She struggled up on her elbows. Her veiled hat had been knocked askew, and a stray lock of blond hair had come loose from its pins to curl around her face. “She’s still tangled up in it!” she gasped. “And her claws are quite sharp!”

Miles grasped a handful of Miss Trewlove’s skirts, hesitating only long enough to ask permission to inflict what would, in other circumstances, be a reputation-ruining indignity. “May I—”

“Yes, yes,” she said breathlessly. “Anything. Only remove her!”

Miles hoisted up the layers of black silk and starched petticoats, revealing the enormous cage crinoline Miss Trewlove wore underneath (and a pair of shapely, stocking-clad legs he pretended not to notice). Shadow had woven herself through the wire and fabric tapes of the undergarment’s frame. The little cat looked at him, panicked, her chest vibrating on a low, continuous growl.

“Easy,” Miles said to her. “I won’t hurt you.” He covered the cat’s body with his hand. She responded by sinking her teeth into his finger. He sucked in a breath. “Bloody hell.”

“Did she—”

“She’s fine.”

“I didn’t mean the cat,” Miss Trewlove said in a strained voice. “I meant you.”

“I’ll live.” He slowly untangled Shadow’s legs from the wires, ignoring her continued hissing and spitting. Extracting her from the crinoline, he set her down on the carpet. The little cat tore free of his grasp the instant she was able. Streaking across the office, she plunged under the sofa.

Miles exhaled. “There,” he said, sitting back on his haunches. “No damage done.”

No sooner had he uttered the fateful words than the door was thrust open and Higgins burst in, carrying a small box in his hand.

“Mr. Quincey? This was just delivered at the front desk. Bob said as how you’d want to be notified directly…” The newspaper clerk’s words trailed away as he beheld the scene before him—Miss Trewlove on the floor with her skirts above her knees and Miles looming over her like some vile seducer.

Higgins wasn’t alone. An older, distinguished-looking gentleman stood a short distance behind him in the hall. The esteemed member of the parish council, presumably, come early for his appointment.

Seeing him, the color drained from Miss Trewlove’s face. She scrambled to a sitting position, hastily pulling her skirts into some semblance of order. “Reverend Pettiman!”

Pettiman’s florid countenance went crimson with outrage.

Miles didn’t flinch. Neither did he hesitate. “I’ll be with you in a moment, Higgins,” he said in the same brisk, businesslike tones he employed when dealing with any other workplace catastrophe. “If you wouldn’t mind closing the door?”

“Yes, sir. Apologies, sir. Completely my fault.” Higgins backed out of the office, shutting the door after him with a power that rattled the doorframe.