“I’m calling for a magistrate!” the butler announced.
“Please do,” Ambrose said. “And a doctor as well. My wife is injured.” He looked down at the assassin. “This man too.”
Margaret had all but forgotten she’d been injured. Suddenly, her hand throbbed, and she looked down to see blood dripping on the carpet. She lifted her hand and studied the cut.Rather deep, she thought before the room began spinning.
Chapter Seven
Ambrose hadn’t wantedto bring her back to the flat in Seven Dials. She argued that someone called Tabby would be hungry, but he told her Tabby would have to wait and had her taken to a town house kept for use by the agents of the Royal Saboteurs. It was unoccupied, except for the staff, who greeted them as though they were expected and tucked Maggie into bed.
Ambrose dealt with the Metropolitan Police and the magistrate until well after noon and by the time he had appeased all of them, a letter had come from Baron telling him to stay put. The situation in Richmond Park had been dealt with. The letter had come via another agent, this one named Duncan Slorach. Slorach looked as though he’d been in a war, but he refused to rest or eat and insisted on going directly to Vanderville’s home to look through documents.
“The ledgers are what you want,” came a voice from the doorway.
Ambrose, who had been trying to persuade the newly arrived agent to rest for a bit, turned to see his wife standing just inside the drawing room.
“Maggie, you shouldn’t be up.”
She waved a hand. “Good to see you, Mr. Slorach.”
“And you, Miss Vaughn.”
“How is Lucy?” she asked.
“What the devil is happening here?” Ambrose demanded. “Maggie, go lie back down.”
She gave him a look of annoyance. “Ambrose, I cut my hand. There’s nothing wrong with my legs.”
“You fainted.”
“I didn’t faint. I felt lightheaded. I should have eaten before we left for Vanderville’s. Mr. Slorach, you’ve met my husband, Viscount Holyoake?”
Slorach stared at her as though she’d sprouted a flower from her ear. “Your, er, husband?” His gaze shifted to Ambrose. Ambrose scowled. Apparently, Maggie hadn’t told her fellow agents she was married.
“Yes. The viscount is also an agent for the Royal Saboteurs. He’s the reason I wanted to join the group, in fact.”
Slorach nodded at Ambrose. “We just met. I’m sorry I didn’t realize who you were at first, my lord. Miss Vaughn—er, Lady Holyoake?—has spoken of you so often.”
