Sir Michael's Mayhem

by Susan M. Baganz

  Michael sat up straight, his eyes narrowed, and his fists clenched. His voice, when he spoke, was edged with steel even as he whispered to her. “You bested me. I admit it. I am grateful for your assistance, but I am well able to handle my own business. Without your interference. It was foolishness for you to be at that pub. You are a gently-bred woman. Your actions might have led to you being permanently compromised in the eyes of society if they ever discovered what happened,” he growled. He stood and began pacing, arms now folded tightly in front of his body as if in an attempt to keep from strangling her. He got close and bent to her ear. “And what if you’d failed? What if those men had attacked? By myself, I might have managed to escape with my life, but having to defend a woman as well, could have meant death to us both and the lives of thousands of servicemen currently at war.”

  “Our mission.”

  “My mission. You seem to be misguided in thinking you are a part of this or that I even need you. I do not. I will accept the code. I will do the work. The risk is mine alone to take.”

  “What makes you so special that no one else can participate in the risks you assume?” Katrina grew weary and heartbroken, but she wasn’t ready to surrender. Not yet.

  “I have no family. No heritage to live up to. A few friends who will survive without me as they establish their families. I can afford the risk.”

  Katrina saw an emptiness in his eyes, a loneliness that called out to her soul and stirred compassion in the midst of her anger and fear of losing him. Losing him? He was already lost to her. He was never mine to begin with.

  “I’m sorry, Michael. You are wrong. You minimize the grief your demise would cause simply to salve your conscience and give you freedom to take foolish risks. You are more loved and cared for than you realize.”

  “By whom, may I ask?” he hissed. “By my father who denied me his name or even the benefit of being born on the right side of the blanket? By my grandfather who cringed to look at me and is now gone to his noble reward? By my deceased mother who never recovered from the scandal of my birth and could barely look at me without shame for herself, who never really lived after I was born? Every person I touched in my life has suffered somehow.”

  “That’s a lie. Your family situation is unfortunate. But you have friends who would fight for you and care deeply for you.”

  “Maybe so, but they would move on with their lives not having to be concerned for me. And I wouldn’t need to watch them grow their families and regret that I possess nothing of value to offer a woman.”

  “You see your future as a short one?”

  “I pray it would be. I have no desire to live to an old age.”

  “No desire to sample the best of what love would offer you?” Katrina whispered.

  “Love? I am no great catch. I do not seek love. I have witnessed little of it.”

  “But what of Marcus and Josie, and Phillip and Beth?” She yawned and rose to stand, shaking out her robe to make sure her slippered feet were covered.

  “What of them? They are unique. Blessed by God in ways I cannot understand. But I do not deceive myself that I am worthy of a woman’s trust, adoration, or devotion. I would only destroy her in the long run.”

  She stood in the sunlit window, sorrow flowing off her in waves.

  “I’m sorry to rant, Mouse. You need rest. I will visit again soon.” He reached forward and put his hand under her chin, lifting her face and bringing his close to hers.

  Will he kiss me? She dared to hope as she closed her eyes in anticipation.

  “Stay out of trouble, please?” he whispered against her lips. His hand dropped and he moved away abruptly.

  She keenly rued the loss of his strength and the scent of horse and man. She sighed deeply as she opened her eyes. “I make no promises. I am not under your authority, Michael. You will do well to remember that. I have my own mission too, and you will not keep me from it, no matter how noble your motives are.”

  With that, Katrina rose and walked to the door to the bedroom, and addressed the maid with a voice that went above the whisper in which they had been speaking, “Penny, I’m going to rest. I am suddenly quite weary.”

  The maid rose to follow Katrina out of the room, shutting the door firmly behind her.

  5

  He’d been dismissed.

  Michael sighed and left Phillip’s home. Why did he feel he’d just lost something?

  Back in his rooms at the Savoy, he sat down at the desk, picked up his quill, and drew out some paper. He doodled while his mind worked through the problems ahead of him. How could he crack the code? Who knew he even possessed the document? In all his years he’d never been discovered. There’d been some close calls, but his secret identity had been secure. That was no longer the case. Would this be his last opportunity to serve his country as a spy?

  Life would have been easier had he stayed in the Horse Guards. He might not even be alive at this point, but that wasn’t much of a concern to him. His only purpose was fulfilling the next mission. Life held no pleasures for him anymore. Once Theo found a wife he would be the odd man out at any event with his friends. He didn’t want to be around for that. He didn’t begrudge them their happiness, but it would only highlight his lack of those same joys.

  The clouds moved in front of the sun casting the room into dark shadows that reflected his mood. His sketches illustrated the faces of one woman in various guises. Katrina. How had he overlooked her? Was he getting too old for this business? What else might he be missing? Was his enemy someone closer than he realized?

  He lifted the paper and glanced at the images in front of him. The mousy servant who spilled wine down his pants to get a message to him. He admitted it was clever and he’d wondered about that event until Mouse had told him about it today. The brazen blonde who kissed with such fiery passion. Katrina? This was the image hardest for him to reconcile with the mousy yet spirited little girl who tagged after a gang of boys out at Rose Hill when they came home on holidays. His heart beat wildly when he took in the image and remembered the warmth of her in his arms.

  Katrina? He should never feel that way about her. She was like a sister. Marcus would behead him if he ever found out—after marching his tortured corpse down the aisle with a Special License. Michael shook his head sadly. It had happened to Phillip, although that marriage seemed to be working out well for all involved.

  The final image of a young boy, hat pulled low, dirty face with a determined chin. How could he have thought those eyelashes were anything but feminine? And those lips. Again his mind strayed to heated kisses shared in the alley. Enough of this! He crumpled up the paper and rose to throw it in the fireplace, but before doing so he paused, un-crumpled the paper to view the fourth image. Katrina today, with curls framing her heart-shaped face and those large hazel eyes turned a stormy gray in her anger and stubbornness. Curves that somehow emerged in the years that had lain between their time apart. A woman now. Not a child. Cheekbones and not so rounded face. Perky nose and mischievous smile.

  A tinge of alarm skittered up his back. She would not be deterred from whatever her mission was. Could he accomplish what he needed to do and keep her safe as well? She wouldn’t obey orders. He took a deep breath, ripped the paper to shreds and let them fall into the flames and burn. He didn’t need the drawings to remember this woman. They were written on his heart—what little of it he still possessed.

  He walked back to the desk and sat down to go through the invitations and letters that Tristan left for him. His faithful servant was supervising setting the townhouse to rights with a small army of servants hired for the work. If the danger passed, he’d return home soon. The Savoy was a high-end hotel and the furnishings were luxuriously appointed, but it wasn’t home. But then, was anyplace?

  He owned few personal belongings that he really cared about. His trunk of memories was stored at Rose Hill for the nonce, and he wondered if he would ever reclaim it. What purpose would it serve when he was gone? He shr
ugged. It didn’t matter. He slapped the invitations down and opened the right-hand drawer. Inside was a book Marcus gave him a few years ago. He pulled it out and randomly opened it up to Romans chapter three to read.

  For what if some did not believe? Shall their unbelief make the faith of God without effect? God forbid: yea, let God be true, but every man a liar; as it is written, That thou mightest be justified in thy sayings, and mightest overcome when thou art judged. But if our unrighteousness commend the righteousness of God, what shall we say? Is God unrighteous who taketh vengeance? (I speak as a man) God forbid: for then how shall God judge the world? For if the truth of God hath more abounded through my lie unto his glory; why yet am I also judged as a sinner? And not rather, (as we be slanderously reported, and as some affirm that we say,) Let us do evil, that good may come? whose damnation is just. What then? are we better than they? No, in no wise: for we have before proved both Jews and Gentiles, that they are all under sin; As it is written, There is none righteous, no, not one…

  Michael leaned back. He never assumed he was righteous, but he always considered the cause he served was. But by whose standard? He believed in God, but not like Marcus and Phillip. Marcus never tried to coerce him to faith like some who were passionate about Jesus.

  He was a sinner, of that there was no doubt. He engaged in lies and deceit as part of his stock in trade. When had he grown so maudlin? What happened to the happy-go-lucky man whom the ton adored? Lately…lately a weight bore down on his soul and the stakes had been raised higher than ever before.

  While he didn’t sense imminent danger, Michael suspected this was a final mission. His end was coming and it would not be pretty. Did kissing a beautiful woman in the dark lead him to such melancholy thoughts? Tempted by what he couldn’t commit to, had he swung to ambiguity toward his own death? Maybe Katrina was right. Maybe he recklessly took risks that were propelling him to that end. Why would she care? And what was so important about her mission that she couldn’t share it with him? He was saddened at the thought that he was only a means to an end. Could not even Katrina have a little affection for him?

  He shook his head. He didn’t need her or anyone’s love or approval. He was self-sufficient. He flipped the Bible in front of him to the Old Testament and fell upon verses in Proverbs 7:

  He goeth after her straightway, as an ox goeth to the slaughter, or as a fool to the correction of the stocks; Till a dart strike through his liver; as a bird hasteth to the snare, and knoweth not that it is for his life. (Pro 7:22-23)

  Michael laughed out loud. Well, if God had a sense of humor He definitely spoke through this. Seeking affection from a woman was a sure way to death in this business. There was no room in his life for the distraction of Katrina or anyone else. He closed his eyes and the sensation of holding her in his arms in the alley assaulted him. He blinked and shook his head. Closing the book, he put it back in the drawer and rose. He might have work to do but first, he longed for some fresh air. He summoned a servant to ready his black stallion, Pepper, for a ride. He needed to clear his head of all his thoughts of sin, death, slaughter, and a young woman whose kisses haunted him.

  ~*~

  Traffic impeded his way through town to Hyde Park. It took all Michael’s skill to restrain his horse. Once they reached a more distant area of the park, he let Pepper have his head and they tore off over the turf as one. When the stallion had satisfied his need to run, Michael drew to a canter and made his way back through town to the hotel.

  After Michael rewarded his horse, he returned to his suite. Tristan remained absent. Instinct warned caution. Someone had been here. A maid perhaps? Michael did a thorough survey of the room and finally came back to the main sitting area. Someone had gone through the papers on his desk. While he made it no secret he was staying at this establishment, security was tight. How did anyone gain entrance? He was on the third floor. The windows were locked. Unlike previous attempts to find the papers, this search had been far more discreet. Was it the same person, or were others after the document?

  An hour later, Tristan entered the suite.

  “Sir Michael. I heard you had gone for a ride?”

  “I did, and returned an hour hence.”

  “Everything appears to be in order at the townhouse. All is cleaned up and the dead bodies are gone.” Tristan stood at attention.

  “At ease. We are no longer in the military. How long were you over there?”

  The man relaxed. “The past two hours or more. Why?”

  “Curious. I probably owe you extra pay for that job.”

  “Tis no matter, sir. How is the young lady?”

  Michael’s attention had wandered, but at this question he became alert. “Young lady?”

  “Yes, the one who was shot? Was she part of the group searching for the document?”

  “No, she was my contact last night. The message never got to her.”

  “That little girl was your contact?”

  Michael nodded. Far from a girl. “Did I ever tell you about how a young woman tagged along after my friends and me during our summer vacations at Rose Hill?”

  Tristan’s head bobbed up and down, his eyes beseeched Michael to continue.

  “She is one and the same as the woman who was shot last night.”

  “If you trained her, that would explain her skill with a knife and gun.”

  “If I were honest, Tris, she is superior to me in all areas. She is also an amazing archer, something I was never very skilled at. So if I ever ask you to put an apple on your head, run as far away as you can.”

  Tristan grinned but didn’t move.

  “Why are you standing there, Tris? It’s not like you to not be busy doing, well, something. Anything.”

  “Pardon me. I’ll tend to my work after I deliver your letters to your desk.” Tristan moved forward to cross the room. Michael stood and intercepted him.

  “Hand them here, I’ll peruse them now. I’m famished. Could you go to the kitchen and scare up some kind of food? I cannot recall when I last ate.” Michael sat in a leather chair near the fireplace and began to sort through the letters and invitations received.

  “I shall return with a meal.” Tristan departed the suite, closing the door quietly behind him.

  ~*~

  Michael wandered around the suite, searching for clues as he casually flipped through invitation after invitation, making a pile for further consideration and those that he would send regrets to. A few bills that needed to be paid. He would take care of those later. Someone had been here, though, but if it hadn’t been Tristan, then who? Tristan had no clue where the papers were hidden. He learned long ago that even with the best of partners, it was better to be cautious because the enemy might terrorize people closest to him. The less they knew, the safer they were. It bugged Tristan that he refused to share such information with him, but it was for his own good. If Michael were to die, the document would remain safely hidden, although that would also mean that it would also remain undecoded. He had already taken care of that eventuality as well, and only one other person possessed the information. Again, a closely guarded secret.

  Michael slumped into a chair, throwing the rest of the cards on the table next to him. Weariness seeped into his bones. All the secrets, the lies, the loneliness. They grew heavy. He’d seen many friends sacrifice their lives over the years. The grief he could never express or release due to the urgency of the work at hand. The grisly deaths he had seen and participated in, all for the sake of a cause, left scars on his soul that never fully healed. Every new death, every valiant life wasted, every son whose blood was shed because he had not done his job well, rested as boulders on his soul.

  Michael rubbed his hand over his face from forehead to chin and left it to rest there. Finish the mission. Get it over with. Resign. But then what? Retire to the country? Find some nice little estate and become a farmer? Grow old in London, dancing with beautiful women who enjoyed his company but would never take his name? Life was we
arisome.

  He remembered Marcus telling him something about King Solomon at one time, and how he wrote about the vanity of life, how futile it was. His own experience echoed that. Michael shook his head. That ride through the park obviously didn’t do enough to clear his head. He leaned back against the chair and closed his eyes briefly.

  She walked into the room and he glanced over to her. A diaphanous robe emphasized her figure and hinted at wonders yet to be revealed. His mouth watered. She smiled at him. That sensuous smile spoke of secret delights. A smile that was for him and him alone. Her gown was a virginal white and her hair was down, a satiny brown curtain flowing with glimmers from fading light coming in through the windows. He couldn’t move, so he waited for her to approach.

  “Michael,” that soft musical voice spoke his name with reverence and he experienced a sense of awe that she would be here. He licked his lips but words failed him. His mouth grew dry. Her hips swayed as she walked closer and he caught a glimpse of her feet peeking from beneath the gown. There was no hesitation in her steps but she took forever to get to him. He watched and waited, his breath stolen from him. Had he ever seen someone so beautiful? A delightful blush rose up in her cheeks and he grinned in appreciation. She reached for him with her right hand.

  The door to the outside hallway opened with a click, followed by a clatter as Tristan came in with a tray containing his evening meal.

  Michael startled. His eyes flashed from the door to the room around him. There was no woman present. He sat up and leaned forward, burying his face in his hands as he slowed his heartbeat. She wasn’t real. But he wanted her to be. What was happening? Why couldn’t he move forward without thinking of Katrina? It was her he’d envisioned.

  “Sir?” Tristan asked cautiously as he brought the food to place on the table nearby.

  “Thank you, Tris. I’m just tired.”

  “Will there be anything else? This was my night off.”