identification of our patient was correct.” Michael stepped forward, and put his hands on the arms of the chair where Lord Hughes sat, getting into his face. “What were you thinking, to let her get involved in this mess? Lord Remington will have our heads,” he hissed.
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