Page 13 of An Extraordinary Lord

“Thank you.”

He said that just arrogantly enough that she couldn’t help muttering, “I’ve always said you can tell a lot about a man from the size of his sword.”

“And a woman by hers.”

She slid him a knowing glance, just in time to catch the gleam in his eyes.

“Where did you learn to fight?” he persisted. “The truth this time.”

Well, he certainly wasn’t going to getthat. “Lots of places, all kinds of instructors…” She finished circling the room and stopped directly in front of him. So close that she could tap his boot with only a small kick of her foot. “Is that why you’re offering me a pardon if I help you—because I’m a good fighter?”

“Partially.” Then he admitted, “Clayton thinks you might be innocent.”

A jolt of electricity snapped through her. The two men couldn’t possibly know the truth about her past. No one did, except for Fernsby and Filipe. “And you don’t?”

“Not at all.”

Her belly tightened, all its tiny muscles ensnarling themselves into a pulsating knot. What this man thought of her shouldn’t matter at all. Yet strangely, his answer cut.

Not breaking eye contact with her, he pushed himself to his feet and came to his full height in front of her. And what a height indeed. Surely six feet tall and well over a head above hers, with a lithe and lean body of all muscle and hardness. His dark-brown hair fell carelessly over his forehead as if he couldn’t be bothered to trim or brush it. A faint growth of beard darkened his face, except for his bright blue eyes that reminded her of the sky after a summer storm. He was a fighter; every inch of him confirmed it.

But he was also sharp. Quick.Dangerous.

He took the brandy from her hand, lifted it to his mouth, and finished off the glass with a single swallow.

“This is the offer,” he told her bluntly. “I’ll provide whatever resources and guidance you might need, and you’ll do the actual groundwork by finding out who’s responsible for the riots.”

“Reconnaissance, you mean.” Acid rose on her tongue. She’d had more than enough of doing that for Allied soldiers on the Peninsula during the wars. She’d sworn to herself she’d never do it again.

“Call it whatever you want. If you agree, you’ll work to give me the names of the mobs’ leaders, and I’ll secure you a pardon.”

“And if I don’t agree?”

“Then I take you back to Newgate right now.”

She wouldnevergo back to that hell. This devil knew it, too, based on the knowing gleam of his eyes as he waited for her answer. He’d backed her into a corner, damn him.

But she wouldn’t be his pawn.

“You’ll do whatIsay, every step of the way, understand?” She moved closer and had to tilt back her head to glare up at him, but she wouldn’t be cowed. “It’s my world you’re attempting to infiltrate. I know how it works, what the boundaries are, how to maneuver inside it. If anyone there discovers who you are, you’re dead. They’ll slit you open from throat to bollocks.”

She’d meant to jab a finger into his chest to emphasize her point. But the hard muscle rippled against her fingertip, and beneath that, she felt the steady and strong beat of his heart. The strength of him momentarily took her breath away.

“I won’t risk my life to protect yours.” Damn her voice for emerging as a throaty purr rather than an icy warning!

“Trust me.” Amusement danced across his face. “You don’t need to worry about me.”

“Trust you?” she echoed. A barrister?Never.“That’s the first thing that has to go. Thereisno trust in my world. The sooner you learn that, the better off you’ll be.”

He dropped his gaze to her hand, still at his chest. “So we’re agreed, then?”

She yanked her hand away as if she’d touched a hot stove. “Yes.” She moved back, desperately needing air and space. “We’ll start tonight.”

“Good.”

“But I’m going to need a coat.” She waved a hand at her fighting clothes to indicate that they needed to be hidden. “Because first, I’m taking you shopping for better clothes.”

He crossed his arms over his chest…to keep her from touching him again? “What’s wrong with my clothes?”