Page 91 of Must Love Scoundrels
“When I found it empty and my dagger gone, I thought you might have fled. So much easier for me to find you now. I can slit your throat and then take care of the boy.”
He thought she was Ada, Lucy realized. It was to her advantage that he continued to think that. He wouldn’t expect an attack from Ada.
She rose slowly, still trying to gauge his location. The wind carried his voice, swirling it around her so she couldn’t quite pinpoint it.
And then she spotted movement, and she crouched just in time to avoid the blow aimed for her head. She rolled away, hooking a foot about his leg and toppling him onto his arse. She came up and so did he, his eyes wide as he stared at her. “You’re not the nursery maid.”
“No, I’m not.” She assessed him quickly. He was a man of about forty and still in prime physical condition. He was tall and stocky, his shoulders broad and his arms thick. He wore a hat, the brim pulled low to keep the water off his face, but she had the impression of a wide nose and a thick mustache. He moved like a man used to giving orders and being obeyed. And in his right hand, she spotted the glint of a knife.
She hadn’t thought he’d come empty-handed, but she very much wished she had something more than whatever was at hand, which turned out to be a broken limb about the thickness of two fingers and half as long as her arm. She held it up. “You must be Mr. Vanderville. What would an important man like you want with a nursery maid?”
He moved toward her, cautiously, but not nearly as carefully as he should have. “Who the devil are you?”
“I’m the nanny, and if you want to get to Master John, you will have to go through me.”
He laughed and then he lunged. Lucy easily stepped aside and then pivoted so she was behind him. She kicked out, making contact with his backside, and sending him sprawling. But he was on his feet again, twisting to seethe at her. Wielding his knife and moving with more caution now, he advanced.
She couldn’t allow him to get a hand on her. She’d trained in hand-to-hand combat, just as the male agents had, but the women had learned to attack and retreat if an opponent was larger and stronger. She almost always fared poorly if a man was able to get hold of her.
“I’ll make you sorry for that,” he said.
Lucy didn’t bother to reply. She watched him move, looking for tells that would betray his next move. His fingers flexed on the knife, and she feinted left as he charged at her right. She circled behind him as he turned and slashed, just missing her. He charged again, and this time she had to jump back, nearly colliding with a tree, but using the trunk to put an obstacle between her and Vanderville. He came for her, and she struck with the tree limb, smashing his hand as he jabbed at her with the knife.
He howled in pain but didn’t release his weapon. Lucy dropped the branch and dove for the fallen tree, leaping over it and coming up on the other side. She felt around on the ground for something she might use to defend herself but found nothing. That was fine. She could keep dodging him. Eventually, he would tire out and there would be an opening for her to kick the knife away. Subduing him was another thing, but perhaps she could steer him toward the lodge and Duncan would see them.
With the lodge in mind, she began to retreat. He advanced on her, and she had to decide whether to continue moving backward—blind—or turn and run.
She turned and ran, hearing him crashing through the foliage behind her. She darted left, hoping to lose him, but he followed, getting closer now. She tried cutting back, but he wasn’t fooled. Lucy’s heart beat faster now, but she didn’t allow herself to think she’d made a mistake. She had to focus on putting something between them. Ahead she spotted a toppled tree. The trunk was about the width of her leg, and it had fallen onto another enormous tree. It rested against that mammoth trunk, the space below the collision making an odd sort of triangle. Lucy ran for that triangle, reached for the smaller tree trunk and swung up. She was almost on top of the smaller trunk when she felt the hand claw at her ankle. She kicked, colliding with Vanderville’s nose, but the impact caused her to lose her grip on the trunk. She dropped down, her breath whooshing out as she hit the ground.
She jumped to her feet, or at least she tried. Her body wouldn’t move as quickly as she wanted. But then she was on her feet as Vanderville yanked her up by the front of her shirt. She saw his fist coming and kicked out, landing a glancing blow against what she thought might be his thigh. But he landed his punch too and her head snapped back, her ears ringing.
Still, Lucy pushed the panic down and made a sharp cut to the left. She heard her shirt rip as she rolled free. That freedom was short-lived. She barely gasped in a breath before he attacked again. He dove for her, and she rolled away, then catapulted to her feet and jumped on his back and pummeled him with her fists.
She tried to think where her punches would have the most effect. Where were the kidneys? The liver? Her vision was blurry either because of the drizzle or the blow she’d sustained, and the entire right side of her face felt as though she’d smashed it against a red-hot fire poker.
Vanderville bucked her off, and she scrambled to land on her feet, stumbled and came up just as he punched at her again. This time she ducked. His punch was clumsy, or he wouldn’t have missed. Seeing the knife in his hand, she lunged to one side as he thrust it in her direction. He came up short, but she’d overcompensated and moved too far. Lucy lost her balance and stumbled. The stumble saved her. She heard the metal whoosh by her ear, imagined she could smell the tang of her blood on its blade. She righted herself and came up panting, meeting his eyes. He’d lost his hat, and his hair was slicked back from the rain. His cheeks were ruddy, his breathing quick, and his clothing was muddy and wilted.
But his eyes were bright and eager. They bore into hers with a determination she could feel all the way into her bones.
So much for sapping his strength. She could barely see straight, and she panted so hard, her breathing sounded like some sort of locomotive engine. But she’d be damned if Vanderville would take her down. She was a Royal Saboteur.
Lucy heard the voice of her instructor Mr. Fog—“Strike hard and strike first.”
With the trees and foliage enclosing them, she didn’t have enough room for the round kick she wanted to deliver, but she managed enough momentum to catch him in the chest and knock him back. She used the momentary reprieve to dash up a slight rise, giving herself the upper ground so that he would have to attack on a slope.
He was right behind her, so when she turned to face him, he rushed her. She had more room here and kicked out, knocking the knife free of his grip. She watched it soar into the underbrush.
“Now we’re even,” she gasped.
“Now I kill you with my bare hands.”
He attacked again, and she met him, using her own momentum to push him back. He held on to her, threatening to take her with him, down the rise, but she jerked her head up at the last moment, smashing him in the jaw and sending him reeling. He tumbled down the hill, arse over head, and she bent to catch her breath. She glanced up several times, expecting him to appear over the rise again, but he didn’t come. Finally, she took a deep breath and moved to the edge of the hill, fist at the ready.
For a moment, she saw nothing. The tree cover was darker at the base of the hill, and her eyes had to adjust. Then she spotted Vanderville below, crouched behind a curtain of leaves that had formed in a dangling branch. What was this? Did he think she couldn’t see him from this vantage point?
And then she saw the movement below and screamed, “Watch out!”
