“What would you do? Would you go and see if he was all right?” he asked teasingly, clearly oblivious to her rapidly increased breathing.
She swallowed as she worked to regain her focus, concentrating on his words instead of how closely he stood. “Naturally. I wouldn’t leave someone lying there to suffer or die.” She skittered back, using the distance as a shield from his theatrics.
“Oh, I know you wouldn’t.” He gave a dark chuckle. “You’d probably tend to him and bandage him and wait until he could stand, and when you go to your purse to buy him just a little bread and ale to get his head on straight, you’d find it gone. Again.”
She opened her mouth to argue, but he’d caught her in his story now.
“So you’d help him still, give up one of your fancy rings or bracelets. Gladly. And he’d be kind and charming and properly guilty, which would make you want to give him more.” With a deft movement, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her front against his long, narrow torso, his voice soft as he bent his lips toward her neck, grazing the lace of her collar.
She might need to reassess the actual danger he possessed.
“And he’d have a full belly when he celebrates with his partners.” He turned her round to wrap his arms around her, holding her firmly.
The room spun. Closing her eyes, she struggled not to moan as she leaned back against him, melting into the firm warmth of his body. She was tempted to stay there forever, reveling in this delicious tension . . .
He exhaled sharply.
And thankfully, before she could make more of a fool of herself, he released his hold on her, dipping back in the shadows, leaving her alone in the center of the cold room. When she raised her head, she found him lying on the bed, the bag of coins dangling from his finger and her jewelry held aloft in his hand.
Bastard.
Now only one emotion reigned supreme—annoyance. She was Isabelle Lira, and no one got the better of her. Not the Berabs with their self-serving ultimatums, not the gentiles with their constant scrutiny and suspicion, and certainly not this man. So he wanted to play the wolf?
Well, she could do some biting and scratching of her own.
“Who were you—the injured lad or the daring rescuer?” Or, given Rebecca’s assessment, the “helpless” victim? Was that how the fight that almost ended his life had started? She placed her hands on her hips, daring him to lie.
“It depended on the neighborhood and the mark.” He dipped his fingers into her purse and shrugged, not meeting her eye. “I played quite a few roles when I left Aldgate. Despite what you think, despite what you saw the other day, I’m not a good man, Miss Lira.” He glared at her. “You shouldn’t seek me out.”
Isabelle smiled to herself. She had him. And while his performance had been better than she’d expected, he was no Edmund Kean. But he would do. After she negotiated the proper deal.
Isabelle raised her chin, making sure she emphasized every word. “But you don’t even know why I’m here. Though I can assure you, it isn’t to steal everything you have—including your garments—then stab you twice in the chest and leave you for dead.”
His eyes grew wide and she could barely hold back her grin. Oh yes, like her father before her, she was thorough when it was important. He should remember that.
“I want something else from you, Mr. Ellenberg,” she told him. “And, in turn, I’ll make sure you’re rewarded.” She pulled out her knife again, petting the steel with her gloved finger. After all, one good villain deserved another. “Don’t worry. I’m harmless.”
Mostly.
So much for scaring her off for her own good.
Not that he hadn’t had a steep hill to climb, given all she’d seen the prior day. As for harmless, that was a laugh. This woman was trouble of the highest order: clever, attractive, and powerful. In short, everything he wasn’t. What could she possibly want with him? Nothing good, that was for certain.
“I see you’ve done your research.” Or more likely, pumped her remaining powerful relatives for information. Fighting back the familiar shame, he focused on a large crack in the plaster above her head. “What did your grandmother tell you about me?”
And how many humiliating details of his life did she now know?
“Do you really think I’d be here if I’d asked her?” She smoothed down her voluminous skirts, hiding her dagger once more within the hidden pocket. Perhaps high fashion wasn’t so silly after all.
His lip twitched. “No, I suppose not.” No well-dressed matron would allow her precious granddaughter to traipse within a hundred yards of him. “You might be proving yourself a nuisance, but you’re no fool.”
“Don’t sing my mind’s praises yet. I can’t guarantee her suspicions aren’t aroused. I asked four maids and two footmen about you before learning that I would need to ask elsewhere.” She coughed a little. “A rather grave oversight, considering my own contacts would end up sufficing.” She didn’t elaborate, instead picking at a loose string on her sleeve, avoiding his gaze as ifshewas the one who should be embarrassed by her past.
But not embarrassed enough to stop her from continuing.
“I know you and your parents came from Trier when Prussia captured it from the French and made the lives of its Jews much less . . . comfortable. They passed away less than a year after you arrived.” She glanced up at him through impossibly thick lashes. “Something we have in common. Both my parents are also gone—though I don’t remember my mother. She died shortly after I was born and . . .”
She coughed again, shaking her head a little. “I apologize—that information isn’t necessary. We were talking about you, not me—or more, my knowledge of you.” Her voice became firm and formal. “You were then raised in the Jewish Orphans’ Home. After not being sent for further education or landing in one of the trades the community usually funnels orphans into, you briefly left for one of the shabbier gentile neighborhoods,” she recited, as if indeed she were reading from notes, thankfully no longer looking at him.
