Free Jo Beverley - [Malloren 03] by Something Wicked Page B

it, she jabbed her hand and hissed at the pain. She hadn’t realized just how sharp it was!
    But she had it at last.
    Then she discovered that with it in the grasp of her right hand, she could not reach the garters binding her wrists. Blast the cunning man’s eyes! She could reach her ankles, however, and soon had her legs free.
    She sat on the edge of the bed in almost pitch darkness, trying to find a way to cut through the garters binding her wrists. All she managed was to pierce her skin again and again so blood ran down her arms. She needed to get the blade between her hands to cut there.
    It was impossible.
    Then she had an inspiration. Gripping the hilt of the small dagger in her teeth, she brought her bound wrists up to work against the blade.
    It was surprisingly difficult, and she could have screamed with frustration. Her teeth couldn’t hold the dagger steady, so she couldn’t apply much pressure. Saliva gathered, and she kept having to take the knife out to swallow. It was hard to find the right angle, and she nicked herself again and again.
    Despite the mass of burning cuts, she would not, could not give up.
    The silk parted so suddenly that she gasped and the knife tumbled to the floor. She froze, listening intently to the next room.
    Only the ticking of clocks broke the silence.
    With a deep shuddering breath she flexed her hands, pressing at the sore cuts with the sheet. In the dark, she couldn’t see the damage, but she didn’t think it was serious. Just painful.
    Re-sheathing her dagger, she slipped off the bed. She considered leaving her hoops behind, but without their support her skirts hung perilously long, so she took the time to tie them on again. Then she put on her cloak, dark side out, pulling the hood up over her white-powdered hair.
    Her stockings and garters were beyond hope, but she considered whether they might identify her. She couldn’t imagine how. She was dithering, so she picked up her shoes and faced her challenge. She had to leave this room and escape the house, then cross London in the middle of the night, with murderers quite likely lurking in the shadows.
    She was tempted to go into the next room, Walgrave’s room, where she might find a pistol. She couldn’t take such a risk, however, even though she would have loved to have a weapon.
    Shrugging, she reminded herself she was a Malloren.
    As her brother often said, with a Malloren, all things are possible.
    She crept across the room and tried the door to the corridor. The knob turned in well-maintained silence, and the door opened without a sound into almost total darkness.
    Feeling her way toward the stairs, she tried to convince herself that no one would leave an obstacle in the middle of the corridor. She couldn’t see well enough to be sure, however, and so crept along with tiny steps, hands extended. The last thing she wanted was to crash into anything.
    By the time she reached the top of the stairs, her heart was pounding and her nerves were in shreds. A fine adventurer she was turning out to be. If she had a way of calling for her brothers to come and protect her, she’d take it in a moment!
    Sucking in a few deep, steadying breaths, she peeped over the stair rail. Some grand houses kept a night footman in the hall, for security and in case of unexpected callers. Such a footman, however, would have a lamp. The hall of Walgrave House lay dark beneath her, apart from a pale shaft of moonlight from the fanlight above the door.
    Elf crept downstairs, testing each step for squeaks before putting her full weight upon it.
    Each was solid as rock. Hardly surprising. Until six months ago, this house had belonged to the old earl—the Incorruptible. He’d been a stiff-rumped old tyrant who would no more let a stair squeak than he’d let his daughter marry against his wishes.
    Even so, she sighed with relief to step onto the cool tiles of the hall floor. Now she could think clearly.
    Outside, there might be waiting assassins.