Page 20 of How To Tempt A Bodyguard

"That's a long time to be afraid."

"I'm not afraid." Her chin lifted. "I'm careful. Fear is useless. It paralyses you, makes you stupid. Caution keeps you alive."

"There's a difference?"

"A significant one." She finally took a bite of bread, chewing mechanically. "Fear is what you feel when you can't control the situation. Caution is what you practice when you can. I choose caution."

It echoed what he'd said earlier about Bartitsu. He wondered if she'd done that deliberately.

"Ten years," he repeated. "That's when this started? The evidence, the enemies?"

"No. This particular enemy came later. Six years ago." She took a bite, mechanical, not really tasting. "At first I was just watching. Noticing things that didn't add up. It took years before I understood what I was seeing."

"And when you understood?"

"I started documenting. Carefully. Slowly. Making sure I had proof that couldn't be dismissed or destroyed." Her eyes met his. "Those trunks are six years of work. Six years of patience and risk and…" She stopped. Swallowed. "They're everything."

He believed her. Whatever else she was lying about, that much was true.

"This magistrate in Scotland," he said. "You trust him?"

"I trust that he can't be bought. That's rare enough to be worth the journey."

"And if he can be? Bought, I mean. If you get there and find out he's just like the rest?"

She was quiet for a long moment. When she spoke, her voice was flat.

"Then I'll find someone else. I'll keep going until I find someone who'll act on what I have. Or until they catch me. Whichever comes first."

"And if they catch you?"

"They won't."

"But if they do."

She met his eyes. He expected fear. What she gave him was harder. Colder. The look of a woman who'd already accepted the worst.

"Then the evidence disappears and a very bad man wins." She shrugged. "It wouldn't be the first time justice lost."

Matthew watched her. The set of her jaw. The steadiness of her hands despite the tension in her shoulders. The way she spoke about her possible death like it was a minor inconvenience.

"You've thought about it," he said. "Dying."

"I've accepted it as a possibility." She took a sip of ale, finally. "That's different from thinking about it."

"Is it?"

"Very." She set down the cup. "Thinking about it is dwelling. Accepting it is... freeing, in a way. Once you've made peace with the worst outcome, everything else is just logistics."

It was a bleak philosophy. Also, a practical one. He'd known soldiers who thought the same way. The ones who survived longest were often the ones who'd already accepted they might not.

"You're not what I expected," he said.

She smiled, but it looked sad. "Don't be too sure, Mr Collins. I'm capable of tremendous foolishness when the mood strikes."

"Maybe. But that's not all you are."

A flicker of vulnerability appeared in her expression. "We should go," she said, rising. "We've lingered long enough."