Cat and Mouse (3 page)

Thank heavens she’d previously shoved the diamond earbobs so far down the front of her corset they wouldn’t have become dislodged if he’d turned her upside down and shook her. Katrina dashed across the empty street from the shadows and into Hyde Park. Keeping close to bits of shrubbery and accommodating trees, she ran alongside Rotten Row as fast as her feet would fly. She daren’t head straight for the Den in case someone had followed her from the location of the somewhat successful crime.

Soon Katrina came to the Rotten Row curve. After glancing around to ensure safe flight, she hurried across the lane and kept to the trees, still heading west.

Finally she found herself next to Kensington Palace. How on earth she would make it back to the Den at Mews Street without raising suspicions at this time of morning—in a ball gown, no less—she had no idea. With no coin at her disposal, no connections to speak of and utterly hopeless—unless one counted the diamond earbobs hidden deep inside her corset—the uncertainty of doom lurked behind her like a shadow.

Pity the silver hadn’t remained.

The vivid memory of that man’s stinging reprimand came rushing back. It seemed impossible to her that the particular brand of rough handling of her posterior could induce such feelings. Katrina gritted her teeth against the sensual buzzing between her legs and crouched down in a corner at a cross-section of Kensington’s outer wall. Pushing the recollection to the back of her mind, a feeling of desolation she was powerless to evade overtook her and she wept the bitter tears of despair.

All men were bastards. Her father, the king of the bastards, Mr Brenner, heir apparent, and the pond scum who’d accosted her tonight. The only male in the world who could be depended upon was Jimmy—and even that young man was prone to flirtations bordering on dangerous.

After a while she dried her cheeks with the tattered under-hem of her skirt and took a deep breath. The chilled air around her stirred as if wishing to escape the dawn. To this she could relate. Anger coupled with helplessness now replaced her fear and tied her stomach in knots. She needed to formulate a plan—a plan to get her out of this dreadful situation of theft, despondency and dissoluteness. But alas, the solution wouldn’t be immediate. It could take weeks if not months—perhaps even years, God forbid. One thing that could be counted as a positive, she’d escaped tonight’s botch-up and hadn’t landed in Newgate.

Feeling much more at ease regarding the events of the past hour or so owing to a good cry, which always seemed to help when hopelessness overwhelmed her, she stood and dusted off her skirt. Reassuring herself that she hadn’t been pursued, she headed south. Once she reached the Thames she’d follow the river east to the Den.

Not a quarter mile from Kensington Palace, the familiar clip-clop of a horse’s hooves echoed off the surrounding buildings. With any luck, the rider would mind their own business, continue on and ignore her presence.

“Good morning!” a cheerful male voice hailed her from behind.

She felt her shoulders stiffen and her mind raced with phoney scenarios to the question the man would inevitably ask. Katrina smiled before turning to him as if her life had been happy and carefree since birth. “Good morning to you, too.”

He slowed his horse to match her pace. “You seem to me, at first glance, a fish out of water.”

Story of my life
. Katrina laughed gaily as if his statement struck her as humorous and she looked up at him. “No, no. I’m just walking.” His mischievous smile and green eyes were more striking than should have been legal. She peeled her gaze from his and continued on her path in silent dismissal of which she hoped he’d take the hint.

“What a fancy walking gown you have on. Has fashion finally dictated that an early morning walk must be made in formal attire?”

Wonderful. He’s both thick
and
nosey
.
And handsome, damn him
. She glanced up at him again and took note of the fact that his choice of apparel from the waist up consisted of an unkempt shirt open at the neck. She forced herself to ignore the smooth patch of skin between the starched, likely expensive cotton. “Interesting observation from someone who seems to have forgotten his waistcoat
and
his cravat.”

She watched from the corner of her eye as he raised his hand to the ‘V’ at his chest and up to his neckline. “I… I left in a hurry. The air at dawn is so good for one’s constitution, you know.”

“Mmm.” Katrina kept walking. This was neither the time nor the place for polite pleasantries—however ridiculous—with a man, no matter how agreeable the countenance.

“Where are you off to? Can I be of assistance?”

“No, I’m fine, thank you.”

“What is your destination?”

Obviously he intended upon making this difficult. “The docks.”

“The docks, you say?” he repeated incredulously.

“Mmm.”

“Which docks?”

“The ones on the Thames, of course. Where else?”

“Where else, indeed.”

Mercifully, a few moments of silence fell upon them and Katrina hoped he’d given up trying to engage her in conversation. Her feet hurt as did her head from walking and running hither and yon. Lack of sleep didn’t bring her disposition to be anywhere near congenial, either.

“Once you reach the docks, what do you plan on doing there?”

“I—um, I’m going abroad.”

“Abroad? At the beginning of the season? Think of all the parties you’ll miss.”

His words stung. Her new life would no longer allow her to move about with happy abandon in society, and if truth be told, she did love the season and all the balls, teas and different social gatherings. She’d been forced to forgo the last two seasons because of her father’s failing health. “I s-suppose I’ll just have to get along.”

“From what I understand, all London ladies love to get dressed up for such pursuits.”

“Sir, it’s not that I don’t enjoy it. I do. I just have other plans, that is all. I’ll probably attend assemblies elsewhere.”

“Hmm.”

He sounded as if he didn’t believe her. But what did she care? She was in no position to make friendships or attachments or anything that resembled what
real
people did.

“Indulge me. You say you are going abroad, to seek parties elsewhere, but with no trunks?”

Katrina wanted to scream at him to shove off, but thought better of it. “They’re in the carriage, of course.”

She heard the squeak of the leather saddle as he looked about. “What carriage?”

“Mine. It—it lost a wheel—back there a-ways.” She motioned with a wave of her hand behind her, praying it didn’t seem as ambiguous as it felt.

“Why didn’t you wait with your luggage?”

“I didn’t want to be late.” Sadly, she couldn’t figure out how to stop his relentless, annoying questions without insulting him…even though it seemed he was just
begging
her to attack his dignity.

“Late for…?”

“The journey, of course.”

“So you would prefer to make your voyage without your belongings instead of wait for the next ship?”

“Sir, I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t ask me questions—”

“I’m merely—”

“Unless you’d like to tell me why you feel the need to ride about town at sunrise half dressed?”

His silence told her he wasn’t disposed to discuss his affairs, sordid or not.

She almost allowed herself to think that she’d shut him up when he spoke again. “Where did you say you are from?”

“I didn’t.”

“No, of course not. So where are you from?”

For a moment, Katrina considered faking a coughing fit in order to either find a suitable answer or cause a diversion. Too tired to produce a physical showing, she opted to toss out the name of a town. “Cricklewood.”

“Hmm,” he mumbled thoughtfully. “It’s a wonder you didn’t take the train.”

As pleasant as it was to have a conversation with someone who’d recently bathed, their repartee wasn’t helping matters. At the next crossroads, she needed to turn east—
without
having to explain why. “Sir, shall we address your shirtsleeves once again or perhaps discuss your hobby of pressing a perfect stranger about their business?”

His only reaction was a choking noise, which satisfied her more than she could convey. She glanced up for a final look at him, to perhaps memorise his features, and found him staring in such an intense manner that his eyes practically reached her soul.

Tempted to fidget, she spoke instead. “I’m sure you have better things to do—and so do I. Good day then.”

At the next corner she headed east without looking back.

Sadly, the sound of the horse’s hooves didn’t fade. She stifled a sigh.

Chapter Three

Max had to admit, she was good. The little thief could change subjects at the drop of a hat. Pity for her he’d wagered on the suspicion—and won—that she’d head straight for Hyde Park after fleeing his Hamilton Place town house. All he’d had to do was wait on the opposite side and she’d appeared like a mouse emerging from the end of a maze.

A pretty little thing, too, the way her short black hair curled around her ears and bounced against her peaches and cream cheeks as she walked. He could still recall the feel of her bottom from the swat he’d given her. Had they met under different circumstances, he’d enjoy showing her his secret playroom and presenting her posterior with a proper what for.

Before his cock pressed any harder against his fly, he forced his thoughts in a different direction. What on God’s green earth had compelled her to take to thievery? Of course, one didn’t walk up to someone unknown to them and inquire about their moral judgement.

“May I ask your name?”

“Why?” She narrowed her darkly-lashed, golden-brown eyes at him before turning back to the path.

“So that I might call upon you one day.”

“Sir, I’m quite sure you’ve noticed we’ve not been appropriately introduced.”

“Propriety for propriety’s sake is one thing, but I confess, this morning has been far from normal, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Considering I’m speaking to a half-dressed man, I find I’m forced to concur.”

The one thing he’d been remiss about as he’d hobbled downstairs with the utmost haste in order to wake his groom not sixty minutes ago was his state of undress. He hadn’t wanted her to get so far away she couldn’t be caught. Much to his annoyance, once he did catch up with her, he was more interested in interrogation than an arrest. Damn his curiosity, anyway.

“Well, since you are about to go abroad, I’m sure society wouldn’t frown upon us if you were to give me your name.”

“Yes, they would.”

Max almost smiled. “No. I’m sure of it. Besides, how would they find out?”

“Oh, you know the
ton
—their noses in everyone else’s business, issuing incessant questions until either the novelty wears off or their interest is diverted elsewhere.”

He felt her barbs as if she’d been throwing wadded-up sheets of paper at him—slightly bothersome yet, on the whole, ineffective. Obviously, she was educated and she knew the peculiarities of the
ton
. He was convinced now that she had originated from amongst them. Where she had picked up the curse words she’d hurled at him earlier was an altogether different matter, and one he was determined to unravel. Slowly, if needs be.

The slight breeze brought with it a hint of rotten shellfish coupled with mouldering mud and human-generated pollution, indicating the nearby Thames. He realised that he didn’t have much time before he was forced to let her be on her way unless he could think of something to delay her. The buildings around them seemed to close in, squeezing the street to almost alley-sized.

“You said you came from Cricklewood?”

“Yes.”

“How could you possibly know so much about the crème de la crème of society all the way from the country?”

“You know how word gets around. Especially in the country.”

“Mmm. Especially there.”

“Oh my!”

She’d stopped to stoop down and Max brought his horse to a halt. “What is it?”

“I’ve a stone in my shoe.”

“Here, allow me.” By the time he’d swung down from his horse and made it around the beast’s rump, she was gone.

“I say, young lady—where are you?” he yelled as politely as possible. There were at least five shadowed doorways through which she could have escaped. Two of them, he noticed, were terribly untidy alleyways that led… Who knew where?

Bloody hell
. He dragged his hand through the top of his hair.
The little minx
.

Katrina heard him shouting after her as she ducked through yet another passageway that took her deeper into the buildings that made up the surrounding area. Despite how badly her feet hurt, she couldn’t help but giggle. She was quite certain he wouldn’t abandon his horse and come after her. Besides, she had pointed out to him his state of undress at least three times. Had he a sliver of decorum, which his vacillating manners told her he harboured somewhere beneath that thick mass of brown hair on the top of his head, he’d proceed straight away for home if only to don proper clothing. Upon his return she’d be long gone. Pity it was only to the Den and not abroad as she’d told him.

* * * *

It must have been an hour later when she ducked through one of the Den’s secret entrances. Her very bones ached and she needed sleep like a fish needed water.

Mr Brenner seeped from a dark portal. “Ah, Katrina. I’m glad you’ve arrived. I waited up for you all night long.”

Katrina stifled a groan. “I’m sorry you waited. I have something for you.”

“Yes,” he grinned like a Cheshire cat. “I was counting on it.” He slid his arm around her waist.

At once she plunged her hand down her bodice and dug out the diamonds. “Here you are—my payment for this month’s lodgings.”

He reached out both hands to cup her offering, demonstrating his greed. “Mmm. Diamond luggers. A decent size, too. Are they real or paste?”

“Real, I assure you.”

He pocketed the earbobs and gave her a bittersweet smile. “I’ll let you know if I find them otherwise.”

She nodded.
Yes, I’m sure you will, you blackguard.
Katrina made for her door as fast as her aching feet would take her.