Chapter 23

CHAPTER 23

W as this the alley where he’d attacked Milly? she wondered. Gaunt maneuvered her off the street and she went obediently, letting her body be as still and compliant as she could while her mind raced. Years of training had made her very adept at thinking under pressure — there was a paradoxical sense of calm right now as her fight-or-flight reflexes activated, any sense of panic sliding off her back like water. She never panicked in the ring, and she wasn’t going to panic now.

Taffington was smirking, leaning casually against the alley wall with his hard eyes glittering as they roamed across her face and body. “I think we should have a little chat,” he purred, stepping in close.

He took both of her hands in his own, and she felt Gaunt move back, the pressure of the blade at her back disappearing. Good, she thought, letting a false mask of fear flitter across her face as Taffington stepped closer. The grip he was maintaining on her wrists would have barely held a child — he was clearly used to using his bulk and height advantage to keep his victims still. That, and his money and influence. Well, those weren’t going to help.

“What do you want?” she asked, keeping her breathing steady as she readied herself. She just needed to wait a few seconds — not for Taffington, but for Gaunt’s guard to relax, just a little. He was a professional, but he seemed like the kind of guy to underestimate frightened women…

“I want what you promised me when you paraded yourself around Weatherby’s in that trollop’s attire,” Taffington said, his voice dripping with equal parts revulsion and greed. “I want you to stop putting on airs and be an honest whore.”

The purest joy she’d felt in a very, very long time claimed her then. There was something dreamy about the way time slowed down in a fight. Taffington’s face was tilted down toward hers, clearly expecting to force a kiss on her. Instead, she jerked her head forward hard enough to slam the hardest part of her forehead against the underside of his chin. As the shock made his body recoil automatically, she was already moving, hands slipping effortlessly free of his weakening grasp. An elbow to the underside of his chin, another crashed hard into his skull, and for good measure she drove her knee as hard as she could into his groin.

Gaunt. She’d known it wouldn’t be long until he joined the fray, but he was hampered by the bulk of a howling, enraged Taffington, and couldn’t get close enough to her to deploy his blade — which gave her just enough time to seize his wrist in a disarming grip, one of the most painful she knew. He barely flinched, though he caught his breath as the blade clattered to the cobblestones — she kicked it away, planted her foot and put every bit of her strength into an uppercut that connected with a satisfying crunch to the underside of his chin. The guard staggered, spitting blood, but he was already moving to retaliate — she pressed in close, staying inside his guard, willing to bet that most of his opponents kept their distance. She was right. From up close, he was easy to unbalance, unable to reach the sword at his belt before she’d gotten him against the other wall of the alley. She grabbed a fistful of his hair and slammed his head as hard as she could into the wall, feeling the consciousness leave his body as he slid into a heap on the cobblestones.

Taffington, bellowing with rage, grabbed her by the shoulder. She spun, surprising him by going with the pull of his hand instead of resisting it. She savored her one satisfying glimpse of the naked fear on his face, the blood running freely from an almost certainly broken nose, then she grabbed his wrist and twisted it the way she’d twisted Gaunt’s.

“What did I tell you?” she asked, pleased by how level her voice was, as though she’d barely expended any effort at all. “If you lay a hand on me?—”

He whimpered, dropping to his knees as her grip on his hand tightened.

“—or any woman here — then that hand will end up — broken.”

“You wouldn’t dare, you —”

Whatever he’d been about to call her, he didn’t make it to the end of the sentence. Instead, his voice gave way to an unearthly howl as she made a clean break in three of his fingers. Then she headed for the end of the alleyway, where she could already hear men shouting for guards. A quick glance back up the alley showed her the satisfying sight of Taffington on his knees, huddled on the ground with his hand clutched tightly against his chest and blood dripping onto his fine and no doubt expensive clothing. The look in his eyes was nothing short of loathful.

“Hellion,” he hissed, and she could hear by the venom in his voice that he intended it to wound her deeply.

Amelia just let her smile widen. Behind Taffington, she could make out the figure of his guard stirring, and hid the slight relief that the sight brought her. As nasty a piece of work as Gaunt clearly was, she hadn’t wanted to kill him — just to get him out of the way long enough to give Taffington a taste of what it felt like to be powerless.

She knew the guards were on their way, and she lingered nearby on the tavern steps where she’d be in full view, just in case Taffington or Gaunt felt like trying anything on their way home. By the time the guards had arrived, Taffington was limping out of the alleyway with Gaunt at his side, discretely steadying him despite the bloody wound he himself was sporting. Amelia didn’t bother hiding her smile of smug satisfaction as she watched the two men limp toward the stables — something told her that their evening of merriment had come to an end. Once she’d seen their carriage roll away down the quiet street, she slipped inside to find Hamish.

Word had already spread about what had happened to Taffington out there, to her amusement — it seemed the guards had prioritized gossip over coming to the Lord’s aid, and something told her that there weren’t going to be any follow up questions regarding her own role in Taffington’s assault. Besides, pursuing her on the subject would mean Taffington would have to admit how badly she’d beaten him and Gaunt, and she had a feeling both men would find that deeply distasteful. She grinned modestly as she moved through the crowds — the mood in the tavern had improved tremendously with Taffington and Gaunt gone, and she had to turn down several offers to buy her a drink to celebrate. The barmaids looked especially pleased with the situation — she hung back long enough to compliment Maggie on how expertly she’d twisted out of Taffington’s grip earlier.

There didn’t seem to be any sign of Hamish downstairs, and part of her was worried that he might have left the village altogether and headed back for the Keep himself. But to her relief, once she reached the stairs, she could see a familiar figure waiting for her on the landing. She took the steps two at a time, her anger with him already forgotten — and from the look in his eyes as he welcomed her into his embrace, she could tell that he’d let go of any resentment he was still nursing from their argument earlier.

“Why is everyone toasting your name?” he asked in an undertone as they moved down the hallway, out of sight of the revelers downstairs.

“The usual reasons,” she said archly. “Also because I broke Taffington’s hand in three places, and probably his nose.”

“What?” Hamish stopped dead in his tracks, and she turned to meet his wide-eyed gaze. “You’re serious?”

“He and Gaunt tried to pounce on me in the alleyway,” she said, shrugging her shoulders.

For a moment, she was worried he was going to argue with her about what she’d done, tell her that she’d put the political situation into even more jeopardy — but to her immense relief, instead of gentle recrimination, a broad smile spread across his handsome face.

“Really?” she teased him, stepping a little closer. “The diplomat’s pleased to hear about violence?”

“If he was trying to hurt you, he deserved twice what he got,” Hamish said softly, drawing her into his arms.

She leaned against him for a moment, savoring the unadulterated joy of the moment, knowing they were going to have to let tedious old reality back in sooner rather than later.

“Hey,” she said finally. “I think we should move back up to the Keep. We’ve done what we can here… and when Taffington decides he wants to find me again for revenge, I’d rather not have the villagers have to put up with the consequences.”

Hamish nodded, looking relieved to hear her say it. But he frowned a little. “What about your lessons?”

“You saw Maggie nearly break Taffington’s wrist before I even got to him,” she said, grinning. “I’ve taught them enough to be getting on with. Besides, it’ll be a while before Taffington’s feeling well enough to make a nuisance of himself here again.”

A while, she thought, a prickle of anxiety interrupting her joy. A while… but not forever. She’d bought them some time, at least. She only hoped they could figure out another solution before Taffington was back to his old self… because she had a feeling he was going to get a lot worse once his hand and nose had healed.