Cat and Mouse (4 page)

Her little corner deep within the bowels of the Den remained dark regardless of the clock, but at least was substantial enough not to allow in a single draught of air. She stood just inside the portal and blinked hard in order to get used to the dimness.

“Been runnin’ all night, have you, then?”

The silky Irish-accented voice had come from the direction of her cot, but she knew very well who it was. “Jimmy, you shouldn’t be here.”

Jimmy Lock, as he called himself, was the youngest and most productive thief Mr Brenner had at the Den. At the top of the inner hierarchy, the only person Jimmy had to answer to was Brenner himself.

Jimmy applied the burning tip of a match to a candle wick and replied. “Then where should I be?”

“Anywhere but my bed.”

“Ouch. You cut me to the quick, love,” he said, sounding injured, and set the candle upon her trunk next to the cot.

“I’m not your love. I’m your friend.” Of course, had Jimmy
not
been seven years her junior, and had
not
been on the run from
every
bobby in Scotland Yard at
every
waking and sleeping moment, and had they met as normal people do, being his love might have appealed to her. He knew well how to flatter and fuss for such a young man, and had more than once soothed her worries away with that smooth Irish tongue of his. Figuratively speaking, that was.

“You’re limping.”

She detected the concern in his statement and it warmed her weary spirit. “I’ll be fine.”

“Had a rough night of it, did you?”

Katrina sighed. “Aside from a pair of diamond earbobs, it
was
rather hellish.”

“You poor thing. Come to Jimmy.” He held out his arms to her.

As tempting as the consolation he offered was, Katrina shook her head. “There is only room on that cot for one of us, and I’ve paid for the right to claim it as my own.”

“All right, all right, I’ll remove meself. But at least let me comfort and keep you company for a time.”

The young man certainly knows how to tempt a woman
. “Honestly, Jimmy, all I want to do is get some sleep—”

Her excuse to oust him from her hovel caught in her throat as he stood and removed a cloth from a large white bowl next to the bed. By the light of the candle, lovely steam billowed up from the clean clear water therein. Her gaze landed on the handsome young man and his smug grin.

“This is the comfort part.”

“Oh, Jimmy—” She couldn’t help but coo.

“Now just sit down.” He guided her to the foot of the cot. “And lie back.” He folded and adjusted her flat pillow so that it supported her head. The next thing she knew he had removed her shoes and peeled off her stockings.

The hot water felt like heaven on her feet. Katrina’s status at the Den hadn’t afforded her hot water for washing. That privilege, like everything else, had to be stolen, which she did at every opportunity—at the risk of her neck of course. Ever so gently, Jimmy submerged and massaged her sore, tired feet. She moaned when his fingers were joined by a hard, cool, slippery substance. “Is that a cake of soap?”

“Indeed it is. Lavender.” With his slick fingers he gently stretched each toe backwards and forwards, then applied pressure into the arch of her foot with tiny circles.

“God, Jimmy, that’s so…so…”

“What I wouldn’t do to present you with a full tub o’ water,” he whispered and pressed his fingers into soft tendons at the tops of her feet.

“What I wouldn’t do to let you.”

Jimmy’s fingers stilled.

Katrina pressed her lips together. The euphoria of the scent of lavender soap and the sensation of hot water lapping against her skin had almost made her lose her head. “What I meant was—”

“I know perfectly well what you meant, Katrina. Perhaps one day you will see that you and I could be great together. I’m young, virile. I can pleasure you, Katrina—like you’ve never been before.”

Her cheeks went hot. She
hadn’t
experienced pleasure before, if truth be told. Not the kind he was speaking of. Receiving said pleasure from a sexual encounter was a fairy tale. And besides, ladies didn’t speak of such things. And a childish slap on the bottom from a perfect stranger didn’t count, either. “Jimmy. Our circumstances could never afford—”

“We could leave this place—together. I have a decent amount stashed away—we could start over—”

“What about all that business about crossing Mr Brenner?”

“I’ve mentioned to the bloke that I’d like to quit the
Den. Moreover, with you by my side, I wouldn’t care what he and his lackeys did to me.”

Katrina closed her eyes. Jimmy was a kind boy despite the fact that he was a thief and she didn’t want to hurt him for the world. When she had first arrived at the Den, he’d attempted to teach her the fine art of thievery. She’d been a poor student at best.

The silence stretched on as he continued to massage her feet. Finally, Katrina opened her eyes and sat up. “It would not work between us. Could not. You must find someone your own age—and for heaven’s sake, stop living this life.”

He gazed at her with the sort of wisdom that his youthful blue eyes shouldn’t have known. “You mean the same life you’re livin’?”

On that count, he was right. It seemed her attempt to discourage his romantic advances on the grounds that their lives were too dissimilar had failed as it had numerous times before. “Jimmy, we can only be friends.”

The trace of a frown crossed his features before his eyes took on that roguish sparkle once again. “
Close
friends?”

Katrina folded her arms over her chest. “
How
close?”

“
Cousin
-close.” He grinned.

She couldn’t help but smile back under his regard. “Oh, very well.”

Jimmy raised and held her ankles above the bowl. “Your water’s gone tepid.” He reached over, took up the cloth he’d discarded earlier and gently dried her feet.

“Thank you. You are very sweet, you know.”

“Remember that little sentiment,
cousin
.” He winked at her. “Now let me help you off with your gown.”

“I don’t think—”

“Did I take advantage of you when your legs were naked and at my mercy?”

She sighed, resigned. “No.”

“Then allow me to assist you.”

She was sure that had she not been this exhausted, she wouldn’t have complied so easily.

Once Jimmy had the gown in his hands, she felt as if she never wanted to see it again. It no longer reminded her of her mother, the fabric was now tainted with the memory of the worst attempt yet at her new…profession.

Katrina scoffed. “Just, just toss that anywhere. On the floor in the corner would be fine.”

Soon he had her tucked, still in her underpinnings, beneath the threadbare top sheet that doubled for a coverlet.

“Now I’d stay, but I need to get to work. There are plenty of heavy pockets out there in need of light’nin’.” Jimmy kissed her on the forehead and made for the door.

“Be cautious, Jimmy.”

He stopped at the portal and tossed her a mischievous look. “Aw, you care after all. I’m touched.”

Then he was gone.

* * * *

Max tossed his shirtsleeves into a corner and fell face down on his bed. He’d stood there on that bloody street yelling for the girl for at least five minutes.
Five minutes
… He argued with himself.
After all it doesn’t really seem like a long period of time, unless one is talking to one’s self. Then it can be an eternity.
“Oh for God’s sake.” This was not like him at all.

Indeed, the fact that she was out there, all alone, was enough to churn his insides to a creamy acidic mess…but those eyes of hers—haunting, greenish-yellow and almond-shaped. In the cat-like depths a distinct combination of mistrust and fear fought to hold court like oil and water.

She was hiding something…many somethings.

Furthermore, he didn’t believe for a second that his little mouse intended to travel to the continent. No woman, not even one of slim means, would venture forth without her trunks, or at the very least, a valise—not to mention an escort. It was now obvious to him as day. She’d been lying. There was no journey in her future.

The beginning of the season was upon them—no doubt she’d turn up at one of the other balls around town to commit her thievery. He’d just have to keep one eye open for her at all times.

“There you are, sir. I wondered where you’d got off to.” Walters, Max’s personal valet and trusted confidant, threw open the curtains at the far end of the room.

Max turned his head to speak. “If you don’t mind, Walters, I’d like to sleep until supper.”

“Long night?” Walters asked and redrew the heavy wine-coloured velvet brocade fabric.

“Day, night, morning. All of it tedious.” Then a vision of the little mouse flitted through his mind. “Well, most of it.”

Walters strode over to the bed and replaced the nub of a candle with a new one from a drawer. “Tea, sausage, eggs and potatoes are on the way up. Shall I tell Simmons—?”

“No, that will be fine. I’ll eat and sleep afterwards. Please hold all correspondence until I’m myself again. And
no
callers.”

“Not even Miss Susanna?”

“Don’t you mean Lady Kendrick, wife of Lord Charles Kendrick?” He rolled over and eyed the elder valet who’d been with Max all of his adult life.

“My mistake, sir. No matter how long your sister has been or ever will be married, I will always think of her as Miss Susanna.”

“Yes, well, don’t be surprised if her husband takes personal offence.” Max observed a slight twitch in Walters’ lips.

“I shan’t, sir.”

At that moment, Simmons the butler knocked then brought in Max’s breakfast—
The
Morning Post
tucked neatly to one side of the tray as always. Walters helped set Max up with the meal. As his staff made to take their leave, he reiterated, “Remember, no visitors—
Especially
Susanna.”

“Yoo-hoo!” A feminine voice drifted from the hallway into his room and a sweet face peeked around the door frame, so familiar to him that he could close his eyes and see it—which was exactly what he chose to do.

“Maxwell Courtland, you lazy boy. Rise and shine!” She sauntered into the room.

“Hello, Susanna,” Max sighed and popped a sausage into his mouth.

Chapter Four

“I can’t believe you are still abed on this glorious day!”

Max shrugged as his mouth was full.

“My, but it’s dark in here. Did you choose between Charity or Winifred last night? I’m leaning towards you taking Charity for your wife.”

He swallowed. “I chose not to choose.”

Susanna flopped unladylike onto the settee beneath a south-facing window. “But why?”

God, how he hated it when she whined. “Not ready.” He took a bite of his potatoes.

Her gaze swept across the ceiling as she spoke. “Not ready—what a silly thing to say.”

“It isn’t when you’re truly
not ready
.”

“Well, what does that mean anyway? I long to plan another wedding and you aren’t helping.”

“My dear Susanna,” he said and wiped his mouth on a linen napkin. “You’ve already had a wedding. As for the wedding in question, the marriage hasn’t even been arranged yet. Furthermore, the bride, who is yet to be chosen, will likely wish to plan it herself.”

“Yes, but I’m sure she’ll want, even
need
my advice. I’m terribly experienced in the latest, you know.”

“The whole of London is overwhelmed with your amount of experience.”

“Oh, don’t embellish so. Why haven’t you chosen a wife yet? I gave you a perfectly good list from which to make your selection.”

He’d never noticed it before, but did all women have the aptitude for chatter—and on several different topics in one breath? “You did give me a list.” He nodded. “As for ‘perfectly good’, I have my doubts.”

She harrumphed. “I’ll have you know that several of the dowagers about town helped me put that list together.”

“I’m sure they did—and I’m also positive they added their own relations to the record at every opportunity.”

Susanna opened her mouth to speak but apparently thought better of it. Her shoulders slumped and she chewed on the inside of her cheek.

Satisfied that her mouth was involved in an alternate pursuit, however temporary, he bit into another sausage. After finishing most of the eggs and potatoes, he felt contrite about being so harsh with his little sister. “Now, now, Susanna. I—I just thought that perhaps there were one or two more you may have accidentally left off that list.”

This perked her up and she asked, “But who? I made sure every good family with eligible daughters—”

“Did you happen to see a young lady with short, black hair last night at my ball?” Just speaking of the little mouse made him want to give in to a ludicrous smile, which, at that very moment, tugged at the corners of his mouth. Max took up his tea cup and occupied his lips with sipping.

“Short hair?”

He swallowed. “Yes, it sort of—well, curled ‘round her ears to cling close to her cheeks.”

Max watched her eyebrows knit together. “How very unfashionable.”

“Sometimes what’s fashionable isn’t always attractive,” he said in the mouse’s defence and set his tea down upon the tray. “So you didn’t see her, then?”

“I don’t think so. I would have remembered something so—so—”

“Different?”

Susanna smiled. “What a very diplomatic way of putting it, Maxwell.”

He quelled another grin and dabbed the corners of his mouth with a napkin. His sister had always been caught up in the fashion of the moment, but she was even worse lately—her new husband being a relation to a member of the elite
ton
, even if he was only a barrister. Max thought he’d arranged an excellent match with the two of them, if he did say so himself. “Regardless. I didn’t procure an introduction because… Well, because I wasn’t sure from whom to garner it.”

“You mean she went to a ball without an escort? Really, Maxwell. You should have acquired better judgement by now. Those are the types of girl one only toys with, not ones who deserve a marriage proposal.”

“That’s not a fair statement, Susanna. Perhaps when I noticed her, the escort was…behind a pillar.”