Page 68 of A Rogue to Watch Over Me
From across the room, Logan motioned to her. When she followed him to his office, he leaned against his desk, stretching out his long legs.
“Ye know him, don’t ye?” Logan scrubbed a hand against his jaw. “The lean one with the shark’s eyes.”
“I cannot be certain it is indeed him, but I believe the man is John Niles.” She laced her fingers in a nervous knot. “I am not certain he remembers me.”
“Oh, he recognized ye. I’ve no doubt of that.” Logan met her eyes. “How do ye know him?”
“Years ago, Niles needed an appraisal of works he’d purchased at auction. When I encountered him in Paul’s office, I recall thinking the man was more puffed up than a peacock.”
“Yet here he is, dressed like he earns his wages by the sweat of his brow. Did ye recognize the other man?”
Amelia shook her head. “I don’t recall ever seeing him. I take it he is not a regular.”
“Never seen him before tonight,” Logan said. “He played at being in his cups, but the bloke had little to drink. He was the more talkative of the two.”
“Did he reveal anything of interest?”
“Tim caught wind of some information that might prove useful.”
“And what might that be?”
“John Niles recently returned from France.”
“From Paris?”
“Tim didn’t hear much of the conversation, but he’s clear that the tall man mentioned France.”
“That may be significant. Or not.” Amelia struggled against a rising sense of defeat. “Niles has ample funds at his disposal. He’s known to have a fondness for the Continent.”
“I thought as much.” Logan plowed a hand through his hair. “This man’s bones are weary. I’m of a mind to shut down for the night.”
“It is getting very late,” Amelia agreed.
Not quite half an hour had passed before Logan ushered the last patron from the tavern. Leaving Murray, Tilly, and Tim to their nightly tasks, he escorted Amelia through the back door to his carriage. Hazy beams from a gas lamp flickered in the night. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a flash of movement mere steps from the building.
Concealed in the darkness of the alley, a man clutched something in his hand.
Light gleamed against metal.
“Logan!” Amelia’s warning cry came a split second too late.
The man lunged from the shadows. With a quick slash of the knife, the assailant brought down the dagger in a vicious arc.
Logan dodged a lethal strike. The blade slashed down again, slicing into his shoulder with a sickening violence.
Amelia heard herself scream as Logan shoved her out of the assailant’s path. The sound of her own terror echoed in her ears.
Wielding the dagger like a madman, the brute pressed his attack.
Logan dodged the blade.
Weaving with a brawler’s skill.
Blocking wild, erratic slashes of the knife.
Her fear transformed to fury. Amelia tore her derringer from her bag.
She took aim.
