Page 12 of How To Tempt A Bodyguard

"Good. You should be nervous."

"I'm already nervous enough." She gestured to the chair across from her. "Please."

He sat. It felt like a concession.

She pushed the plate towards him. An offering, or a test. "You handled things well today. The driver. The arrangements. The innkeeper just now." She tilted her head. "You've done this before. Managed crises."

"Part of the job."

"Guarding spoiled aristocrats?" A faint smile tugged at her mouth.

"Getting people where they need to go." He took a piece of bread, more to have something to do with his hands than from hunger. "Doesn't matter who they are."

"Very egalitarian of you."

"Very practical."

She laughed. A short, surprised sound, quickly smothered. For an instant, she looked almost young. Almost unguarded.

Then her expression smoothed, and the mask slid back into place.

"The room," she said. "What are the arrangements?"

"One bed. I'll take the floor by the door."

"Is that necessary? The floor, I mean."

"If someone comes through that door tonight, they go through me first." He met her eyes. "That's how I keep you safe."

She held his gaze for a long moment. Whatever she was looking for, she seemed to find it.

"Very well, Mr White." She reached for her ale. "I suppose I should be grateful my wool merchant husband is so... protective."

"Edward."

"Pardon?"

"If we're married, you should call me Edward. Or people will wonder."

Surprise, perhaps, or amusement flickered across her face. "Edward, then." She lifted her cup in a small salute. "To a safe night."

He didn't echo the toast. Safe was a strong word, and they both knew it.

When someone came to collect them for their room, Matthew went first, checking the stairs and the hallway before letting her follow. And when they entered the small, clean chamber with its single bed and its window overlooking the courtyard, he locked the door behind them, tested the shutters, and positioned himself between her and every possible point of entry.

Mrs Archer watched him work without comment. Then she moved to the trunks, which had been stacked neatly against the far wall. Her fingers traced the locks of three in particular. Checking, always checking, before she finally stepped back, satisfied.

When he finally settled with his back against the door, she simply nodded as though this were perfectly normal, as though she'd expected nothing less.

"Goodnight, Edward," she said, and drew the bed curtains closed.

Matthew sat in the dark, listening to her breathe slowly, and thought about trunks that mattered more than safety. About a woman who could make herself invisible. About Sylvia Raines, who'd called in a favour and sent him into something far deeper than a simple escort job.

What the hell have you gotten me into, Sylvia?

The question hung in the darkness, unanswered.

He didn't sleep.