Page 12 of Devil in Her Details

He simply rose to his feet, his presence once again claiming the room.

She nearly laughed. Right. As if it had ever been any other way. She turned to lean against the table, hopefully the picture of composure, as she uttered words she never thought she’d ever utter. “I’ll need one of your daggers.”

To her shock, he reached into his boot and removed one, handing the sheathed blade over to her. “You can use this one to size.”

Lilly blinked at the glinting dagger in her hand before lifting her gaze to meet his steady one. “Do you have more hidden on you?”

“Not today.”

Lilly wanted to splutter at that, and blurted before she could stop herself, “What about tomorrow?”

Something that might have been a smile ghosted his mouth, but it was gone before she could be sure. “Tomorrow I’ll have more.”

Reckless curiosity reared. “Why don’t you have more right now?” Instinct told her he wore daggers on his sleeves. “Afraid, perhaps, you’d scare me off?”

“Yes.”

His bluntness stunned her. Only momentarily. However, she couldn’t help but wonder. Would she have been scared off? She suspected not. He seemed like a man who embroiled himself in drama and theatrics. In that regard, he came across brutally simply. Enough so that despite his roughness and the clear signs that he was not a man to be trifled with—a devil if she ever saw one—she felt no dread in facing him. Nothing about him set off an urge to run. Well, at least in the sense of imminent danger.

Other dangers, however . . .

“Come by in a few days,” Lilly murmured, turning the dagger over in her hand. “I’ve never taken on a commission like this before, so I shall need to fit the design.”

“No need to rush. Shall I report my end of the deal when it’s done?”

“Not necessary.”

One brow lifted, dark as sin.

“I’d rather not know,” Lilly muttered, studying her new client. “Are you not going to ask about my pest, Dagger Fury, or do you already know all about him?”

“I don’t.”

Nothing in his gaze or demeanor fluctuated. Not even the tailoring forms lining the room held this steady. Call it instinct, call it intuition, but whoever had sent this man to her, it hadn’t been Calvington. In fact, he didn’t seem to even care who the pest he would be dealing with was. Lilly relaxed a fraction. Good then. Better he not know. “Is Dagger Fury your real name?”

“It’s the name I answer to.”

So . . . no?

Honestly, if Calvington had a rival in untrustworthiness, it should be this man.

Dagger Fury.

Lilly had come to loathe mysteriousness in men. Mysteriousness meant unpleasant surprises waiting to unfold into unpleasant experiences. Those meant unpleasant inconveniences. Which meant, usually, a throb in her temple she’d rather avoid. After all, when she returned to London, she intended to do so with her head held high.

Come what may.

*

His name on her lips slid over him like cooling rain on a hot summer night. The soft tone of her voice, weaving through every syllable, raised the hairs at the back of his neck. As if his body couldn’t tell the difference between pleasure and threat. Didn’t much matter. Both had his full attention. Few things in the world felt as good. This was one of them. So had been shedding the name his mother gave him, becoming Dagger Fury.

He’d never thought of his old name again. That had been another version of him. One that no longer existed. And no one had ever questioned the validity of his new name.

Until her.

“Well, then, Dagger, I take it you love daggers.”

Yes.