Page 15 of A Lady’s Handbook of Espionage

Isabel had almost died three times in her life.

The first time, she was fifteen years old, huddled in a Parisian alley. She remembered how the cold had seeped into her bones, how the world had faded to a hazy grey, and then . . . nothing until Emma’s frantic voice had pulled her back.

The second time, she was seventeen. Favreau’s knife had slid between her ribs in punishment, but she’d clawed her way back to consciousness days later.

The third time was now.

Or perhaps it had been yesterday. Or the day before.

She drifted in and out of awareness, caught between waking and dreaming.

Sometimes, she thought she heard voices – Emma’s soft murmurs, unfamiliar tones laced with concern.

At one point, she’d groaned a protest as the perfunctory touches of a doctor examined her.

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.

One down. Two to go.

The second assassin charged, but Emma brought her heel down on the man’s instep. He rounded on her. Backhanded her across the face. Emma grabbed the fire poker and swung hard.

The third assassin went for Isabel and pinned her to the mattress. His hand closed around her throat, choking off her air. Stars burst in her vision as she clawed at his grip.

Just as the darkness began to close in, the man’s fingers loosened, and Isabel sucked in a desperate inhale. Alexandra lunged from the shadows, snatched the fire poker from Emma, and brought it down on his head with a crack. He went limp and collapsed to the floor.

Alexandra rose to her feet. “You know, I don’t believe I’ve ever struck a man with a poker before. It’s remarkably satisfying.”

A ragged burst of laughter escaped Isabel at that.

The thunder of approaching footsteps drew her attention. She tensed, preparing for another fight, but it was only the Earl of Kent and his brother.

They skidded to an abrupt halt. Mr Grey – the brother – looked almost comically disappointed. “Don’t tell me I missed a chance to shoot someone.”

Alexandra arched a brow. “Perhaps if you’d hurried a bit faster, you might have been useful.” She turned to the earl, beaming with childlike enthusiasm. “James, did you know I got to hit a man with a poker tonight?”

Isabel’s vision blurred again as the earl fussed over Emma.

“Don’t mind me,” Isabel rasped. “I’m only bleeding to death over here.”

Emma rushed to her side. “You seemed robust enough to fling a knife with deadly accuracy.”

“Small mercies.” Isabel collapsed back into the pillows, exhaustion washing over her. “Send for your Home Office spy, please. I’d like to see the dawn.”