Cat and Mouse (11 page)

Feeling more tranquil, she pointed her toes and stretched her legs upon the bed.

His seduction of her person could be blamed entirely on him. For one thing, she hadn’t initiated it. Hell, she hadn’t even been given a choice.

Maxwell is terribly wicked
. She yawned.
Susanna is so sweet, but her brother
…
Her brother could probably seduce a woman at twenty paces…

* * * *

Katrina had no idea how long she’d slept. Only a small amount of light leaked in through rifts in the walls near the high ceiling. The lamp on the table burnt low—she’d forgotten to douse it last night.
Jimmy’s lamp
. The memories mercilessly rushed back to her.
Poor, darling Jimmy
. Pain tore at her heart all over again, then the familiar fear began to seep in. Who would be her champion now?

A noisy sigh came from behind her. She froze. So that was the warmth at her back. The
nefarious
Maxwell Courtland.

In order to keep her sanity and not get intimately tangled up with him again, she needed to get off that bed, out of that room, and fast. Ever so slowly she pulled away. First her shoulders, her back, her bottom… His hand slid away from where it sat so intimately upon her hip. She moved her foot towards the edge of the mattress—

At that moment, he moaned in protest and recaptured her by the waist. She rolled her gaze to the ceiling as he pulled her to him, helpless against his physical strength.

He sighed and seemed to melt into her once more.

Was he still asleep? Could she try again after a moment? The sun had risen and he had, after all, promised she could go at that time.

Hadn’t he?

Maxwell inhaled and the vacuum of air tickled the hairs on her neck. She reached up to scratch the spot. He kissed her knuckles and actually chuckled, as if he had a secret.

She retracted her hand and pushed out a breath hoping it sounded as exasperated as she felt. “Are you quite through?”

“No,” he whispered. “I haven’t yet begun.”

“The sun has risen. You are honour-bound to keep your promise from last night.”

“Mmmm…” He held her tighter. “Let me taste you again.”

Katrina lost her breath. “You can’t be serious.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever been more serious.” His voice was a mix of groan and growl in opposition of his words.

“No. Absolutely not. I’m shocked you would even ask—No, I refuse your request.” Somewhere in the back of her mind she knew Maxwell could force upon her whatever licentious act he desired. Why, he could bind her to the bed and—
No
! She held fast to the last shred of willpower she had, even though the visual that flashed before her sent heat rolling over her skin.

He had the audacity to chuckle again. “Come now. Indulge me.”

One more whispered invitation like that and she’d succumb for sure. “That does it.” She tore away from him and scooped up her stockings, drawers and shoes from the floor. Just because he was big and strong and seemed to care for her didn’t mean she should follow her desires like some primate in the jungle.

“Do not flee, my lady Harwood.”

She spun to face him. “What? And sit here only to listen to your depraved suggestions?”
Because I won’t be able to refuse you much longer.
Wait… My lady Harwood
?

At once Katrina realised that not only had he drawn from her this new interest in and craving for unusual pleasures, but he also knew certain things about her that she’d kept secret for months at the Den
. Shite
. In addition she’d practically fallen into an affair with him like some desperate widow.
Well, this stops here and now
.

“You will allow me to leave or… I’ll—I’ll tell Brenner on you.”

Maxwell clasped his hands and placed them behind his head. “What would you tell him? That I want to pleasure you?”

Oh, God
. Her knees went weak. After an indignant intake of air, she retorted. “No, that your name really isn’t
Court
and that you lied to him.”

“I didn’t lie. Court is the first half of my last name, and I
will
get him into White’s tonight.”

“Do you have any idea how dangerous these thieves are?”

“I do. Do you?”

She stomped her bare foot. “Don’t be ridiculous. Of course I do. I live here, remember?”

“Were you aware that Brenner had Mr Lock murdered?”

What
? Katrina dropped everything, reached out and held onto a nearby chair. “No,” she breathed her protest, as her mind whirled with the possibilities. Come to think of it, she wouldn’t put anything past Brenner. But still.

“How could you possibly know such a thing?”

“Before we retired to this room last night, I heard him murmur something as he passed me.”

She thought back to when Maxwell had first met Brenner. “I don’t recall—”

“He didn’t say it loud enough for anyone but me to hear. In fact, I’m quite certain he was talking to himself.”

“What did he say?”

Maxwell sat up. “Something to the effect of, ‘Poor dead Jimmy’. I heard him tell you Mr Lock left, not that he died. Susanna merely said he’d been beaten, it was you who informed me that your friend had been murdered.”

Katrina stumbled forward and lowered herself to the bed. She buried her face in both hands to cover the pain that surely showed there.

Jimmy’s sly grin flashed before her closed eyes. His young life had ended in violence and Katrina felt the loss keenly. She wept mutely, allowing the emotion to undo her at last. And for a long time, Maxwell stroked her back without uttering another word.

* * * *

They’d been sitting there for at least an hour if not two when Katrina heard Maxwell’s stomach growl and her own hunger reared up to greet his. She hoped Jimmy wasn’t watching her mourn from above. He never had allowed human weakness to interfere with his own life—and he’d likely scold Katrina for her tears. With shaking limbs, she pulled herself together and spoke, “Thank you for your compassion, Maxwell. I need to change and then we should eat.”

“Yes. Of course.”

She stood, re-gathered her discarded clothing and paused at the door. “It will be difficult for me to face Brenner after what you told me.”

Maxwell was right behind her. “You will have to pretend you know nothing, for no other reason than to keep yourself safe. In the interim, I could do some investigating into Mr Lock’s murder. Perhaps I can find evidence against Brenner.”

She turned and looked up at him. “How in the world would you do that?”

“Well, I could begin with a search at the local funeral parlour.”

“That’s very kind of you, but do you even remember what Jimmy looked like?”

“Oh. You may have a point.”

“Besides, what could possibly be done to convict his murderer?” She opened the door with her free hand.

“You would be surprised how efficient Scotland Yard’s Criminal Investigation Department can be in that respect.” Then he whispered, “Especially if we could procure the murder weapon.”

“Very well.” She nodded and they crossed the catwalk to the stairs.

* * * *

Thankfully, no one else occupied the small kitchen area. She joined Max after she had changed into a simple ivory day dress with embroidered lilacs down every other stripe. She looked charming as she buzzed around the table like a bee.

“Your suit is completely rumpled,” she commented and handed him a piece of bread dipped in berry jam. “I doubt if you’ll get across the threshold of White’s looking as if you’ve slept in your evening clothes.”

Her observation drew his attention to his attire. “I don’t suppose you have a butler service here?”

A tinkling laugh brought his gaze to meet hers as she took the seat across from him. “I don’t think you’ll find a single flat iron for miles. Hot
or
cold.”

“So what do you suggest?” Max bit into the day-old slice of bread and chewed while Katrina tapped her perfectly kissable lips with an index finger.

“There’s nothing for it. You’ll have to change before you take Brenner on his
dream
outing.” She glanced down at her heel of bread and slid it towards the centre of the table, as if at once uninterested in the bland fare. And rightly so. He set his bread down as well.

“What if his men are watching the doors?”

Katrina sat up a little straighter and whispered. “I found a corridor not three weeks ago that had at least an inch of dust on the floor, indicating that no one had ever used this particular passage. I may have been an awful thief, but I’m an ingenious sneak.”

Mice usually are
. He kept the thought and the grin that accompanied it to himself. “Shall we, then?”

She nodded and stood.

Max glanced about to double-check they were alone, which they were. “I think we should also call at the funeral parlour.” He hated to bring up the subject, but knew eventually that they’d at least have to touch upon it. “Are you up for such a morose excursion or would you prefer to wait a day or two?”

He watched something akin to pain pass over Katrina’s features. She then lifted her chin. “If it will help convict Bren—the murderer, then I’m all for it.”

His chest squeezed in sympathy for her, making it difficult to draw breath. He took her by the hand. “Your bravery does you credit.”

“I’m quite sure it’s merely a shell of courage, but it’s all I have left.”

* * * *

His mouse had avoided the guards by taking them through the isolated, cobweb-strewn corridor, the clever girl. Once they were well away from the Den and strolling along the streets of London blending in with the crowd, Max suggested they visit the funeral parlour first as it was on the way to his town house.

Her hand trembled in the crook of his arm as he reached for the doorknob. He glanced down at her. “You are sure?”

She nodded and they stepped into the parlour. A bell attached to the back side of the entrance sounded, announcing their arrival. Max closed the door behind them and detected a faint stench of decay in the air. Aside from the smell, it seemed a normal yet mostly unfurnished parlour, save the two caskets on display at the far end of the extensive, narrow room. Light streamed in through the muslin under-drapes, but the space still seemed dark—must have been the fact that it was permanently dressed for grim occasions. It was likely only those who’d recently lost loved ones that visited.

A man entered through drawn velvet curtains beyond the caskets and walked sullenly down the long floral runner towards them. “Good day, I am Mr Timothy. How can I be of service?” His unruly salt and pepper hair conflicted with his perfectly tailored suit—which denoted his profession—but his cheerless smile was entirely accurate.

“Please excuse our intrusion, Mr Timothy. My name is Mr Courtland and this is Miss Harwood.”

Mr Timothy nodded a solemn bow and Max continued. “An acquaintance of Miss Harwood’s has gone missing. She is under the suspicion that he’s passed on. We were wondering if anyone has been brought here to be prepared for burial whom you’ve yet been unable to identify.”

“I see. Was it Atwood, Elfman or Hendrickson who sent you?”

“I beg your pardon?”

Her voice had been barely audible, but Max understood Katrina’s confusion. He suspected the three chaps Mr Timothy mentioned were affiliated with Scotland Yard. If that were the case, he and Katrina’s snooping about might be just a tad premature.

“Pardon my assumption, Miss, but everyone in the industry knows I take in the strays—I mean
unidentified
bodies.”

Max relaxed somewhat. Not wanting to appear altogether uninformed, he jumped in, “No. We chose your establishment because… Well, just consider it a lucky guess.”

“Remarkable. As luck would have it, I’ve got two males what come in early this morning and one left over from yesterday ‘round noon.”

“Would you mind if—?” Maxwell tilted his head towards Katrina.

“Not at all. I’ll just go prepare a few things. If you’ll permit me.”

“Of course.”

Mr Timothy turned and headed for his workroom.

Max waited for the velvet curtains to close behind Mr Timothy then he turned to Katrina. “I’m afraid you will have to summon whatever courage you have left, my dear,” he said softer than a whisper.

“W—what do you mean?” she replied, matching his tone.

“We must be very careful. If you act in response to your friend’s corpse, showing any emotion whatsoever, both of us will be called upon for questioning by the authorities—and I need a bit of time to find suitable evidence against Brenner. Can you pretend it’s not Mr Lock even if it is?”

Katrina swallowed hard. “I shall do my best. But why then did you give Mr Timothy our real names?”

“The last thing we want in a circumstance such as this is to be caught fibbing about our identities.”

“And if they catch us lying about the body, what then?”

“We’ll just tell them… You were too distraught or some such. We’ll have to deal with that at a later time.”

She nodded once, catching on like the astute girl he knew her to be.

The curtains parted. “We are ready for you now, Miss Harwood.”

Katrina glanced up at Max.
We
?

Chapter Twelve

The second they entered into the room where the bodies were kept, Katrina began to gag. From his pocket, Max handed her his clean handkerchief, the stench causing his own eyes to water. The tiny space allowed no ventilation—no open window, not even a hole in the roof. One shelf-lined wall held dusty glass bottles in different sizes of clear and not so clear fluids. It was enough to make the stomach roil.

“My apologies. I’ve been working here for so long one might say I’m used to the smell.” Mr Timothy, now covered in a black and white pin-striped bib apron, chuckled and reached for the corner of the sheet on the first corpse. With a flourish he peeled the cover to just below the dead man’s chest and peered at Katrina.

She quickly looked away. “That’s not him,” she murmured from behind the handkerchief.

Mr Timothy nodded and moved on to the next body. With the same sort of show, he revealed the bloated face of the next cadaver for her.