Sir Michael's Mayhem Page 9

  “My dear wife, please allow Mrs. Finch to escort you to your room to refresh yourself. I look forward to your company in our private dining room for a repast that is already being set out for us.” Michael winked at her.

  “Thank you, my dear.” She gave him a solemn nod and headed off after the rather rotund body of Mrs. Finch.

  “What a horrible thing spring weather can be, Mrs. Tidley. But we are right glad that you have deigned to spend the night with us. We hope to make you most comfortable. I can send a maid up to assist you with changing your gown if you desire?” The landlady was eager to please with her bright eyes, rosy cheeks, and rapid speech.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Finch.” Katrina took in the humble room with the large four poster bed, fireplace, and screen for dressing. “My husband spoke of a suite of rooms?”

  “Due to the storm, we only had this available. Although for newlyweds that shouldn’t be too much of a problem?” Mrs. Finch gave a giggle and a wink. “Will there be anything else, ye be needin’?”

  “No. Thank you, Mrs. Finch.” Katrina walked the lady to the door and shot the bolt home as she leaned against it and closed her eyes.

  Michael had spared her the humiliation she expected. And the room was much nicer than she anticipated. She pushed herself away from the door, untied her cloak, and hung it on the coat rack. Untying her bonnet, she shook off the snow, and hung that as well. She untied her half boots and dug in her bag for a pair of slippers to wear instead. Her toes felt so cold she hoped Michael wouldn’t mind her warming them by the fire downstairs. She laughed at how improper she had become. Taking care of her needs and freshening up her hair as best she could with one hand, she grabbed a shawl and her father’s book, and headed down the stairs to the private room where her false bridegroom awaited her.

  Oh, how she wished they were not pretending.

  ~*~

  Michael watched Katrina go upstairs with the landlady. He’d ridden Pepper hard. Lady Orion’s coachman followed through on Michael’s instructions, although the weather definitely made the decision to stop seem less suspicious. Michael had stopped twice on the journey to cast up his accounts by the side of the road. He shivered even in his greatcoat and headed to the private parlor to stand by the fireplace, placing his hand on the mantle to steady himself.

  They needed to finish working on the document. Tonight. There was no more time. He was growing sicker and weaker. He would not be able to get this done later. Sweat beaded up on his forehead even as he shivered in front of the fire. The wind howled outside and a flash of fear jolted him. He closed his eyes tight, fighting the sense of losing control. A wave of dizziness crashed into him as he fought against the darkness that threatened. I’m dying.

  Fidget ran in circles making a clicking sound.

  That was the last thing Michael remembered.

  ~*~

  Katrina entered the private parlor expecting Michael to be waiting for her with a sly grin on his face. She was fully prepared to deliver a good set down and make sure he understood that business would be all that would be done this night. All thoughts of their task fled when she entered the empty room. She closed the door behind her and reached for her knife hidden in a side pocket of her gown. The room was wreathed in shadows and the curtains were drawn against the stormy night. The smell of cider, soup, and fresh baked bread assailed her and her stomach rumbled in response. She licked her lips and her gaze darted from wall to wall taking in the furnishings.

  The hair stood up on the back of her neck. She slowly made her way around the table, checking underneath the heavy rustic wood. Coming around to the fireplace her heart dropped to her solar plexus as she saw Michael lying there, so still. Fidget was guarding him and bared his teeth at her.

  No! Not Michael! Please Lord, not him! She rushed to his side, put away her knife, knelt alongside his body and leaned over to check his breathing by placing a hand lightly on his chest. The ferret sniffed her fingers and backed off. Michael’s heart beat steady beneath the layers of his clothing. She sat back on her heels and gave a sigh of relief. She moved to untie his cravat and unbuttoned his vest and shirt. She grew warm spying the dark hair peeking through. Had that always been there? She placed her hand against the warm hot flesh. His head moved and a moan escaped. A hand came to clamp her wrist tightly, startling her.

  “Oh!” She tried to pull her arm back but it remained still. She glanced at Michael’s face as his eyes flickered open in an unfocused way. “Michael?”

  ~*~

  Michael should let her go, but he couldn’t. Her distinctive scent tickled his senses. Vanilla. He tried to make out her face but she seemed blurry to him. “Please. Don’t leave me,” was all he could gasp out before he released her and closed his eyes again. She moved away from him and he wanted to cry. He despised his own weakness. His breathing quickened as he feared being left here, but then her presence was beside him again. A small hand moved behind his neck, lifting his head slightly.

  “Drink.”

  The mug was to his lips and he tried to comply. Water dribbled down his cheeks. He forced his eyes open and focused on the face in front of him. The concern in her eyes, the pink lips pursed together in worry. For him? When had anyone really cared about what happened to him?

  “Good job.” She set the mug down and using both hands, lowered his head, bending over to kiss his forehead.

  “More?” He grinned. “A little lower?”

  “Michael? What happened?”

  He shook his head and instantly regretted it. “No time. You need to finish the document. Now. I must return to Lord Hughes, before…”

  “Before someone manages to finally kill you?” she whispered.

  “Something like that.” He tried to grin.

  “Don’t do that.”

  “Do what?”

  “Go dying on me. I won’t allow it.” She touched the side of his head tenderly and her face came into focus.

  “Can you help me get up, Mouse?” He tried to rise. She leveraged him to a sitting position and then she stood and leaned over to help him up. It was a clumsy process as she avoided using her injured arm, but finally, he sat in a chair by the table, was able to put his elbows there and lean his head on his hands.

  “What happened?” She pulled up a chair beside him.

  He shook his head weakly. “Not feeling well. Need to finish this job. Get you to Marcus so you’ll be safe.”

  “I can worry about myself. How long have you been unwell?”

  Could that be anxiety in her soft voice? It washed over him like a lover’s caress and he focused on her lips. “A week or so, I don’t remember. Never been this bad. Getting worse.”

  “Can you eat something?”

  “I’ll try.”

  Katrina rose and moved to fill a bowl with soup, dipped some bread into it, brought it to his mouth. He ate eagerly and when the bread was gone he licked her fingers.

  Her eyes widened.

  “I’m sorry, Mouse. I’m a rogue and you were wise to never fall for the likes of me.”

  Katrina’s pale hazel-gray eyes grew moist.

  “Don’t cry, Mouse. I’m not worth your tears.”

  “Don’t tell me not to care, Michael.”

  Katrina moved to get the mug from the floor, filled it with some ale, and again brought it to his lips. He managed to take it from her. She withdrew from his touch when he had hold of the mug. He leaned back against the chair and let the ale slide down his throat, warming him.

  “More soup?”

  “Certainly.” She rose to refill his bowl and set it down in front of him. She filled a bowl for herself. She picked up her spoon to eat.

  Who was this woman? How did she get to be so beautiful? Why did he need her so much? Beyond this job, how was he to walk away from her and slide into oblivion, never to hear her laughter, or feel her touch, and savor her kisses? He no longer remembered kissing her that night and thinking of her as that tiny blonde spitfire. No, she was his hazel-eyed, b
rown haired beauty. She deserved better than him.

  Katrina ate and said nothing.

  He picked up his spoon and tried to put away the bowl of soup before him. He got halfway through and set the spoon down. “I’m sorry I waylaid you, Katrina. I need that document done. Too much is at stake. They are closing in and I don’t know how much time we have left.”

  Katrina nodded and moved away from the food to the end of the table. She went to a corner desk and brought back the ink pot, feather pen, and paper. She drew the journal out of the bag she had with her but before she was seated, she locked the door and checked the windows.

  Michael produced the remainder of the document to be deciphered and smoothed it out on the table.

  Silently, they sat down to work.

  9

  Two hours passed. Katrina allowed the landlord to clear the table and bring in some pudding and a bottle of port.

  Michael folded up the finished document and leaned back in his chair.

  Katrina put the writing elements away and tucked her journal in her bag. She wandered to the window and pushed the drapes back to watch the falling snow. “He will wash you whiter than snow. I never completely understood that.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Jesus. He’s supposed to wash away our sin, with His blood, until we are whiter than snow.”

  “Makes no sense.” Michael leaned back in his chair.

  “I know. But do you think it’s possible?”

  “What’s possible?”

  “That God could wash away our sin by His innocent blood?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Neither do I.”

  “Mouse?” She turned and looked at him, allowing the curtain to fall shut.

  “What is it, Michael?”

  “I need you.”

  She gave a half-grin with one dimple showing up on her right cheek. “You needed me, but we are done. You have the proof that my father is innocent. I have that comfort and can now prove it to Lord Hughes. Thank you. You have what you need.”

  “I…”

  “Michael, I understand you only ever spent time with me because you needed that journal. It’s done. It’s over. You need never see me again.”

  Michael struggled to rise. “No. I don’t think you do, Mouse. At first, that may have been true, but now…”

  “Now?”

  “Now I can’t imagine living life without you.” There. He said it.

  Katrina was silent.

  Michael stood, holding tightly to his chair with both hands.

  “Michael, you are not well. Please, sit, before you collapse. How will you ever make it back to London by yourself?”

  “Maybe you should go with me?” Michael obediently sat, but stretched out a hand to her.

  Katrina walked over to him. She yawned, but moved into his embrace and held his head to her chest. “I would go to the ends of the earth for you, Michael,” she murmured.

  Michael’s face came up. “What did you say? I couldn’t hear you.” He drew her down to sit on his knee.

  Katrina put her uninjured arm around his neck.

  Their eyes met and slowly her head lowered closer to his as he angled up for a kiss. Their lips met in sweet communion.

  A knock on the door brought Katrina to her feet and a blush to her cheeks.

  “Who is it?” Michael barked.

  “Tristan.”

  Katrina started and her eyes were wide. “Tristan?” she whispered.

  “My valet. He served with me in the war as a batman. You can let him in. I’m not sure why he followed me here.”

  Katrina bent down before Michael. “What does he look like?”

  The knock was louder this time. “Just a minute!” Michael called out.

  “Irish heritage, reddish brown hair, blue eyes and medium build.”

  Katrina paled.

  “Why? Katrina, what’s wrong?”

  “How long has he been serving you?”

  “We met about four years ago in France, but parted when I left the Horse Guards. I only hired him on a few months ago.”

  The knock was more insistent.

  Michael raised his eyebrows.

  Katrina shook her head and wandered over to the fireplace.

  “Mouse?”

  “He sounds like the valet who cared for my father in the last years of his life. Nice man, sure, but disappeared the minute my father was dead. Now you are sick like he was…”

  “What are you saying?”

  “I often wondered if my father had been poisoned. I could never prove it.”

  “Open the door, Katrina.” Michael rose to his feet.

  Katrina shot him a venomous look but did as he bid, walking over to the door and pulling back the bolt. The door shot open and was slammed shut by the newest occupant of the room.

  Katrina took several steps away, and her hand came to cover her mouth.

  Tristan stood staring at her. “You! What are you doing here, Miss Shepherd?”

  “You know each other?” Michael said casually.

  Katrina nodded.

  Tristan collected himself and walked towards Sir Tidley. “Sir, I could not stay home and wonder as to your well-being. Forgive my impudence in following you.”

  “How noble of you, Tris. You have difficulty obeying direct orders, however.”

  Tristan lowered his head a fraction. When he raised it again his chin went higher and he moved to pull a gun out of his inner coat pocket, pointing it at Michael. “I obey orders, just happens that I am taking them from someone other than you.”

  Michael remained outwardly calm. Katrina reached slowly into her pocket. He hoped she had her knife. Michael tensed for a fight.

  “What do you want, Tristan?”

  “The document.”

  “So you were the one?”

  Tristan nodded.

  “Why? I thought you loved England. I thought you were on our side.”

  “So did Mr. Shepherd, much good it did him.”

  Michael walked over to the fireplace and stirred the coals so the fire blazed fully again.

  “Did you kill Mr. Shepherd?”

  “Slowly poisoned him. He was a stubborn old coot. Far too noble in defending his cause.”

  “So when you couldn’t get what you wanted from him, you killed him?”

  “Of course, he was expendable.”

  Katrina leaned against the wall, trying to not draw notice to herself. Leave. Just leave! He longed to yell to her.

  “Why?” she asked.

  Tristan turned to her while keeping the gun trained on Sir Michael.

  “He was an enemy to Napoleon. A spy passing on information. I couldn’t discover his secrets so I was ordered to eliminate him and collect his papers.”

  “It was you who poisoned him? You were the one who decimated all his records?”

  Tristan nodded. “But somehow the one book I needed eluded me. He was gone so it was of no importance.”

  “What book was that?” Michael asked, drawing Tristan’s attention back to himself.

  “His journal. He kept his codes in there. I only ever saw it once but could never find it.”

  Michael frowned. “So why are you here now?”

  “I told you, I want the document.”

  “It was you who was searching my things?”

  Tristan nodded.

  “And you who has been poisoning me?”

  The red head once again went up and down. “I have no more time to play games. Hand over the papers.”

  Michael reached into his pocket and pulled out papers. “You mean these?”

  Tristan nodded and his eyes grew wide. “Yes. I am assuming you finished them. I was hoping you wouldn’t be successful because now you know too much.”

  Michael crumpled up the papers and threw them into the fireplace where the flames eagerly licked them to ashes.

  “Tis no matter, Sir Michael. I only needed to make sure they didn’t get into the wro
ng hands. But if you managed to decipher them it means that this lovely woman here has had her father’s code all along.”

  Tristan advanced on Michael but stood out of arm’s reach and cocked the hammer on the pistol. “Miss Shepherd. If you value this man’s life, you may want to consider handing over that code to me now.”

  Katrina walked over to the table and the bag where the journal was stored.

  “You don’t need to give it to him, Mouse.” Michael stood straight, with the gun aimed at his chest. His eyes spoke to her of finality and love. He motioned with his eyes for her to leave, to save herself.

  “It was you, Tristan, who spread the rumors about my father, wasn’t it?”

  Tristan nodded. “I had to make sure that if the code book surfaced no one at Whitehall would seriously consider it a valuable tool.”

  Katrina gave a rueful laugh. “You misjudged me, didn’t you?”

  “Apparently so. A mistake I do not intend to make twice. The book?”

  Katrina took the journal out of the bag and opened it to the pages of code they had used. She tried to rip them out, but the paper wouldn’t cooperate and tear.

  “What are you doing?” Tristan asked.

  “Trying to help you out,” Katrina said with a lightness in her voice. Her hands shook, betraying her fear.

  “Give me the journal.”

  “And what? What do you promise me in exchange for this?”

  “I’ll let your lover live.”

  “My lover?”

  Tristan waved his gun towards Michael’s face. “Him.”

  Katrina looked to Michael and their eyes met. She walked around the table as far from Tristan as she could and came to the fireplace next to Sir Tidley.

  “I don’t believe you, Tristan. You poisoned and killed my father. You have been poisoning Sir Michael. You are an enemy to the King.”

  “The King who is as mad as this man here, or worse? How does one swear allegiance to such as him?”

  Katrina hugged the journal to herself for a moment and then glanced at Michael.