Charlotte gasped. She didn’t think of herself as a prudish miss who was easily shocked by indelicate words or blunt remarks, but having a practical stranger speak to her so brazenly was enough to make her ears burn.
“I think we’ve talked enough about me. Let’s discuss your association with Carlton Guthrie instead, shall we?”
By God, he’d not expected the woman to challenge him so directly, though why the hell not, he’d no idea. In spite of the brief vulnerability she’d revealed when her parents had tried to lay down the law, she was impressively brave.
Deciding to reward her with nothing less than complete honesty, he said, “I’ve known him for almost two decades - since before he became the Scoundrel of St. Giles. Now that he’s walked away from that life, I’ve taken over the running of The Black Swan. And while I do keep my ear to the ground and make sure the worst kind of scum are dealt with, the need to vanquish crime with violence has been diminished significantly. As the Duke of Windham, Guthrie’s influence is greater than ever. Bow Street listens to him now in ways they never did before. So for the most part, I simply point them in the right direction and let them handle the monsters.”
“And the rest of the time?”
Blayne stared at her. “Ye want to know if I’m capable of bloodshed. Is that it?”
She sighed as if he’d just tripped over his own feet and banged his head. “If you recall, my initial reason for hiring you was for protection, so it’s only reasonable for me to ask if you’re used to fighting off thugs.”
“Um…” It was his turn to gape at her as if she were daft. “Have ye seen what I look like?”
“Yes. You are impressively large.” She knit her brow. “What is it? Why are you laughing?”
He coughed and did his best to swallow the crass rejoinder that landed upon the tip of his tongue. “It’s nothing. Do continue.”
She gave him a look to suggest she was sure she’d missed something, which of course she had, though he’d be damned if he was about to give her an explanation.
“My point is,” she said, sounding a little disgruntled, “I’d like to know what you’re capable of. As a form of reference, per se.”
“Very well. I’ve engaged in countless fights, Miss Russell. One doesnae survive a place like St. Giles without having done so. While working for Guthrie I helped him track down the most despicable people London had to offer, and when I saw what they’d done to helpless women and children, I took great pleasure in making them suffer. So yes, I’ve hurt people. I’ve also killed, though never unless I had to.”
A lie.
He had murdered someone once in cold blood.
Nausea tightened his throat.
He tried to take a calm breath. Did his best to tamp down the guilt and self-loathing.
“Thank you for being honest.”
He hadn’t been. Not completely. If Miss Russell knew his darkest secret she’d run from him without second thought. The rest was apparently something she could accept, which meant they’d be seeing more of each other.
“And just so you know, it doesn’t frighten me in the least.” She gave him the sort of smile that would have knocked him on his arse if he’d been standing. “What are your hobbies?”
“My what?”
Her smile widened into a mischievous grin. “You know, those things one does for pure enjoyment? As I’ve mentioned, I like to shoot and you like to…”
He flattened his mouth, withdrew his hand from hers and crossed his arms so he could serve her the scowl she deserved. “Plants and books.”
Dismay captured her features. “Truly?”
“I like watching things grow.” Nurturing a seedling until it thrived was more rewarding than anything else in the world. Realizing she was studying him as if he belonged behind glass in some collection of the bizarre, he hastily added, “And reading has always been a great pleasure of mine. I’ve got hundreds of books.”
Sparkling green eyes held him captive. “If you were forced to give them all away, save one, which would you keep?”
A thought-provoking question, so different from any other he’d ever been asked. Yet another thing he liked about her. This woman wouldn’t bore him with inane conversation pertaining to fashion or the weather. “I suppose I’d have to base my selection not only on my appreciation for the author’s skill as a writer, but on the content’s ability to entertain me each time I read it. With that in mind, I think I’d chooseThe Earl’s Secret Escapadesby Charles Cunningham.”
Miss Russell stared at him in an odd sort of way until he almost wished he’d mentioned something else.The Works of Aristotle, perhaps? Or Benjamin Franklin’s memoires? But the truth was he liked the adventurous story about an aristocrat spy. It was clever, filled with action, amusing banter, and danger.
“I, um…” Her cheeks pinkened. She fidgeted with her skirt. “I am familiar with it.”
His respect for her continued to grow, not so much because she’d read the book but because she’d admitted it to him. After all, it did contain a few risqué scenes consisting of passionate kisses between the earl and his paramour.
