step or two would bring them within his reach.
“De Quincy!” she warned.
The assailant had scrambled to his feet, and with a roar of rage launched into a head-on charge.
Bracing himself, Saybrook managed to block the first stab. He held the advantage in height, but the other man was built like a bull, with thick limbs and slabs of solid muscle. The blade flashed again, slicing the cane in two.
“The next one will sever your jugular.”
Saybrook ducked the slash and spun around, raking the jagged wood across the man’s knuckles.
Blood welled up from the furrow, but the assailant kept hold of his weapon. Its steel danced through the air, sleek and sinuous as a snake ready to strike.
Anticipating the blow, Saybrook quickly dodged to his left, but his leg, weakened by the struggle, was slow to react. The knife cut through his trousers, scoring a gash in his thigh.
Arianna bit back a cry.
The momentum of the attack sent both of them sprawling to the floor. Saybrook landed awkwardly, his head hitting hard against the stone tiles. The other man fell on top of him, flailing, cursing, kicking.
The blood pounding in her ears, Arianna watched with a strangely detached sense of calm. It was over . Saybrook was trying to fight off the attack, but it looked as though his strength was ebbing fast. In another moment, she, too, would be dead.
With a savage snarl, the assailant reared up. His upraised arm hovered for a heartbeat in the hazy shadows. . . .
Thwock. Steel stabbing into flesh made a sickening sound.
Then, as if in slow motion, the blade fell harmlessly from the man’s lifeless fingers and his body toppled forward, landing heavily atop Saybrook’s sprawled form. The impact appeared to rouse him from his momentary stupor. Twisting out from beneath the limp limbs, he eyed the hilt of a carving knife protruding from the man’s back and expelled a ragged breath.
“Thank you,” he croaked, slowly levering to his feet.
“De rien,” muttered Arianna, wiping her red-stained fingers on the remains of her smock. “You saved my life earlier. Now we are even.”
She quirked a sardonic smile, but realized her hands were shaking uncontrollably. Clasping them to her mutilated belly, she slanted a look at the lifeless body. “Oh, merde .” Her words were barely a whisper. “Now I am really in the suds.”
Saybrook bent down and pressed a finger to the man’s throat. “The fellow is dead,” he confirmed after several long moments.
Arianna blinked. “I . . . You . . . you are hurt,” she said, eyeing his slashed trousers, the fringes of charcoal wool now black with blood.
“Just a scratch,” he replied. Sitting back on his haunches, he slowly peeled the mask from the corpse’s face.
“Merde,” she muttered again, echoing her earlier epithet. It seemed exactly the right word to sum up her sentiments.
“Do you recognize him?” he asked.
Arianna nodded grimly.
“So do I.” But before he could elaborate, the hurried thump of boots upstairs warned that all hell was about to break loose.
How long had it been since the first shot? A few minutes at most, she calculated.
“Bolt the door,” he suddenly ordered.
Arianna hesitated.
“ Quickly , goddamn it! ” He rushed to the window and checked the back garden. Seemingly satisfied, he turned. “Then hide in the pantry. Don’t make a sound.”
At the moment, he seemed like the lesser of two evils, so she decided to do as she was told.
Tucking the mask in his pocket, Saybrook hurriedly retrieved the pistols and dropped them close by the body. Gritting his teeth, he yanked the knife from the dead man’s back and rolled the body over. “God forgive me,” he muttered, cutting several quick jabs into the fast-cooling flesh before lodging the blade between two ribs.
What was he doing? she wondered, casting a sidelong glance at the macabre scene.
After reordering a few of the other fallen objects, Saybrook rose awkwardly to his feet.
“Open up! Open
“De Quincy!” she warned.
The assailant had scrambled to his feet, and with a roar of rage launched into a head-on charge.
Bracing himself, Saybrook managed to block the first stab. He held the advantage in height, but the other man was built like a bull, with thick limbs and slabs of solid muscle. The blade flashed again, slicing the cane in two.
“The next one will sever your jugular.”
Saybrook ducked the slash and spun around, raking the jagged wood across the man’s knuckles.
Blood welled up from the furrow, but the assailant kept hold of his weapon. Its steel danced through the air, sleek and sinuous as a snake ready to strike.
Anticipating the blow, Saybrook quickly dodged to his left, but his leg, weakened by the struggle, was slow to react. The knife cut through his trousers, scoring a gash in his thigh.
Arianna bit back a cry.
The momentum of the attack sent both of them sprawling to the floor. Saybrook landed awkwardly, his head hitting hard against the stone tiles. The other man fell on top of him, flailing, cursing, kicking.
The blood pounding in her ears, Arianna watched with a strangely detached sense of calm. It was over . Saybrook was trying to fight off the attack, but it looked as though his strength was ebbing fast. In another moment, she, too, would be dead.
With a savage snarl, the assailant reared up. His upraised arm hovered for a heartbeat in the hazy shadows. . . .
Thwock. Steel stabbing into flesh made a sickening sound.
Then, as if in slow motion, the blade fell harmlessly from the man’s lifeless fingers and his body toppled forward, landing heavily atop Saybrook’s sprawled form. The impact appeared to rouse him from his momentary stupor. Twisting out from beneath the limp limbs, he eyed the hilt of a carving knife protruding from the man’s back and expelled a ragged breath.
“Thank you,” he croaked, slowly levering to his feet.
“De rien,” muttered Arianna, wiping her red-stained fingers on the remains of her smock. “You saved my life earlier. Now we are even.”
She quirked a sardonic smile, but realized her hands were shaking uncontrollably. Clasping them to her mutilated belly, she slanted a look at the lifeless body. “Oh, merde .” Her words were barely a whisper. “Now I am really in the suds.”
Saybrook bent down and pressed a finger to the man’s throat. “The fellow is dead,” he confirmed after several long moments.
Arianna blinked. “I . . . You . . . you are hurt,” she said, eyeing his slashed trousers, the fringes of charcoal wool now black with blood.
“Just a scratch,” he replied. Sitting back on his haunches, he slowly peeled the mask from the corpse’s face.
“Merde,” she muttered again, echoing her earlier epithet. It seemed exactly the right word to sum up her sentiments.
“Do you recognize him?” he asked.
Arianna nodded grimly.
“So do I.” But before he could elaborate, the hurried thump of boots upstairs warned that all hell was about to break loose.
How long had it been since the first shot? A few minutes at most, she calculated.
“Bolt the door,” he suddenly ordered.
Arianna hesitated.
“ Quickly , goddamn it! ” He rushed to the window and checked the back garden. Seemingly satisfied, he turned. “Then hide in the pantry. Don’t make a sound.”
At the moment, he seemed like the lesser of two evils, so she decided to do as she was told.
Tucking the mask in his pocket, Saybrook hurriedly retrieved the pistols and dropped them close by the body. Gritting his teeth, he yanked the knife from the dead man’s back and rolled the body over. “God forgive me,” he muttered, cutting several quick jabs into the fast-cooling flesh before lodging the blade between two ribs.
What was he doing? she wondered, casting a sidelong glance at the macabre scene.
After reordering a few of the other fallen objects, Saybrook rose awkwardly to his feet.
“Open up! Open
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