Then it was silent. The only sound she could hear was the beating of her thudding heart and her panicked breathing echoing in her ears.
Something lightly touched her shoulder and she shrieked, cowering where she knelt. Then there was nothing, once more. No touch, no noise, just calm. And patience. Whatever manner of person it was that had interrupted what could very possibly have ended with not only the loss of her virtue, but very likely her demise, one could at least credit them with patience.
With a deep breath to fortify her courage, Mary cracked open one eye.
“Do not be alarmed. I will not harm you,” the cultured voice said softly from the shadows.Orishe the shadow?
She opened her other eye and gazed into the darkness. The assailants were gone; vanished as though into thin air. The only evidence that there had been anyone there were the splatters of blood over the walls, ground, and on her person.
She licked her swollen lips and whispered, “Wh—where are they?”
“I took care of them. You do not need to fear them any longer.”
Mary nodded, but Lord knows she hadn’t the faintest idea where he would have deposited the three drunken, malicious devils.
“Thank you,” she said.
A hand shot out of the darkness and she flinched. Then she realized that he meant to help her to her feet and she blushed. “I’m sorry.” Her voice wavered.
“There is no need to apologize to me. You have just been through an ordeal and have every reason to not trust me. I am a stranger in the dark.”
Mary jutted her chin in defiance at her own fear and accepted his hand, allowing him to assist her to her feet. She felt oddly unsteady, but the man shrouded in darkness remained silent and patient as she gripped his arm to right herself.
“Your cloak, I believe.” He extended his free hand, and hanging from his two outstretched fingers was her mantle. “I am afraid that it may be torn beyond repair, however.”
Indeed, her mantle appeared to have been rent nearly in half; it must have been rather more threadbare than she had thought. After what had just transpired, however, the loss of her mantle was hardly of any significance. “I thank you again, sir.” She draped the ruined material over the wall of the passage. Perhaps she would bring it home and use it as washrags.
“My name is Richards, Miss.”
“Pleased… Well,” she amended, “under the circumstances, pleased to meet you, Mr. Richards. I am Mary Wright.”
The milky moonlight shone over the man’s dark hair and shadowed features. She could easily be frightened by his imposing presence, but something about him compelled her to feel safe. Part of it, she was certain, was due to the fact that he had just rescued her from a terrible fate.
He affected a bow, quick and rigid.
“You defended yourself most admirably, Miss Wright. You displayed knowledge, skill, bravery, and the willingness to defend yourself. This may sound inopportune and perhaps inappropriate, but I have a proposition for you.”
Disappointment crashed over her, but she could not muster the strength to be outraged—or flattered. She felt rather disheartened that the man had only saved her out of a desire to bed her himself. Despite how kind Mr. Richards appeared to be, however, she had no interest in becoming a man’s mistress at present.
“While I appreciate your offer, Mr. Richards—”
“I would like to teach you.”
Mr. Richards’ words overlapped hers and she was not certain that she had heard him correctly. “I beg your pardon?”
“I manage a small…education program at my estate in Brampton. I have several students under my tutelage there, where I teach them skills for defending themselves, language, history, accents…” His teeth shone silver in the moonlight as he grinned. “Reconnaissance, sleuthing, interrogation, espionage, infiltration, and the handling, loading, and use of all manner of weaponry.”
Mary’s eyes grew wide, and her disappointment fled.He’s bamming me. Surely he’s bamming me.
But what if he wasn’t? What if hewasa…aspywho taught spies? Or, even worse, what if he was a spy for theotherside? She could not abide inadvertently joining the fightforEngland’s enemies.
A folded piece of parchment appeared before her eyes. “My documentation,” he said. “Though I do not know how well you can read it in this light.”
Even if the sun was shining brightly in the sky, Mary was not certain that she could read it anyway, her eyes being as tired as they were. She rubbed her index finger over the wax seal, feeling the design in the indentation. The royal crest, unmistakably.
Anticipation bubbled through her midriff at the thought of learning the skills to defend her country, to defend herself. But what of her plans for the future? What of her hope of becoming an actress?
She hugged her arms across her stomach in an attempt to ward off the frigid air, the parchment crinkling in her hand.
