Page 29 of How To Tempt A Bodyguard

"Is that a criticism?"

"An observation." He set down his cup. "You don't trust easily."

"Neither do you."

"No."

"Then we understand each other."

They did. A bastard bruiser and a marquess's sister. That was the unsettling part.

"Can I ask you something?" she said.

"You've been asking me things all day."

"Something personal."

He should say no. Should maintain the distance he kept insisting on. But the wine was warm in his stomach, and the rain was drumming on the roof, and she was looking at him with those violet eyes like she cared about his answer.

"Go ahead," he said.

"The scars on your back. You said it was a long time ago. But you also said you worked in fighting pits before Sylvia found you." She paused. "Were those from the pits?"

"No."

"Then where?"

He was quiet for a long moment. The rain filled the silence. "Before the pits," he said finally, "I moved goods. Broke bones." He shrugged. "Started young."

"How old were you?"

"Twelve."

Her lips thinned and brows furrowed. Anger, perhaps.

"How did you get out?"

"Ran until no one could follow." He picked up his cup again. "Found the pits. Then Sylvia."

"That's a long journey from breaking bones to..." She gestured at him. "Whatever you are now."

"Bodyguard."

"Is that all you are?"

He looked at her. "It's all I need to be."

She held his gaze for a moment. Then she nodded, accepting the deflection.

"Thank you," she said. "For telling me."

"You asked."

"Most people don't answer."

"Most people don't ask the way you do."

"And how do I ask?"