Page 77 of One Thing Leads to a Lover

Deprived of breath, she could only mouth his name as he staggered into the room, gasping for air himself, with one arm hanging limply by his side. Blood seeped through his coat sleeve, staining the dark wool almost black.

“You,” Jacobs muttered darkly. “I might’ve known.”

“That’s right,” Langley replied, shaking sweat from his eyes. His spectacles were missing again, and Amanda saw no sign of a weapon in his hands.

“I cannot say I am disappointed.” Jacobs prodded her forward with his knee until they were face to face. “It was clear days ago that the threat of losing Lieutenant Hopkins was insufficient to get me what I wanted. I had thought that the boys…but alas,” he said with a Gallic shrug and a glance toward the door to the street. “Surely, however, you will not sacrifice a lady—this lady,” he said, shaking her, “for an old cookbook?”

“Let her go,” Langley calmly ordered. “You can’t win.”

“Perhaps not,” Jacobs agreed with a mirthless laugh, turning her body just enough to reveal the gun. “But either way, you will lose.”

That slight motion put the counter within Amanda’s reach. Closest at hand sat a little box that had once been filled with pieces of chalk, the sort dressmakers used to mark patterns on fabric before cutting. Scrunching shut her eyes and mouth, she reached for it and tossed its contents over her shoulder, into Jacobs’s face.

It wasn’t much, but the dust made him sputter and relax his hold on her throat enough for her to reach the dish of rusty straight pins. When she sent them flying, he swore and released her, throwing up a hand to shield his eyes from a hundred tiny darts.

With one hand, Langley seized the bolt of fabric and gave Jacobs a wallop across his torso, knocking the pistol from his hand and sending it skittering across the dirty floor as he doubled over to catch his breath.

As the two men scrambled for the gun, Amanda’s hands met with the final item within reach: a heavy pattern book, with gold lettering curling across the cover. When Ladies’ Best Fashions for Winter 1802 met the back of Jacobs’s skull, he slumped forward, groaned, and lay still at last.

She collapsed on hands and knees and crawled toward Langley, who was trying to scoot himself up against the wall one-handed. Colonel Millrose appeared in the curtained doorway and bent to snatch up the gun.

“Lieutenant Hopkins is below,” Langley said, his breathing labored. “He needs medical attention.”

“So do you,” Amanda told him, cradling him against her body and laying gentle fingertips on the sticky, spreading stain that covered his arm.

“Just a scratch,” he insisted. “I’ll be fine.”

Hoping for confirmation, she darted a glance toward Colonel Millrose, whose mouth was set in a grave line. But her attention was quickly drawn back to Langley when he murmured, “We made a good team, Amanda.”

And with that, his eyes drifted closed.

Chapter 19

Langley groaned as Fanny squared the tray in front of him. “Not more beef tea?”

“It’s strengthening,” she replied with a smile, reaching to fluff up the pillow between his back and the wall.

“It’s also damned hard to eat soup with one arm in a sling,” he grumbled, gesturing with his injured arm and promptly wishing he hadn’t.

When she straightened, he could see the scold etched into her brow, although the smile still curved her lips, warmer and more genuine than he had seen in a long time. “Well, after what happened earlier, I won’t presume to try to help.”

“Sorry about that. I never have been an especially good patient.”

“And thank God for that,” declared Colonel Millrose as he entered and made Langley’s small quarters at the Underground officially crowded. “Means you’ve never been too badly hurt. I’d like a word with the Magpie, Mrs. Drummond, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course not, sir. I’ll go back to my studies.”

“Studies?” Langley asked when the door closed behind her.

“She’s familiarizing herself with varieties of tobacco,” Millrose explained, easing into the only chair. The room was so narrow, his bent knees nearly brushed the edge of the bed. “When we returned from Lambeth, she proposed being allowed to take on some of the shop duties, to free up my time. We’ll still want to make her less recognizable, do something about that hair, of course. But after her performance at the dressmaker’s, I’d say she’s earned a new assignment. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Langley nodded. He wasn’t surprised by Fanny’s determination or her bravery.

“And speaking of new assignments,” Millrose continued, “I’ve had a message from General Scott.”

“Oh?” Langley picked up his spoon and managed to slurp in a mouthful of broth rather than ask the question that had been eating at him since he’d awakened.

What about Amanda?