Page 19 of How To Tempt A Bodyguard

"Bartitsu. The basics." She held up a hand before he could refuse. "I'm not asking to become a fighter. But if someone grabs me, if I need to get away, I'd like to know I have options beyond screaming and hoping for rescue."

"You've got me for that."

"You can't be everywhere at once." Her voice was matter of fact. "And you won't always be there. Three weeks from now, we'll part ways, and I'll be alone again. I'd like to be slightly less helpless when that happens."

It was a reasonable argument. He hated that it was a reasonable argument.

"We'll see," he said.

"Is that yes?"

"It's we'll see."

She smiled. A real smile this time, one that crinkled the corners of her eyes. "I'll take it."

They stopped midday at a coaching inn to rest the horses and eat something that wasn't stale bread from the day past. Matthew checked the inn first before allowing Mrs Archer inside.

She'd kept her shawl up, her head bowed. Playing the quiet wife. She did it well.

Too well, maybe.

They took a table in the corner, away from the windows. Matthew sat with his back to the wall, facing the door. Mrs Archer sat across from him, her hands wrapped around a cup of ale she hadn't touched.

"You're not drinking," he observed.

"Not thirsty."

"You haven't eaten either."

"Not hungry."

He pushed the plate of bread and cheese towards her. "Eat anyway. You'll need the energy."

She looked at the food with distaste, but she took a piece of bread, tearing it into small pieces without actually putting any in her mouth.

"You're nervous," he said.

"I'm cautious."

"What are you watching for?"

Her eyes flicked to the door, then back to him. "Anyone who looks too long. Anyone who seems out of place. Anyone who…" She stopped, shook her head. "I don't know. That's the problem. I don't know what the danger looks like until it's already there."

"Is that how you've been living? Looking over your shoulder all the time?"

"For a while now. Yes."

He thought about that. He'd lived like that himself. Years of watching doorways, sleeping with one eye open, never quite trusting that the next moment wouldn't bring violence. He knew what it did to a person, that constant vigilance. The way it wore you down, eroded your edges, made you see threats in every shadow. Made you hard in places that used to be soft.

Working for Sylvia had given him stability, but the fear never left. The day it did, he’d be discovered. Looking at Mrs Archer, the quick flick of her eyes towards every movement…

He recognised it. Recognised her, in a way he hadn't expected.

"How long?" he asked.

She was quiet for a moment. Then: "Ten years. Give or take."

Ten years.