Page 35 of A Lady's Handbook of Espionage
The faint rustle of fabric nearby drew Isabel’s attention. She cracked an eye open, wincing at even that small movement.
Emma.
“Em,” Isabel managed.
“Don’t strain yourself,” Emma said, grasping her hand.
Isabel swallowed hard. “You called . . . a damn doctor. Annoying.”
“My sister was bleeding all over the rug. That cancelled any promises I made to you.”
“You sent the Home Office after me.”
“Ah, well, that was my doing.” This from the other side of her bed, where a blonde woman sat. Lady Alexandra, Isabel had gathered from watching Emma over the last few days. “In fairness to your sister, she didn’t know the man was a spy at the time.”
Isabel grunted. She shifted her focus back to Emma. “And you fell in with an earl.”
“I see we’re going through a list of my betrayals,” Emma said. “Of course.”
“I’ll kill him . . . if he uses you.”
Isabel saw the flicker of understanding in Emma’s eyes. Their shared history, the father who didn’t even want them.
Isabel forced her gaze once more to Alexandra. She took in the fine silk of the woman’s dressing gown. Despite her weakened state, Isabel’s mind began to calculate, familiar habits rising to the surface.
“I could sell that for a decent meal.”
Alexandra’s eyebrows rose. “Do you think so? How decent?”
Isabel considered that, mentally tallying the potential value against the current rates in London’s seedier districts. “A month’s worth of the best meat pies, and pocket the rest for knives.”
A grin spread across the other woman’s face. “Oh, I like you. Alexandra Grey, at your service. I had to meet the infamous Isabel Dumont in person.”
“Infamous.” Isabel’s cracked lips twitched. “Bleeding out . . . in a guest room. Not my finest first impression.” She sucked in a ragged breath. “Suppose I’m retired now. Tell Callahan . . . I accept his offer.”
Emma’s eyes widened. “To work for the Home Office?”
“Better them . . . than the Syndicate.”
Alexandra spoke up. “I’ll tell him. Would you like me to convey any threats?”
“I like her,” Isabel murmured to Emma.
The splintering crack of wood shattering rent the air.
Isabel surged upright, ignoring the searing agony that ripped through her at the sudden movement. Her hand closed around the knife she kept at her ankle for emergencies.
Three men burst into the room, faces obscured by dark fabric. Moonlight glinted off their blades.
They’d found her.
“Stay in bed,” Emma ordered, as if Isabel were in any state to do otherwise.
“Let me handle it,” Isabel gritted out, even as her vision swam.
The first assassin lunged, blade raised. Isabel’s arm snapped out. The knife left her hand in a graceful arc, singing through the air before burying itself to the hilt in the man’s throat.
A gurgling cry escaped him. He stumbled, hands scrabbling at the blade as he crashed to the floor.
