Imagining Lieutenant General Killian’s tackle had Hannah sipping too deeply from her tea. She spluttered, covering her mouth with her hand.
‘Are you quite alright?’ Philippa placed her cup and saucer on the table. She joined Hannah on the couch, patting her roughly on the back.
Hannah nodded her head but couldn’t speak around the burn in her throat.
‘You aren’t worried, are you? About Lord Killian?’ Philippa asked.
‘Of course not.’ Alcohol roughened Hannah’s voice.
‘You’ve fought men as big and skilled as Lieutenant General Killian. Don’t be intimidated by his military credentials. I knowhow capable you are. I dare say you are even more deadly than me. You must develop more confidence in yourself.’
‘I’m confident in fighting him, but that’s my point.’
Philippa’s brows drew down, and she cocked her head. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘You aren’t asking me to fight him.’ Hannah wished the room wasn’t so warm. She must still be heated from their sparring, or perhaps it was the whiskey. ‘You’re asking me to entice him. To flirt with him. I…’ The words died on Hannah’s tongue.
In a rare gesture of comfort, Philippa reached out and took Hannah’s hand in her own. ‘Ah. I see. You don’t think you know how. Or are you frightened?’
Hannah hated admitting any weakness, but she couldn’t lie to Philippa. ‘Yes. To both.’ Hannah bit her lip. Worse than the fear was the burgeoning desire. To draw his interest. To capture his undivided attention. It was madness.
Philippa exhaled heavily and squeezed Hannah’s hand. Her perfume was a heady blend of jasmine and something darker. ‘I remember the night you came to me ten years ago. The night your mother was murdered. The night you stood up to a monster. The rumours I heard about your mother’s lover, Lord Smythe, were not pleasant. I’ve never asked, but often wondered if he didn’t hurt you in… other ways.’
Hannah’s shoulders tightened. ‘No. This has nothing to do with that night.’ She refused to revisit what happened with Lord Raymond Smythe, the Baron Ragnor. Just hearing his name filled her with rage and revulsion so bitter, it burned like bubbling tar on her skin.
This was not an issue they ever discussed.
‘I know your mother chose men who were not… kind. Including my husband.’ It was another topic best left buried in the past. Hannah’s father was Philippa’s husband. It was the reason Hannah now lived with Philippa. While many women would feel jealousy and anger toward their husband’s by-blow, Philippa had felt responsible to care for Hannah. To provide a home and vocation for her. It defied logic unless you understood Philippa.
Hannah’s memories of her father were opaque from age, but she remembered some things. The smell of cloves. Rich laughter. The way her mother would glow when he came for his bi-weekly visits. But during her time with Philippa, Hannah learned the gentle man she remembered from early childhood had another face not so benevolent.
Philippa straightened her shoulders. ‘Not all men are like the ones your mother chose. I’m sure some are quite nice. While no man has ever appealed to me, it’s highly possible one might appeal to you.’
Hannah had wondered about Philippa’s inclinations. It was another topic best left hidden. But on the streets of London, where Hannah did most of her work, she had seen many things in the shadowed corners of White Chapel, Wapping, and St Giles. In the darkest parts of London, damned lovers had a certain freedom not found in society’s bright lights. But even there, it was dangerous for two men or two women to be caught in a moment of passion.
If joy and pleasure could be found between consenting adults, Hannah didn’t understand the fuss about whether those adults shared the same anatomy. But she worried about Philippa’s safety if her suspicions were true. Thankfully, her patroness seemed to prefer a solitary existence, so Hannah kept her nose out of it.
Apparently, Philippa felt no such qualms about delving into Hannah’s intimate life.
‘Are your jitters an indicator of… curiosity for the dashing Lieutenant General?’ Philippa narrowed her gaze.
Hannah toyed with a loose button on her dress. Her heart thundered. ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’
The night she failed to save her mother from being murdered by Lord Smythe, the night she struck out into the cold, damp, London fog with a letter clasped to her chest, blood soaking her dress, and a single destination in mind, she put to rest any dreams of a normal life. She hadn’t been strong enough to save Cynthia, but with Philippa’s help and years of training, Hannah had honed herself into a powerful weapon capable of protecting other innocents.
But weapons were built for destruction, not desire.
Hannah had no interest in the distractingly attractive, potentially dangerous, devilishly wicked duke. None whatsoever. ‘Lieutenant General Killian isnotdashing. He tackled me, Philippa. I have a bruise on my hip because of him!’ Hannah’s voice pitched perilously high.
‘Mm. Yes. Not many get one over on you. Isn’t that interesting.’
Hannah scoffed. ‘Well, it won’t happen again.’ Because she would squelch this ridiculous need to be noticed by a man who infuriated her. It was stupid to imagine any kind of attraction between herself and a duke. Preposterous.
‘Are you sure there aren’t parts of him that interest you?’ Philippa raised both eyebrows, her lips tilting in the hint of a smile.
‘Parts of him?’ Hannah’s eyes widened. This entire conversation was madness. ‘Exactly what parts are you talking about? He’s not a pistol I can break into pieces, clean, and then put back together.’
Philippa scrunched her nose. ‘I’m making a hash of this. I’m just saying, you are four and twenty. Given your mother’s situation, I’m sure you are aware of the particulars between a man and a woman.’ Hannah’s mother had been a professional mistress.Hannah had seen far more than any child should, though her mother had always protected her. Indeed, Cynthia died fighting for Hannah’s safety.
