Page 39 of The Hood and his Thief

She shivered in response to his tone. In this haze of early morning pleasure, still laced with the sense of unreality from last night, she could think of little beyond wanting this feeling to continue—to deepen.

Rhosyn wanted to touch him.

She reached for him, only to have her shoulder jerked back as rope grew taught around her wrist. Her bonds did more than hold her back from Ansel. They snapped her back to reality, and immediately she tensed.

She wrenched herself away from his gentle grasp, rolling onto her back on the side of the bed where she was tied. Ansel blinked at her in surprise before his gaze trailed to her wrist. The openness of early awakening in his eyes shuttered at the sight. The tangible evidence of their animosity sobered them both.

While at a temporary truce, in five days Rhosyn would break free of these bonds and be his enemy once more.

Without a word, Ansel stood from the bed and pulled on his clothes with hurried efficiency. He walked out the door with boots in hand, not even bothering to put them on before leaving.

If Rhosyn’s mind hadn’t been reeling at their sudden sobriety, she might have tried to untie herself. As it was, Little John entered before she could make any moves towards freedom. She exhaled heavily, facing down another day captured in the Foxes’s den.

Rhosyn repositioned herself in her chair for the tenth time in the last five minutes, and Olivia eyed her sympathetically.

“If I have to sit still for another hour, I’ll rip my hair out.” Rhosyn set down her pitiful attempt at sewing and admitted defeat.

After spending the morning and the first part of the afternoon revisiting her eavesdropping strategy from earlier to no avail, she was ready to throw in the towel. Rhosyn had never been suited for long stakeouts, preferring to face her enemies out in the open.

“I think that might be challenging, based on how thick it seems.”

Rhosyn twisted in her seat to find Ansel standing at the bottom of the stairs. She wasn’t entirely sure how he got there, given that she hadn’t seen him come back to the Foxes’s haunt after leaving this morning, even though it seemed that you had to cross through the common area to get from the main entrance to the stairs in the back.

“At least it would give me something to do besides sewing,” Rhosyn griped at him as he strolled over to look over their handiwork.

He picked up one of her poorly darned undershirts and inspected it. “You might be better at it too.”

Rhosyn wrinkled her nose at the jab, but didn’t deny it.

“Are you sure this isn’t your underhanded way of trying to put Archer’s Circus out of business—to have everybody’s costumes fall apart on stage until we are shut down for indecency?”

“It’s not my fault you left me with nothing else to do,” Rhosyn pointed out.

“And what exactly would you like to be doing?”

Rhosyn shrugged. “Punching something, probably.”

“I don’t think any of my men who were on the receiving end of your fists would be lining up to do it again.”

Rhosyn cocked her head at him, considering. Her eyes caught on the biceps she had pillowed her head on just hours ago and her face heated. Now she really wanted to punch something.

“What about you?” she goaded.

“Me?”

“Yes. How do you feel about being on the receiving end of my fists?” She raised an eyebrow in challenge. If she couldn’t work out her frustrations with Ansel on his thigh in the quiet of his bedroom, then her fists would have to do the job.

“Oh, I’m not too scared of them.” Ansel shrugged. “Every time I’ve faced off against you, I seemed to get the upper hand.”

Rhosyn bristled. “You think you won those fights? You cheated!”

“Once again, it’s you who proved to be the cheater.”

Rhosyn stood and her nostrils flared. In reaction to her movement, Little John rose from his table, as if he expected to have to restrain her from leaping across the table at Ansel.

“All I’m hearing is that you’re afraid to fight me without all your tricks.”

“Nothing is against the rules in a lower city brawl,” Ansel retorted.