Page 25 of Tales of a Society Nothing

“Someone else will have to teach me because I intend to finish the job now.” He made a motion with one hand and a long dagger slid into his gloved fist. Ambrose had his own dagger in his boot, but he didn’t think he’d win against this man if it came to a knife fight. He needed something bigger. The hearth was to his right and beside it the broom, bellows, and poker. He could do some damage with the poker.

The assassin moved toward him, and Ambrose pretended to back away, moving closer to the dark hearth. “How did you track me here?” Ambrose asked, hoping to keep the man distracted by talking.

“Oh, I didn’t. Meeting you here is just luck.”

“You came here to kill your employer? What’s become of the criminal underclass? No sense of loyalty in assassins anymore.” Ambrose shook his head.

The assassin gave him a wry smile. “I came to take the blunt I’m owed. You cost me twenty pounds.”

The poker was just a couple more feet away. “Not true. I saw in the ledger you were paid fifty.”

The assassin flipped the knife in his hand with a terrifying dexterity. “It was fifty up front and twenty when I finished the job.”

“Oh, thank God. I knew I was worth more.” Suddenly, Ambrose whirled, grabbed the poker and feinted to the right, just out of reach of the assassin’s blade. Ambrose had the bookshelf behind him now, which meant he was on defense. He’d take care of that soon enough and swung the poker, forcing the assassin to take a step back.

“What do you think Vanderville will say when he finds us here?” Ambrose asked. “Think he’ll realize you intended to rob him?”

“He won’t find us here tonight,Viscount. He’s gone to Richmond to take care of that little brat himself. So if you were thinking of protecting the prime minister’s son, you’re too late.”

Ambrose jerked back at the words.Too late. He’d suspected Vanderville was behind the threats on the life of the prime minister’s son, but this seemed to be the proof—proof that was coming too late.

The assassin lunged, and Ambrose hastily thrust the poker out to deflect. He realized—again too late—that the assassin’s distraction had worked. He’d been stunned by the man’s revelation that Vanderville had gone after the child himself and now Ambrose would pay for his lack of focus. The assassin ducked, twisted, and grasped the poker, flinging it out of Ambrose’s hand. It went flying across the room, landing with a soft thunk on the carpet. It was out of reach.

The assassin advanced, pushing Ambrose back against the bookshelves. “But you cost me more than twenty pounds, Viscount.Iwas supposed to go tonight to take care of the brat. Vanderville’s man there has failed repeatedly. I would have made a tidy sum—if not for you.”

“Perhaps you can find another innocent boy to murder.” Ambrose’s shoulder hit the bookshelf.

The assassin smiled. Ambrose locked eyes with the assassin and then slid his gaze to the dagger. He’d have to avoid a strike and disarm the man. He kicked, and the assassin easily avoided the blow and then crouched, dagger extended. “It’s not even about the blunt anymore,” the assassin said smoothly. “I’ll enjoy gutting you, Viscount. I want to hear you scream.”

Ambrose’s heart stopped, clenching painfully in his chest. He could feel the blood drain from his face and hoped to God the assassin thought the reaction was one of fear caused by his words. The fear was real enough. But it wasn’t the assassin’s threats causing it.

Maggie stepped smoothly behind the assassin, and Ambrose knew when the point of her knife pressed into his back, because he stiffened and his eyes widened.

“You were saying?” Ambrose quipped. Despite the levity he tried to feign, his voice sounded tight and strained. He was equal parts thankful for her help and angry she hadn’t taken the opportunity to run to safety. This was why he hadn’t wanted her to come. If she were hurt or killed, Ambrose would have no one but himself to blame. He’d allowed himself to be momentarily distracted, and now Maggie was trying to save him. “First rule of assassin school,” Ambrose said. “Always check for confederates. Drop your dagger.”

The assassin lifted it but hesitated.

“Drop it,” Maggie said, and Ambrose imagined she dug in with her knife point when she spoke. Still, he hadn’t wanted her to speak. He knew what would happen as soon as the assassin heard her voice. The man’s eyes widened, and he looked behind him.

“A woman?” he said, sounding incredulous.

“Drop the knife,” she said.

“Yes, madam.” He held his arm out, but instead of dropping his weapon, slammed his elbow back, ramming it into Maggie’s middle. She stumbled back and went down. The assassin lunged for her before Ambrose could yell, “No!”

But then Maggie was back on her feet, crouched in fighting position, her own long, sharp blade in her hand.

“It’s been too long since I killed a woman,” the assassin said. “I can’t wait to slit your throat.”

“I can’t wait to see you try.”

The assassin lunged, and Maggie whirled out of the way, coming up beside him and kicking out. The assassin huffed out a breath and lunged again. Maggie ducked and rolled, this time using her foot to sweep his ankle, causing him to stumble. She was up again and back in fighting position. Ambrose could only gape in shock. Where the devil had she learned how to fight like that? She wasn’t merely defending herself; she was gaining the upper hand. She was amazing. She was—hell, she was better than he.

“Holyoake,” she said, her gaze on the assassin. “A little help?”

He blinked and closed his mouth. “Yes, darling. Sorry for the delay.”

“Apology accepted.”

---