Nowhere Near Respectable

by Mary J. Putney

  Kirkland’s expression shuttered. “Yes, but I did manage to learn a few things from him before he died.”

  Kiri wondered queasily if the second man might still be alive if Kirkland hadn’t needed to get information from him. But she didn’t really want to know. Tonight had made it clear that her brother’s charming friend had a ruthless streak. If his questioning had hastened the kidnapper’s end, well, the man had surely deserved it.

  Kirkland lifted a knife from the floor. “This was in his arm. Yours?”

  She nodded. “I took it from a smuggler and brought it tonight in case a weapon might be needed. I didn’t really expect trouble, though.”

  Kirkland wiped the blade carefully on the dead man’s coat, then offered her the knife hilt-first. “It’s a good weapon.”

  She regarded it uncertainly. “He didn’t die of my stab wound, did he?”

  “No,” he said reassuringly. “But you slowed him down and evened the odds. Even if you don’t wish to carry the knife again, you should keep it as a memento of your bravery. Without you, Princess Charlotte would have vanished without a trace.”

  “But why?” Kiri accepted the knife, which looked mercifully clean, though she’d boil it in a kettle before she carried it in the future. She pulled up her sleeve so she could return the knife to the sheath on her arm.

  The exit door a few feet away opened and Mackenzie reentered the building. He looked tired and exasperated, but his expression changed when he saw her bared arm. “The evening has just taken a turn for the better.”

  Blushing but not displeased, she slid the knife into the sheath and pulled down the loose sleeve. “The villains escaped?”

  He frowned and rubbed at his left forearm. “They had a coach waiting. One big enough for all five men and the girl as well if they’d been successful. I almost captured one, but all three turned on me and it was too much.”

  Kirkland rose, his expression grave. “The girl they were trying to kidnap is Princess Charlotte.”

  Mackenzie stared. “The Princess Charlotte? The prince regent’s daughter?”

  Kirkland nodded. “The very one. And steady now, Mac. Your arm is bleeding.”

  Mackenzie stared at the dripping blood. “It’s . . . nothing.” He swallowed hard. “Just a scratch.”

  Then he crashed unconscious to the floor.

  Chapter 14

  “Mackenzie!” Lady Kiri’s rich, musical voice. Swift footsteps. Lilacs and spice, the rustle of fabric as she knelt beside him. “He’s been injured!”

  As Mac’s wits emerged from dizzy darkness, he wondered wryly if there was anything worse for male vanity than passing out cold at the sight of his own blood in front of a pretty girl he wanted to impress.

  He pushed the humiliation aside. There would be time for that later. He was so weak he couldn’t open his eyes, much less climb up from the cold floor where he sprawled. But he could hear and smell. The ability to speak would return soon.

  “The injury probably isn’t serious.” That was Kirkland, calm as usual, though with a thread of worry in his voice. He knelt on Mac’s other side and performed an examination with competent hands.

  After a minute or two of poking and prodding, Kirkland said, “His arm was slashed, but that’s all, I think.” He improvised a bandage and began wrapping Mac’s limp left arm. “Mackenzie has always reacted badly to seeing his blood spilled.”

  Lady Kiri was going to laugh, Mac was sure of it. He wished he was completely unconscious so he wouldn’t have to hear.

  Instead, she said thoughtfully, “An army surgeon in India once told me that fainting at the sight of blood isn’t that uncommon. Often it’s the biggest, strongest men who go down.” A smooth hand rested on his forehead.

  Mac attempted speech and managed a raspy whisper. “What a comforting thought.” With effort, he was able to open his eyes. Kiri removed her hand but she still leaned over him, her lovely face concerned but not panicky. Just the right amount of concern. Female hysterics would have been too much.

  Female . . . Princess Charlotte . . . Good God! He struggled to a sitting position. “The royal princess was here and almost kidnapped? Is she unharmed?”

  “She’s fine. In a few minutes Lady Kiri and Miss Clarke-Townsend will escort her back to Warwick House,” Kirkland said. “They’ll use the anonymous Ashton carriage they arrived in. A couple of house guards will go along.”

  Mac rubbed his forehead, trying to put the pieces together. “Damnation. Now that I know whom they were trying to kidnap, it makes sense,” he muttered. “The French were behind this, and they’ll try again.”

  Kirkland became very still. “That confirms what I learned from one of the men here before he died.”

  Driven by urgency, Mac got to his feet, bracing his hand on the wall as he tried to figure out what needed to be done. His gaze went to the two bodies lying on the floor. One was a big, brawny fellow, the other shorter and slighter in build. Both were expensively dressed in black evening wear.

  Voices sounded in the main corridor. Kiri lifted her head. “Sarah has arrived at the office. She and I will take the princess home now.”

  “Wait!” Mac frowned as he considered a plan. “Surely Miss Clarke-Townsend is a sufficient chaperone? Please stay so we can talk, Lady Kiri. We’ll make sure you get home safely.” His gaze went to the fallen men. “And . . . don’t mention me. As far as you know, I’m still pursuing the kidnappers through the night.”

  Kirkland regarded him thoughtfully. “What do you have in mind?”

  “Maybe nothing, but I won’t know until we’ve talked.” After the others left, Mac scowled at the bodies of the dead men and wondered if his plan was necessary. He hoped not—but he had a bad feeling about the night’s events.

  When Kiri reached the office, she found Charlotte describing the kidnapping attempt to Sarah, who listened with horrified fascination. Now that the danger had passed and Charlotte was safe and the beneficiary of two stiff brandies, she was enjoying herself. This was probably the most excitement she’d ever had. Kiri hoped the princess hadn’t had so much fun that she eluded her guardians again in the future.

  When she entered the room, Kiri said, “Your Highness, it’s time to return you home, before your absence is noted. Sarah, will you escort her? Lord Kirkland and I have some business to discuss.”

  Sarah got to her feet and offered Kirkland her hand. Like Kiri, she’d seen him regularly at Ashton House. “I shouldn’t leave without Kiri, Lord Kirkland.”

  “I will personally return her to Ashton House,” Kirkland promised.

  When Sarah glanced at her, Kiri said, “I’ll be fine. You take the princess home.”

  “Very well,” Sarah said doubtfully. “But come to my room and let me know you’re back, no matter how late it is.”

  “I will.” Kiri curtsied to Princess Charlotte. “I hope we have the opportunity to meet again, Your Highness.”

  Charlotte looked wistful. “They can’t keep me caged forever. I shall look forward to the day when we meet publicly, Lady Kiri.”

  The princess and Sarah left, followed by the two capable-looking guards who had located Sarah and the carriage. When they were gone, Kiri asked Kirkland, “Do you have any idea what Mr. Mackenzie might intend?”

  “I could hazard a guess, but better to wait and see what he has to say.” Kirkland headed for the door. “I’ll tell him he can come to the office without being seen.”

  After he left, Kiri sank wearily into a chair. She’d acquired bumps and bruises while fighting with the kidnappers, and she was starting to feel them.

  When the two men entered the office. Mackenzie looked more serious than she would have thought possible, while Kirkland was downright grim. She opened the cabinet again. “Brandy for both? Or something different?”

  “I’ll take some Scotch whiskey,” Mackenzie said. “Kirkland can absorb endless amounts of brandy.”

  When Kiri glanced at Kirkland, he smiled faintly. “I’m not denying it.”
>
  Kiri poured whiskey for Mackenzie, brandy for Kirkland, and claret for herself because it wouldn’t be wise for her to drink more spirits. When they were all seated, she asked, “Why do you both look so fierce even though the kidnapping was prevented? And why did you wish to talk with me, Mr. Mackenzie?”

  “We need to know more, Lady Kiri,” he replied. “You were closest to the kidnappers. Can you describe them?”

  She frowned as she tried to remember. “It happened so quickly and they were all masked. The leader was fairly tall, with light brown hair that was receding a little. He struck me as a gentleman and perhaps a bit of a dandy.”

  Mackenzie nodded. “There was something about the way he moved that was familiar. He’s probably been in Damian’s before. Did you notice anything else?”

  “He wore a cologne made by Les Heures, a very expensive shop in St. James,” Kiri replied. “It’s called Alejandro. Perfumes change on the body as they’re worn, and I’d probably recognize his scent if we meet again.”

  The men stared at her. “You can do that?” Mackenzie asked.

  She nodded. “It’s not impossible that the cologne would react in the same way on a different man, but Alejandro costs the earth, so it’s not common. With few wearers, it’s unlikely the cologne would change in exactly the same way on anyone else.”

  Since the men still looked dubious, she rose and moved next to Kirkland. “Your scent is Imperial water and brandy and secrets.” She looked into his startled eyes. “The Imperial water has shifted to emphasize the cloves in the blend.”

  He stared at her. “What do secrets smell like?”

  “Dark. Deep. Like the bottom of the sea where strange things lurk.” She smiled. “Imperial water contributes to that lighthearted-gentleman image you like the world to see. One’s superficial scent can change from hour to hour or even moment to moment, but there is an individual essence that is always there, as distinctive as one’s voice.”

  “You are unnerving, Lady Kiri,” he said, his eyes narrowing.

  “Kirkland is already considering how he can use your ability,” Mackenzie said.

  She laughed as she turned to Mackenzie. His individual scent she knew intimately, and she’d recognize it anywhere. But for the sake of her demonstration, she kept to what was easily described. “I smell a whiff of rosemary—from soap, I think.” Their gazes locked. She was mesmerized by his multicolored eyes. The blue eye looked more blue-gray tonight. “You are rosemary, blood, whiskey, and trouble.”

  “I didn’t know trouble had a scent,” he said uneasily.

  “It smells like hot spices that intrigue the nose but sear the tongue.”

  “I have no idea what that means.” He drew a deep breath, breaking the connection between them. “Of course, trouble is my middle name.”

  “That’s not a joke,” Kirkland added. “Damian T. Mackenzie. Trouble really is his middle name.”

  Kiri blinked. “How very prescient of your parents.”

  Mackenzie ignored that. “What can you tell of the other kidnappers?”

  She returned to her chair and closed her eyes while she thought. “One was dark-haired and smelled . . . French? A lover of garlic who wore Hungary water. The other one was very solid, like a boxer. He smelled like a working man not overfond of bathing.” Opening her eyes, she said, “I’m sorry I can’t think of more. Perhaps I’ll remember something later. What did you gentlemen learn?”

  “The solid working man fought like a professional boxer,” Mackenzie said. “Stronger with his left fist than the right. I’ll recognize his style if I see it again.”

  “The man I shot in the face might also have been a boxer,” Kirkland said. “There was something familiar about the way he moved. I’ll try to remember his name. Anything else?”

  “When I chased the other three outside, they talked among each other in French,” Mackenzie replied. “The kidnapping attempt wasn’t random. It’s part of a far-reaching plot, though I don’t know any of the details. But they intend to try again.”

  “What could the French want with a sixteen-year-old girl?” Kiri asked.

  “To some extent this is guesswork,” Kirkland replied, his brow furrowed. “But between what Mac heard and the information the wounded kidnapper told me before he died, it appears that these plotters hope that if the French take Princess Charlotte hostage, Britain might become willing to make peace with France to ensure her safe return.”

  Kiri choked on her claret. “Surely they don’t think we’d surrender!”

  “Not surrender. Make peace,” Kirkland said. “Napoleon’s troops have taken a beating on the Peninsula this year. About three years ago, he would have welcomed peace. He had secret talks with our prime minister, though they came to naught.”

  “So Napoleon might welcome a treaty where Britain would cease hostilities in return for a complete French withdrawal from Spain and Portugal,” Mackenzie said thoughtfully. “Naturally, France would retain its other conquered territories.”

  “In other words, keeping much of Europe.” Kiri shook her head. “I can’t believe Napoleon is stupid enough to think this will work. Even assuming Britain agreed, I’m sure France’s other enemies won’t tamely accept French conquests.”

  “No, but Britain has been the most consistent and successful of Napoleon’s opponents,” Kirkland said. “With us out of the equation, the emperor would be in a better position to bargain or battle with his other foes.”

  “The plot might not come from Bonaparte himself.” Mackenzie stared broodingly into his whiskey. “Assassination doesn’t seem his style. My guess is that an ambitious underling hopes to bring off a coup to improve his own position.”

  “Is there any chance that capturing the princess would work?” Kiri asked. “Charlotte is very popular with the public. With the king and the prince regent both in poor health, she could inherit the throne at any time.”

  “Many people don’t support the war, but the government is committed to defeating Napoleon,” Kirkland said slowly. “Even if the concept is foolish, the plotters were serious and they seemed well prepared. They might succeed next time.”

  “Or accidentally get the princess killed in the process,” Mackenzie said.

  Kiri shuddered at the thought of such a fate for that eager, tragic young girl. “She must be protected.”

  “The princess’s residence, Warwick House, is not secure,” Kirkland said. “Plus, the plotters must have an informant inside her own household. That person might have given Princess Charlotte the idea of attending the masquerade at Damian’s. At the least, the kidnappers were notified when she slipped out to come to the club tonight, and what color domino she’d be wearing.”

  “There’s a good chance that someone here at Damian’s was also in league with them,” Mackenzie said, his eyes cold. “Not only did the kidnappers avoid the security guards, but they knew their way around the building as no outsider could. That’s how they came so close to succeeding.”

  Kiri caught her breath. “So you don’t know whom to trust. If there’s a traitor in the princess’s household, he might be able to let kidnappers into Warwick House itself.”

  Kirkland nodded. “She will have to move to a safer place. Probably Windsor Castle, with the king and queen and her aunts. She doesn’t like staying there, but it’s much better protected than Warwick House.”

  Kiri absently pulled her dagger from the arm sheath, turning it restlessly as she thought. Not looking up, she said, “I suspect that the two of you are engaged in secret matters. Such as spying?”

  Kirkland said repressively, “Some matters are best not discussed.”

  Mackenzie shook his head. “Better to tell Lady Kiri more and satisfy her curiosity, or she might tumble into trouble trying to learn more.”

  “You’re very perceptive,” Kiri said wryly. “My curiosity has indeed been roused, and it’s a dangerous quality.”

  Bowing to the inevitable, Kirkland said, “As you know, I have a large merchant
fleet. Over the years, my ships began to carry information as well as goods. I have become something of a specialist in transmitting and interpreting military intelligence.”

  Mackenzie took over. “He does the serious work. I’m only a courier. One reason we started Damian’s was to give me an excuse to deal with smugglers who make regular trips to France. That allows messages to move between Kirkland and British agents on the Continent. I picked up a message the night I met you.”

  “Mackenzie underrates his value,” Kirkland said. “Not only did he devise the smuggler route for passing messages, but he’s made Damian’s such a fashionable club that diplomats and government officials are regular customers. Sometimes they say more than they should when under the influence of drink and gambling fever.”

  “And the genial host is always moving around the club, addressing problems, listening, and perhaps hearing useful information,” Kiri said, amused. “Take care, Mr. Mackenzie. If your activities become known, people might consider you a hero instead of a mere charming rogue.”

  He looked embarrassed. “I’m not sure which is worse.”

  As Kiri started to return the dagger to its sheath, Mackenzie said, “That’s the dagger you took from one of the smugglers, isn’t it? Now that I see it more clearly, the design reminds me of another I saw once. May I?”

  Kiri handed the weapon to him hilt-first. “This little toy is as pretty as it is dangerous. It might be Turkish, but that’s only a guess.”

  Mac studied the elaborately chased hilt. Then he took the knife in both hands and twisted hard. When nothing happened, he twisted in the opposite direction, and the hilt separated into two pieces along what had looked like a decorative line. Inside was a cavity containing a tightly rolled piece of paper.

  Kiri gasped. “I had no idea there was a secret chamber!”

  Mackenzie unrolled the paper and scanned the tiny script. “This looks like a French code. What do you think, Kirkland?”