Page 105 of A Dangerous Lord (Regency Spies & Secrets 3)

Corbyn heard his mother gasp from behind him. “Have Mott send for the constable!” he ordered over his shoulder.

He eyed the man’s bloody shirt sleeve. “Fighting is futile. You are injured.”

“I’ve had worse injuries than this,” the man scoffed.

“You’ve been shot before?”

“Many times.”

“Then I daresay you are in the wrong profession,” Corbyn quipped.

The attacker stepped closer. “You are a dead man.”

“I think not,” Corbyn replied, his body alert. “I would prefer to live another day.”

With a lunge, the man swiped his dagger at Corbyn, forcing him to jump back. “Don’t worry, milord, your death will be quick,” he taunted.

“Who hired you?” Corbyn asked.

“A wise man who knew I always get the job done.”

Corbyn let out a dry chuckle. “How do you propose you will make your escape from here?” he asked. “Even now, I hear the footmen at the door, and it is only a matter of time before they apprehend you.”

“I will climb out the window, just as I came in.”

“Ingenious,” Corbyn mocked, “but I have no doubt that they are guarding that exit, as well.”

“Then I shall fight my way out,” the attacker promised as he ran forward with his dagger lifted.

In one swift motion, Corbyn grabbed the man’s wrist and twisted it sharply, causing the dagger to drop to the ground, then punched the man in the jaw.

The attacker looked at him in surprise as he staggered back.

Corbyn advanced and jabbed his fist into the man’s stomach. As the intruder doubled over, he hit him in the jaw again, rendering him unconscious.

Once he confirmed the threat was gone, he rushed over to his father. Relieved that his father was still alive, albeit breathing hard, Corbyn helped him sit up.

“Are you all right, Father?” he asked.

“I am, thanks to you.”

“Can I help you back into bed?”

Before his father could respond, Corbyn could hear banging on the door leading to the hall. “Your Grace!” the butler shouted.

Corbyn released his father and walked over to the door. After unlocking it, he opened it wide. “Send for the doctor,” he ordered.

“He’s already downstairs,” Mott informed him. “I will send a footman down at once to retrieve him.”

“Very good.” Corbyn reached into his boot and pulled out a muff pistol. “I want you to guard the assailant until the constable arrives,” he said, extending the gun towards the butler.

Mott accepted the pistol. “It would be my pleasure, milord.” He motioned to two footmen to retrieve the unconscious attacker, and they carried him out of the room.

Corbyn returned to his father and assisted him into the bed. “Your doctor will be up shortly.”

His father reached for his hand and gripped it tightly. “Thank you for saving me, my dear boy.”

“It was an easy feat,” he responded, hoping to lighten the mood.

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