Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
BOOKS BY SUSAN M. BAGANZ
Author’s Note
Quote
Mischief
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Biography
Thank you
You Can Help!
God Can Help!
Free Book Offer
Sir Michael’s Mayhem
Susan M. Baganz
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Sir Michael’s Mayhem
COPYRIGHT 2018 by Susan Baganz
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or Pelican Ventures, LLC except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
eBook editions are licensed for your personal enjoyment only. eBooks may not be re-sold, copied or given to other people. If you would like to share an eBook edition, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with.
Contact Information: [email protected]
Scripture quotations, unless otherwise indicated are taken from the King James translation, public domain.
Cover Art by Nicola Martinez
Prism is a division of Pelican Ventures, LLC
www.pelicanbookgroup.com PO Box 1738 *Aztec, NM * 87410
White Rose Publishing Circle and Rosebud logo is a trademark of Pelican Ventures, LLC
Publishing History
Prism Edition, 2018
Electronic Edition ISBN 978-1-5223-9778-6
Published in the United States of America
Dedication
To those who fight valiantly against
a darkness few understand.
You are not alone. May you find that
God is our hope in the stormy seas of life.
BOOKS BY SUSAN M. BAGANZ
Black Diamond Regency Romantic Suspense
The Baron’s Blunder (Prequel) novella
The Virtuous Viscount (Book 1)
Lord Phillip’s Folly (Book 2)
Sir Michael’s Mayhem (Book 3)
Lord Harrow’s Heart (coming soon)
The Captain’s Conquest (coming soon)
Orchard Hill Contemporary Romances
Pesto & Potholes
Salsa & Speed Bumps
Feta & Freeways
Root Beer & Roadblocks
Bratwurst & Bridges…
and others coming soon!)
Historical Christmas Novella
Fragile Blessings
Gabriel’s Gift
Short Story Compilation
Little Bits O’ Love
Author’s Note
During the tempestuous years between 1800-1820 or the more specific “Regency” years of 1811 to 1820, it was common for the upper classes, especially the men, to drink various forms of alcohol as part of their daily life. A glass of port wine was often savored by the men after the evening meal. French brandy was considered superior and highly coveted even though England was at war with France. In these stories, my characters do at times drink, and sometimes even to excess with serious consequences for their overindulgence. This is not in any way a recommendation on the part of the author or Pelican Book Group to advocate the drinking of alcohol or to abuse any substance. Laudanum is actually an opiate that was often prescribed medicinally (although many did become addicted to the drug). The use of these in the story are merely an attempt to use this period in history and its notorious excesses as a backdrop where appropriate.
Lord, will he ever open his eyes to see me? Help me, Lord. And protect him from those who seek to end his life.
~Miss Katrina Shepherd
Mischief:
ṕαδιονργία rha1diŏurgia krad-ee-oorg-eeʹ-
a recklessness, i.e. (by extension) malignity, mischief (Strong’s Exhaustive Concordance)
O full of all subtlety and all mischief, thou child of the devil, thou enemy of all righteousness, wilt thou not cease to pervert the right ways of the Lord?
~Acts 13:10
1
Late Winter London 1811
Sir Michael Tidley scanned the crowd for his contact. Who had Lord Hughes sent? He’d been wandering around the fringes of the ballroom in hopes of finding the person. He spun on his heel, bumping into a petite, nondescript woman dressed in grey. Most likely a companion. The contents of the drink she carried spilled down the front of his unmentionables and her dress. Insipid red wine designated for the ladies.
“I beg your pardon, miss.” He pulled out a handkerchief to blot in vain at the stain on his buff pantaloons and the dark spots on her gray skirt.
“’Tis no matter, sir.” Her expression revealed neither embarrassment nor dismay over the incident. “I will procure another ratafia for Lady Orion.” She curtsied before him almost bumping heads as he rose up from his task. She fearlessly met his gaze.
“Allow me to fetch a glass to Lady Orion and make your excuses while you retire to repair the damage,” he offered.
“That will not be necessary.”
“I insist.” He reached for the now empty glass in her hand and she relinquished it without further protest. “Where is she seated?”
“Over on the far west side of the ballroom, under the painting of A Midsummer Night’s Dream. The one showing Puck up to his mischief.” And with that she disappeared into the crowd.
Michael’s valet would not appreciate the work ahead in getting the stains out of his pantaloons. He approached the refreshment table to refill the glass and glided through the crowd to Lady Orion as she held court with the lions of the ton. He bowed before her. “Lady Orion, I had the misfortune to cause an accident, so pardon my appearance. Your companion has gone to try to clean up, but will return shortly.” He gave his most charming grin as he handed over the drink.
Lady Orion stared up at Sir Tidley, holding his gaze, almost as if she could peer into his soul. Michael sensed a challenge from the older matron, whom he equally feared and respected. He ignored the nagging feeling that she saw more than he preferred.
“My companion will likely find her way home rather than be seen. You say the accident was not due to her clumsiness?”
“Most certainly, m’lady. Would I lie to you?”
“I believe you might tell me whatever truth you deemed appropriate and suitable for your present need.” She gave a little huff with that pronouncement, and the ladies nearby tittered as they eavesdropped.
Michael chuckled. “I shall depart to tend to my own wardrobe. Good evening, ladies.”
As he walked off Lady Orion’s exclamation to the other women caught his ears. “Now there’s a man too charming for his own good. Too bad about his parentage.” He cringed as he slipped through the crowd to an empty parlour.
He searched his pockets. Had someone managed to get the promised message to him? He found the note in his right front coat pocket, pulled it out, and glanced at it. He scanned the contents and memo
rized the information before he crumpled it up and threw it into the fireplace, waiting to make sure it completely burned. The door to the patio that led to the gardens opened soundlessly, and Sir Michael became one with the night.
~*~
Katrina slipped into the mews after her collision with Sir Tidley. Stopping by the wall of the stable she held her hand to her chest to steady her heart. That man never ceased to set it racing. He failed to recognize her and hadn’t asked her name as proper introductions were not possible at that juncture. She sighed. Would he find the paper? Did he realize the danger he faced? She shook her head. He probably didn’t. Lord Hughes requested she only pass the note and not involve herself further. It proved he didn’t understand just who he was dealing with.
Foolish men.
Pushing away from the wall she melted into the bleak alley to the Orion townhouse. Sneaking up the servants’ stairs she located her room and changed from one disguise to another before departing. Armed with a pistol in her reticule and a knife sheathed to her right thigh, she hoped that she would not be too late to be of any assistance to Sir Tidley. She hailed a hackney and gave directions to the seedier side of London.
~*~
Sir Michael had changed into common labourer attire before striding into the Ox and Rooster, a pub filled with drunk and rowdy labourers. The odor wasn’t any better here than at the ball, except he didn’t have to choke on the perfumes used to cover up the stench of sweat, dirt, and spilled lager. His face was smudged with a bit of dirt. He hoped this meeting would be as helpful as Lord Hughes indicated it might be.
The aroma of fresh baked bread and beef stew was barely discernable. His mouth watered. He left the ball before the supper dance, but often these little pubs had the superior food. He found a seat at a small table, placed an order, and leaned back against the wall to wait while he sipped the dark brew set in front of him by a buxom maid with a sly wink. He shook his head. He gave up that game many years ago and had no desire to add a woman into the thick of the intrigue he was involved in. Women made things messy.
He sipped his ale and savored the bitter aftertaste. True, his friends Marcus and Phillip found wives they adored and whom he admired. But their lives were not as complicated. On the surface he seemed like the simplest of fellows living a carefree existence. He chuckled to himself over the irony of it all.
He kept an eye on the working class as they moved about the room. But for an accident of birth and a mother who chose to face scandal to keep her illegitimate son, this could have been his life. He respected the labourers who did an honest day’s work and lived with anxiety over where their next meal might come from, or how they would provide for a wife and children. Most of those wouldn’t be here tonight. This evening it would be the single men—the lonely and discontented. He sensed it in the air. The smell of danger hovered on the edge of the convivial chaos around him.
His soup arrived. He paid the tab immediately in case of trouble. The hair prickled at the back of his neck, alerting him that someone watched. He pretended ignorance and leaned forward to plunge the home-cooked bun into the savory soup and let the juice dribble down his chin. He grinned. How long had it been since he’d allowed himself to do that? Sometimes playing dress up for these missions permitted him little pleasures that walking amongst the ton couldn’t. He wiped the soup away with his sleeve and picked up a spoon to dig in with relish. As he scraped the bottom of the stoneware bowl, a man with his cap pulled low, dirty clothes, and unshaven appearance, sat across from him.
His table was quickly surrounded by more men with similar attire, missing teeth, and unshaven faces. The lout across the table leaned forward, and the smell of stale ale assailed Michael’s nostrils. He fought not to make a face and hoped this was his contact.
“Yur not from ‘roun here.” The man started out with a menacing tone and leaned back against his chair to wait.
“I ’eard tell this was the best ale and stew this side of the Thames.” Michael tried hard to ape the accent of the lower classes. It had never been his strong suit. Although he spoke several languages, the dialect of the street often escaped him.
“You lookin’ for some un?” The man picked his teeth with a knife.
The men around him shifted from foot to foot. The noise in the room dulled.
“Mayhap.” Michael raised his glass to take a sip of ale, his eyes never leaving the man across the table. All senses were heightened.
“We don’ like strangers hir.” This came from a man behind him whose hand now rested on Michael’s shoulder. Michael remained calm. Where was his contact? The man continued, “Nother gent made the same mistake, not an hur past.”
“Really?” Michael tensed involuntarily. So his contact had been intercepted.
“He ain’t gonna be tellin’ anyone ‘bout this place anytime soon.” This came from a third man.
Michael wondered how he might escape. Three to one he might handle, but the room was packed and he’d prefer to avoid an all-out brawl if he could.
The door opened from the outside bringing in a gush of fresh air and the scent of impending rain. An attractive, petite blonde stood in the doorway. All the men turned to stare. She smiled shyly as she searched the room. Spying Michael, she ran to his table, propelled herself into his lap, wrapped her arm around his neck, dislodging the hand of the man behind the chair.
“Dear, I am sorry to have ’arped at ye after all ye done for me. Take me back. I canna live without ye.” The voice was loud enough for all to hear, and she hugged his neck and laid her head next to his ear. “Follow my lead, I’ll get you out of this,” she whispered.
Michael grinned as he pulled the young woman’s face in front of his own and leaned forward for a kiss.
The men around the table hooted and hollered. The woman in his arms melted into him before pulling away. “Ye forgive me and you’ll come ‘ome?”
Michael nodded.
She threw her arms around him and hugged him tight before leaning back again and jumping off his lap. She grabbed his hand and raised him to his feet. Michael was not a tall man, inches shorter than the ruffians around him. But this woman was smaller still.
He gave the men a grin and a shrug. “Lover’s spat, ey, men? Guess I gotta go. ’Twas an interestin’ evenin’.”
The woman tugged Michael through the crowd. Once outside and still holding his hand, she dragged him down the alley at a run, veering down another and another almost as if through a maze.
Finally, he pulled back, stopping her. “Wait a minute. Where are you taking me?”
“To safety. Your contact was unconscious behind the inn.” Her breathing was labored, and she doubled over to catch her breath.
“You saved my life. Thank you. Will you be all right?” His own chest was heaving from the adrenaline rush and the mad dash through the streets and alleys.
“Shhhh, footsteps.” The blonde hissed as she pushed Michael up against the wall and leaned into him for a kiss.
His arms naturally went around her body as he bent his head to hers. Someone turned the corner and headed their way. They kissed more passionately, and the blonde made some noises indicating she was finding this a satisfactory performance. While Michael was frustrated at the failed meeting, he enjoyed the interlude with this little armful. This woman’s kisses branded his soul. He would have a hard time forgetting her when they parted ways. Fanciful thinking for a spy.
The man stopped not far from them, watching.
The woman broke off the kiss and leaned her forehead against his chest, trying to catch her breath.
“This ain’t no peep show. Go away!” Michael growled at the stranger, who then turned and left. The coast was clear. “Who are you?” Michael asked.
“No one of importance,” she replied.
“Please. A name.”
“Mouse,” she whispered.
Michael held her at arm’s length, getting only the vague impression of a petite build, a heart shaped face, unruly blonde hair
, and the garb of a lower-class servant.
“Where can I find you?” he asked.
“You can’t.” She glanced up and down the alley, disengaging from his embrace. Her voice was softly musical, with a huskiness to it that indicated she’d been as affected by their kisses as he was. “Go home. If I need to, I will contact you. You should be safe enough now. I’m sorry your meeting didn’t work out as you’d hoped.” With that, she took off at a run.
Michael belatedly pushed off the wall to give chase. The woman skirted and tossed garbage in his way before vanishing. Michael didn’t recognize this part of the city. He walked several blocks before finding a hackney to catch a ride home. He flipped the driver an extra coin for the fare and made his way to his living quarters.
Tristan, his batman, greeted him when he entered his room. Michael threw his hat on a chair, followed by the ratty coat he wore. He began to undo the buttons of his shirt.
“No success?” Tristan asked cautiously, as if sensing Michael’s darkened mood. He came forward to take the discarded clothing away. Tristan possessed reddish hair that curled and was kept short. He’d been with Michael during the war and returned more recently to help him in his secret work. His blue eyes saw way too much.
“My contact was intercepted before I arrived. I barely got out intact myself.”
“Oh? A woman?”
Michael’s gaze flew to his servant, who was putting his dancing shoes aside. “Why do you think there would be a woman involved?”
“Blonde hair on your coat and lip color on your cheek might be my first few clues. Your foul temper being my last one. Usually, a woman causes that.”
Michael gave a bark of laughter. “You’re impudent, Tristan. But you are also observant and correct. A woman saved my skin tonight, and I don’t even know her name or how to find her again.”
“Impressive chit, huh?”
Sir Michael wagged his eyebrows, “Well, she sure does something with a kiss that I’ve never experienced before.”
“You want her for a mistress?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You implied it. Lust has no place in the games we are engaged in. ‘Women are dangerous and distract from our mission. Avoid them like the plague.’ I believe those were your words on that subject only a few nights ago.”
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