“But I was wrong. He was helping her in her bizarre endeavor to follow me indefinitely until she discovers… something. Haven’t the foggiest what she’s after. Something to do with Rycliffe, I expect.
“I learned today that she knew what he was and she still married him. She’s still defending him. She knew how he hurt you the way he did. What is it about him? Why do you love him so much? Why can’t you see what he is, what he does?”
This man… These were not the words of a killer. Were they? Even the hurt and outrage I heard in his rusty, bitter tone contained nothing of violence, nothing of death.
“It is damn ironic, is what it is. The first time in ages that I saw a woman and thought… well, anything really. And she’s already his. Just like you were. Doesn’t matter though. She was sure to be a disappointment. No one can hold a candle to you, sweetling.”
It was such an intimate moment—one I had no business witnessing. But for the first time in seven years, I did not feel so alone. He loved her the way I loved Gabriel. And if I ever found his killer…
He was talking about Kit—Lord Leighton—now, inconsequential things about various clients. He was not going to confess to Gabriel’s murder—not now. I followed my tree line back to the road as the sun began to kiss the horizon. After wriggling the gate in the same manner he had to get it open, I exited the graveyard and made my way back out to the London streets.
Few lamps were lit in this part of town. The buildings cast impossibly long shadows in the setting sun. It seemed later than I knew it to be, with the darkness spilling across the walkway.
I hadn’t intended to be so far away from home, hadn’t meant to follow him to such a distance. This was precisely the sort of situation Xander warned me to avoid. Not only had I intruded on a very private interaction and learned nothing of value, but I was going to get myself killed for my efforts.
I stepped quickly, with purpose, moving as fast as I could manage without drawing undue attention. I was grateful for the maid’s uniform; it was certainly less conspicuous than my usual apparel. In my haste, the umbrella I still carried bumped against my shin occasionally. I was not used to traveling with such an item.
Already fewer people were on the streets than had been perhaps an hour before. The ones who were out seemed less savory in appearance than those I’d observed earlier.
I hadn’t paid as much attention to the route as I should have. I was too occupied with my pursuit and had planned to follow him on his return journey. Now, I was less confident of the direction.
Two men rounded a corner just ahead. They were huddled together, sharing confidences. My steps slowed without permission, an unwitting demonstration of weakness that drew their attention.
My heart skipped with instinctive unease. Even from the distance of a few hundred paces, their interest was unmistakable. One took a step toward me. The other joined his advance, and they hurried to close the distance.
I could not continue forward. To my left was a blind alley. I could turn down it and hope they lost interest. That would leave me no escape if their excitement did not wane with lost sight.
While I considered my options, they had already halved the distance.
Two options left. I could gather my skirts and pull out the dagger strapped to my thigh—I could fight. Or I could run.
Gabriel’s graveled voice rang through my mind. “Always flee. If you have a choice between fighting and fleeing, flee.” Pulling the knife would leave no time for flight.
Decision made, I turned back toward the cemetery and took off, sprinting faster than I ever had before. My feet pounded on the pavement.
And they weren’t alone.
I didn’t dare look back. The men were close enough to hear their harsh breaths. They were going to catch me. They would grab me. They would do unspeakable things to me.
The second half of Gabriel’s instructions flicked through my mind between breaths. “If you can’t flee, then fight, and do not fight fair.”
The move was instinctive. My feet planted and I spun, the umbrella I had nearly forgotten about clasped in both hands.Whack!My blind swing made contact with the side of a man’s head and he went down. He landed in a crumpled heap at my feet.
Unfortunately, the hit jarred my grip and the taller man caught my weapon and tugged. I tripped over the injured one and stumbled forward but managed to retain my hold. Tightening my hands with everything I had, I yanked and twisted. I pulled it free and floundered backward slightly.
By the time I righted myself, the first man was staggering to his feet, his cheek bleeding. My heart was pounding too harshly in my ears to make out his words, but they weren’t pleasant.
My gaze darted between them. I had never fought two men. Hell, I had never fought a single man with the intention of wounding him. And certainly never with an umbrella. My decade of fencing was only slightly better than useless.
The wounded one.Instinct told me to incapacitate him first. Suddenly, hours of foil practice came back to me.
Without warning, I thrust the point of the umbrella straight into his gut. There was nothing to foreshadow my motion. I managed to pierce flesh.
The umbrella tip wasn’t sharp, not like my small sword, nor was it tipped like my practice foil. It hit the mark, and what followed wasn’t pretty. My weapon dragged through the man’s belly with a sickening squelching sound before my motion was aborted by the fabric, a few inches along the shaft.
It was a severe wound. It might even kill him. But it would be a slow death, infection rather than blood loss. All it would do now was slow him down.
I’d never had to pull my blade free from sinew. The umbrella didn’t pull free the way I expected. Instead, his skin closed around it and it stuck. I had to yank much harder than intended to free it.
