Cat and Mouse (5 page)

“Oh yes, that must be it. After all, you have so very many fat pillars in your ballroom—Hey!”

Susanna shouldn’t have been so surprised when his wadded-up, linen napkin bounced off her chin and into her lap.

“Hm. Perhaps you aren’t ready for matrimony. You still act like a child.” She tossed his napkin onto the bed.

Max chuckled. He knew he’d won a small scuffle, but was leagues away from winning the entire war.

“Oh, Maxwell,” she huffed. “You’re so spoilt! You always get your own way—always get everything you go after, no matter the stakes. I’ve a mind to place an advertisement in
The Primrose League Gazette
and have the women line up at your door as if you were interviewing housekeepers. That would show you.”

“Look,
Stinker
.” He used the nickname she’d hated as a child and despised as an adolescent. “There’s no need for all that. Just do me the small favour of holding back the invitations to my wedding until I’ve—”

“Explored every crowded avenue and dubious alleyway?”

“—chosen a bride, all right?”

His sister pouted prettily and shrugged a shoulder—which meant she agreed.

Susanna declined his offer to order up breakfast for her and announced she had other morning calls to make. She kissed him on the cheek and bade him farewell.

Once Susanna had departed, Max set aside his tray, reclined onto the stack of pillows at his back and proceeded to construe the whos, whats and wheres about his wonderful new obsession—for which he refused to chastise himself. Everyone needed something to occupy themselves, after all. He grinned inwardly and set his mind to the task before him.

The more he dwelt upon them, the visual facts from this morning stated the evidence loud and clear. He ticked off the evidence in his mind. There was no way in hell the mouse was for the continent—not in a ball gown more suited for a girl just out, and without any feminine equipage whatsoever. It was apparent she hadn’t of late circulated in high society. She had a certain savvy about the streets one only achieved by living so roughly for an extended period of time. However, her refined manners—not counting her insalubrious vocabulary—told another story.

With this realisation, his heart broke for the girl who had been obviously forced into a dishonourable lifestyle. Likely she’d had a man in her life and the coward had betrayed her, causing her to have to turn to pilfering. Once he found her, and earned her trust, he’d get his hands on the blighter who’d done this to her. Heaven help the poor man when he did.

But first to find her.

Of course, this meant he’d not only have to keep his eyes open when on the streets and his ears open to any gossip that sounded remotely recognisable, but he’d also have to make an appearance at every public ball this season. At such events one usually encountered the same faces, so if his hunch was correct, the mouse would be there—as would the chilly Miss Winifred Boonsbury and wretched Miss Charity Wilson.

However, if all this fuss led to finding his mouse, it would be worth it. Max sighed—half in resignation, half at the very thought of being in her presence. He reached for
The Post
and flipped through to the society page to chart out the parties he’d need to attend in order to set his trap.

* * * *

Katrina stretched her arms above her head, unaware as to what time of day it was. She’d slept rather soundly and felt far bloody better than she had when she’d retired the night, or rather morning before.

She arose from her cot, donned her plain mourning gown and made her way to where the Den’s food supply lay. They’d set up an old wood burning stove and had procured several pots and pans with which to cook. Everyone pitched in to make sure there was water and fuel available for kitchen purposes. In addition, each person was required to clean up after themselves. More than once Katrina had wished the former rule could be applied to the world beyond. London, for one, wouldn’t be such a miserable, filthy place if people weren’t so untidy with their personal flotsam and jetsam.

By the way the shadows fell high upon the wall beneath the small, open window near the ceiling, it must have been late afternoon. She plucked a jar of apple preserves from a shelf, but how she would serve it eluded her.

If only one of those silver spoons would have made it back to the Den with me last night.
Katrina recalled with a bitter taste on her tongue and a maddening irritation at just how she’d been divested of the items.
Damnation
. That man could have done all sorts of damage to her person—let alone her situation. He could have kept her there until the authorities arrived. The very thought of life in Newgate made her stomach roil. She took a deep breath to shake off the sinking feeling in her gut.

She then recalled the second man, the one who’d followed her and almost foiled her plans of returning to the Den without being noticed. Who was he and what had possessed him to tag along and put so many questions to her? He was indeed a handsome gent—even in his dishevelled state of undress. It wasn’t that he couldn’t attract any woman he set his sights for—

“You bring the fruit and I’ll provide a bit o’ bread.”

Katrina glanced up to see Jimmy standing in the doorway with a loaf of bread tucked smartly under his arm.

She made to comment when, from behind him, Mr Brenner appeared and clapped him soundly upon the back. “We celebrate
together
. I brought the ale.” He pushed past Jimmy and plunked down a small crate of four bottles. The jolt made the rickety wooden table rock upon its three good legs. The few ramshackle chairs were just as healthy looking. But who was she to complain? She hadn’t a stick of furniture to her name.

Jimmy’s smile didn’t come near to engaging the rest of his features and his disposition shifted with an odd sort of tension about his neck and shoulders. Something was out of joint. Mr Brenner’s praise only brought forth a hard coldness from Jimmy that Katrina had never seen before. Under normal circumstances, Jimmy exuded conviviality.

“And what exactly are we celebrating, gentlemen?” Katrina asked as she eyed the two men.

“Mr Lock has just found his self in the winners’ circle—broken his own record, as far as fine wirers go.”

“Indeed?” Katrina commented and gingerly placed the preserves upon the table.

Mr Brenner held up a hand, knuckles facing her with his thumb tucked into his palm. “He took down no less than
four
gold tickers in the same amount of time.”

Katrina hid a wince and ran her fingers through her hair. Stealing was wrong—even though she did it to survive. It was a conundrum she’d lived with every day since she’d begun at the Den. If a child was starving was it wrong to steal a bite of food for him? She’d gone round and round in her head with questions of the like. Once again she pushed the conscience-scouring to the back of her mind. It was one thing to reproach one’s self, but she wasn’t in the position to admonish someone else about their morals.

“Quite impressive, Mr Lock.” She nodded even though it felt like she’d been socked in the stomach without her woman’s under-trappings for protection.

Mr Brenner pulled out a chair for her and she sat. “I’m still convinced you could do even better. Perhaps a bit more tutelage under Mr Lock would do it.”

Jimmy lifted his eyebrows briefly and swung his leg over the back of his chair. He sat and reached for a bottle of ale. He flipped the wire to release the stopper, took a long draw and his countenance changed once again to congenial. “Having Miss Katrina under me again would be my greatest pleasure.”

Katrina tucked his mood swing to the back of her mind for further inspection and shook her head. “I’m sure what you have in mind is not exactly what Mr Brenner meant.” She tore off hunks of bread and distributed them.

“Perhaps not, love—” Jimmy winked at her. “But if it were, I could charge admission and make out rather well.”

Mr Brenner burst forth with an exploding guffaw. “Yes,
we
could. Like having me own penny gaff. I like the way you think, Mr Lock.”

“Sorry, chaps.” Katrina was determined to speak to them on their own level in order to quell this horrifying idea. “I’ve no mind to star in your bloody peep show, so forget it was ever mentioned.”

Jimmy shrugged. “Well, anyways, I agree. You and me ought to do some jobs together. It’s an enterprisin’ idea at least.”

“Good boy,” Mr Brenner said in a peculiar, warning-like tone. “‘Tis the season, after all, when the gentry of society open their doors to the public for parties and such.” Mr Brenner popped open his ale. “Perhaps Miss Katrina can snatch up another pair of sparkly baubles like she did last night.”

Jimmy turned to Katrina. “Are we for it, then?”

She shook her head. “I don’t think so. It’s too soon for me to go back into the crush.”

“Nonsense.” Mr Brenner waved a hand. “We’ll fix it so you won’t be recognised.”

“Let me guess, gentlemen. A masked ball?”

Mr Brenner chuckled. “As beneficial as you donning a mask would be to our cause, no. I’ve found that the nosiest gossips are especially active during those times—owing to all the bed hopping.” He glanced at Jimmy and waggled his eyebrows.

Brenner turned to Katrina. “This evening we’ll fix up your hair and you can wear one of your other gowns. You have them along for a reason, don’t you? They need to earn their keep as well as anything, I’d imagine.”

She clenched her fists and felt her nails dig into the palms of her hands as they rested in her lap. It seemed she wouldn’t be able to squirm out of this one if she fell over with a fever. “Well, I’ll have to be overly cautious. Don’t expect me to produce more diamonds at the drop of a hat, Mr Brenner.”

He grinned at her. “Produce, no. Procure, yes.”

Jimmy drew a knife from beneath his wrist cuff and spread the fruit first onto Katrina’s bread then his own. “I look forward to our little outing, Miss Katrina.”

Katrina wanted to sink into the floor and disappear. She’d told that man this morning she was on her way to the continent. If he happened to be in attendance tonight—and he seemed the type to be such—she was done for.

Chapter Five

“Lady Frost.” Max bowed over his hostess hand. “Always a pleasure.”

“Why if it isn’t Mr Maxwell Courtland.” Her parchment cheeks took on a ruddy flush. “I’m deeply honoured you’ve come tonight. You’ll add elegance to our décor for certain.”

“Me, madam?” He released her fingers. “It is my understanding that your gatherings have always topped the season in ornamentation.”

“Oh, go on,” she said and waved a hand in the air. “Save your flattery for the younger set of females who’ve come tonight for just such attentions.”

Max winked at her and continued through the entrance hall, following the strains of stringed music to the ball room. The dance card, which had been pressed into his palm by the coat room attendant, dangled from his wrist. With any luck he’d have his little mouse’s name before the night was over—provided she made an appearance. He admitted it would be a daring move on her part if she were to show her face, but if she was anything, she was bold.

He glanced around the ballroom. “Come out, come out, where ever you are,” he breathed his challenge. Max nearly chuckled aloud. He didn’t even know her name and she’d occupied his thoughts since their first encounter in his study.

Somehow, and quite annoyingly, his imagination dug up Susanna’s convictions. Would the mouse have a chaperone with her this time? Did common rabble—or
un
common in her case—have access to chaperones? He couldn’t imagine her wearing that same gown. Women, no matter their station, didn’t do such things for formal events—or so Susanna had told him on occasion.

One thing Max was certain of, he’d recognise her by her hair. The raven-black, curved at the ends, hand-length tresses… He could see himself sitting behind her in a tub of hot water, his fingers knuckle-deep with suds as he shampooed her hair. God, what a vision she would be—her pale skin soaking up fragrant French bath oils—and what he would do to her body afterwards…

He took a steadying breath.
Damnation
. How long would he have to fantasise about her before she was in his arms?

For now, he’d have to bide his time. Hoping to cool his thoughts, he chose to do a goodly amount of this at the punch bowl, before he went about with an embarrassing cockstand.

Katrina stood in a crush of people and glanced up at the impressive three-storey edifice in which tonight’s public ball would be held. She felt Jimmy, who had her gloved fingers tucked securely into the crook of his elbow, twitch once in a while. Likely, he was snatching items from the crowd around them. Mr Brenner had high hopes for the evening’s take, and with Jimmy along, it promised not to disappoint.

Back at the Den she’d dressed in her cream satin ball gown, which could have used a good taking in at the chest. It was vastly more fashionable than any of her other gowns, though, with its large puffy sleeves and no bustle. Jimmy had brought hairpins with paste diamonds affixed to the tips—courtesy of Mr Brenner’s ‘un-sellable stash’. He’d helped her to twist her hair up and secure the loose rolls with the pins. She had to admit she didn’t look nearly as obvious tonight as she had last night.

“Pity we’re working.” He leaned towards her and whispered, “I could have used a night of leisure with you on my arm.”

“Young ladies don’t attend events with gentlemen alone.
Chaperones
accompany them,” she informed him in a lowered voice.

“Damn—I’m fresh out o’ chaperones.”

She turned to him. “And no matter how good you are, I’m quite certain you couldn’t pluck one of those from the crowd.”

“Now there ya got me. My pockets are too small to accommodate such haulage.”

His quip made her grin. Regardless of his dashing good looks and how handsome he appeared in his very fashionable evening attire, Katrina imagined his Irish lilt would give him away were he to speak to anyone. “Jimmy, about your…accent.”

“Don’t you worry yourself, love. I know when to sound like an English blue-blood.”