Page 14 of Not a Fine Gentleman

He moved behind her and removed the shackles from her wrists.

When he freed her hands, she rubbed them in an attempt to remove the sensation of being bound. “Mr. Jackson, I had just purchased some clean clothes at that pawnshop where you found me, but I dropped them when I ran. Might we retrieve my things? I wish to change out of this gown.”

His glance moved downward to her bloodstained clothes. Hennessy’s blood. It all seemed like a horrific dream.

“Yes, I think that would be wise.” He stood and offered her his hand.

She took his hand and pulled herself up. He eyed her warily with those dark eyes as if he expected her to bolt. Giving him a measured look of her own, she held her ground. He stood a little taller than Lord Hennessy—closer to her brothers’ height, and nearly as broad. A Bow Street constable ought not be so handsome. Not that she cared.

Chapter 4

Connor strode next to his assignment, fully aware of the sidelong glances Lady Hennessy sent him. He refused to look at her. He didn’t have to. Her presence, her footsteps, her very breathing, was firmly fixed in his awareness.

He was not, not, not attracted to this woman, who may or may not have murdered her husband. She seemed fully capable of murder—chillingly vicious one moment, flirtatious and manipulative the next. And stronger than she looked. He rubbed at his throbbing temple.

Not only that, but she was also a noblewoman, the daughter of an earl, the wife—make that widow—of a marquis. She lived in a world so unlike his that she might as well have been born on the moon.

Behind the pawnshop, they located her discarded bundle of clothes where she’d dropped them.

Lady Hennessy picked them up and made a shooing motion. “I need to change.”

“And let you out of my sight?” Connor shook his head.

“I’m not changing in front of you.” She glared at him with those strikingly vivid eyes.

“I won’t risk you running.”

“I told you I wouldn’t.”

“Yes, you did,” he agreed pleasantly as he folded his arms.

She drew herself up and gave him a haughty glare. “You think I’m lying.”

“I would be foolish not to consider the possibility that a prime murder suspect might also lie.”

“You’re right; you are no gentleman.”

They glared at each other, neither bending.

Finally, she let out a huff. “Fine. Turn around. While I change, I’ll talk so you know I’m still here.”

He considered, looking for trickery. “Very well. But if it sounds as if your voice is getting farther away, I will look.”

She glared. “You might look anyway.”

She had him there. He wouldn’t be a red-blooded man if he had no temptation to look at a beautiful woman as she undressed. “I’m nothing like the constable who tried to arrest you.”

Dryly, she said, “Well, that’s a relief. Now turn around. And don’t peek.”

He put his back to her. “I’m listening.”

“Very well, what do you want me to say?”

“I don’t care. Just talk.”

“How refreshing. Most men prefer a silent female.” The rustle of fabric accompanied her words. “I suppose I could tell you about how much I adore drinking chocolate and that I sweeten it with a shocking amount of sugar and cream, or about the lobster bisque I’ve been thinking about all day, although at the moment, I’d even settle for some plain old bread pudding and turnip soup.”

He almost groaned aloud at his stupidity for giving a woman free rein to chatter. But it allowed him to be sure she remained in place.