Page 97 of Scandalous: Family Ties and Spies

“I must express my admiration for you mein herr,” the man said almost cheerfully. “You move with great stealth. It was difficult to be certain there was someone stalking me until just a few moments ago. The light from the doorway cast your shadow on the wall.”

Tension knotted his limbs. God help him, if the man had seen him with Amalie. There was no time to follow through on the fear trying to take hold of him. The switch blade’s almost soundless whirr of steel on steel was the only warning Valeran had before the man leaped toward him. Caught off guard, the air currents stirring in front of him were the only thing telling him to arch backward away from the vicious arc of the man’s downward stroke.

It wasn’t fast enough. The blade sliced through his shirt and into his upper arm like a scalpel. The cut was deep enough to cut off the nerve endings, so there was little pain. Valeran grunted more with anger than discomfort as his hands met slick cobblestones, and he did a backward flip. The second flip made his arm protest viciously. Damnation.

This time, he grunted in real pain. In just his first move, the bastard had almost sliced his neck. Worse, the strike meant to kill him had hurt him just enough to make defensive moves all the more difficult. Pain signals had already reached his brain, demanding he stop to avoid exacerbating the injury. Blood trickled down his arm until a few droplets touched his hand.

Damn the man to hell. Instinctively, he started to grab at his injured arm, then stopped himself. Doing so would tell his opponent, the cut was deeper than the man might realize. It would give the bastard a focus point to strike at again to do further harm.

Valeran refused to give the man that kind of advantage. Christ, he really was going to die tonight. In the back of his head, he heard Amalie’s voice sneering at him as she called him a fuking bawbag for daring to think such a thought.

Concentrate Sommerville. The man has a weakness. Find it.

Blocking out the shouts of protests from his arm, Valeran studied the man’s shape that had become all the more defined as the man stood almost directly underneath one of the gaslight lanterns. Warily, the two of them faced off, moving in first one direction and then another in an effort to find an opportunity to strike. Beneath Valeran’s feet, the cobblestones were slicker in some spots than others. It would throw the man off balance and allow him to strike.

“Are you a circus performer, mein lieber herr?”

Surprise whispered beneath the man’s sneer. Valeran smiled grimly, but didn’t reply. Silence would help conceal his identity in the future, and he prayed the shadows would do enough to make it harder for the man to recognize him in the light of day. Even though he was wearing theatrical make-up, he could only pray his opponent wouldn’t see through his disguise as he had Featherstone’s. The man chuckled.

“A deaf mute, perhaps?”

The man was confused, and Valeran used it to his advantage. Darting forward to bring him within striking distance, he twisted his body in a small half turn to the right. Without thinking, he lined his right shoulder up with the center of the man’s body. In another small pivot, his right leg and then his left swung up in a rapid double kick to land two hard blows to the man’s chest. The moment Valeran landed on his feet, the man’s blade dug into his shoulder, then diagonally down his back as if his opponent were using Valeran to remain standing. Whipping around to take up a defensive position, he flinched as he saw the man’s shadow stagger back a couple of steps before quickly regaining his footing.

“At last, a worthy opponent,” the spy said softly. The surprise was gone from the man’s voice. In its place was a cold, menacing note of determination. “I was growing tired of slitting throats. It’s far too easy. It will give me a great deal of pleasure to split you open, mein lieber herr.”

Jaw clenched, Valeran ignored the sense of foreboding that swept over him. His back hurt like hell. He was losing, and he didn’t like to lose. Especially to this bastard. Valeran heard the small splash as the man stepped into a puddle. Instantly, he threw himself into a ball and landed three inches away from the man. Ignoring the pain in his injured arm, he drove his fist up into the man’s ballocks with every bit of power he possessed. The man sank to his knees, a cry of agony pouring out of him.

Valeran silenced the excruciating pain in his arm, and in a lithe, smooth movement, he sprang to his feet. In the two seconds it took for him to position himself to do a sidekick to the man’s head, his opponent recovered enough to drag the switchblade across the back of Valeran’s calve. This time, the man’s blade did more than hurt him. It was a crippling blow that almost dropped him to the ground, making it impossible to even think if he could kick. Hopping backward, nausea threatened to make him wretch where he stood. Continuing to retreat without the use of his one leg, Valeran watched the shadowy figure stumbling slowly to his feet.

“I’m going to kill you for that, mein lieber herr. I’m going to kill you slowly.”

Valeran’s jaw tightened until it overrode the pain of the injuries the man’s sharp blade had created. He gritted his teeth as his enemy’s dark shadow moved to the very edge of the pool of light from the closest gaslight. It made it difficult to see the man, which made it harder to react. When the man moved, his lunge was so fast it took Valeran by surprise.

Only years of practice saved him from the blade headed straight for his throat, but to avoid it, he was forced to use his injured leg. This time the wild cry of pain to echo in the street was Valeran’s. He crashed face down onto the cobblestones. Pain shot up his leg and drove him to the edge of unconsciousness.

Over the back of his neck, the hot currents of summer air blew across his skin. With another loud cry of anguish, he rolled away from his opponent in two quick turns. Shadows merged into one dark image as Valeran roared out again as the man’s foot slammed into his calve.

Unable to move, the dim light of the lantern up above barely allowed him enough light to see the tall, slender shadow hovering over him. He dragged in a slow, torturous breath as pain clouded his mind. Valeran was only vaguely aware of his opponent slowly crouching over him.

“You fought well, mein lieber herr. In fact, so well, that I’ve decided to let the fates choose whether you live or die.” The man’s words were filled with admiration. “While I would prefer you die, I also hope you live to fight me one day in the future.”

Valeran was unable to move as the man’s arm descended in a vicious arc, and the switchblade sliced across his stomach to steal his life. Eyes closed, he surrendered to the inevitable and visualized his fingers touching Amalie’s face until she was a clear image in his mind. The images his fingers had memorized in the past few months eclipsed the pain assaulting his body as she materialized in his mind. God, he wished he’d said he loved her weeks ago. He truly was a bawbag.

How he would miss tasting his sweet mouse’s lips. Miss her delectably full, lushly plump curves beneath his as he made love to her with tenderness and fiery passion. Suddenly, the light and dark contours of her sweet face filled Valeran’s head. He heard her call his name, and his lips twisted in a slight smile. He’d been right. A man could die happy with Amalie’s siren voice echoing in his ears. The dark and light shadows of his beautiful wife’s face were the last thing he saw as he slid into the darkness.

Chapter 26

The moment the bolt slid home to lock the orphanage’s front door, Amalie spun around to see Mrs. Hughes staring at her in open-mouthed amazement. Finger to her lips, she silently commanded the older woman to be quiet. Without whispering an explanation, Amalie ran up the stairs to the schoolroom. Opening the door to the darkened room just wide enough for her to slide past it, she closed it behind her.

When Valeran had pounced on her outside the orphanage’s door, she’d been terrified. Her husband had moved so swiftly and quietly that he’d silenced and held her hostage before she could make a sound. It was only when she heard his voice in her ear that her heart rate had slowed. A second later, it had resumed its frantic pace as he mentioned the possibility of one of them dying.

Her confusion as to why Valeran had been on Tenter Street in the dark wasn’t half as bewildering at his orders for her to go back into the orphanage and lock the door. It had left her head spinning as she’d tried to take in his soft, yet resolute instructions. When he’d pulled her deeper into his body, she’d wanted to sigh with happiness. But the tender way he’d brushed his lips across her temple, then murmured he loved her, had made her freeze in his arms.

Stunned, it had taken her several seconds after he’d released her to gather her wits and open the door of the children’s home. As she’d pulled White Willow’s front door open, she’d glanced over her shoulder. Valeran had been standing in the shadows on the opposite side of the street with his back pressed into the wall. His body was taut with tension. But it was his expression that had alarmed her the most.

The rage she’d seen there had been cold and deadly. Whatever danger he was about to confront said he wouldn’t hesitate to kill someone. It was a side of her husband she’d never seen before. It frightened her because it reinforced his words that if she didn’t do as he said, one or both of them would die tonight. Terrified by what she might see on the street below, Amalie slowly crossed the schoolroom to the window overlooking St. Marks.

A man’s disembodied voice rose up from the street below, but the closed windows muffled his words. Although she couldn’t make out what he was saying, his polite and gracious tone struck her as odd. Baffled, she paused for a moment, before a chill of horror scraped down her back. The man’s congenial manner was nothing more than a veneer for the malevolence that ran beneath his charming manner.