Page 4 of How To Tempt A Bodyguard

"Well enough."

"And you do this often? Escort women to Bath?"

He shrugged one shoulder. "Often enough." He raised his gaze to her briefly. "Usually, they're running from worse situations."

Her fingers stilled on her reticule. "How do you know I'm not?"

"Seven trunks suggest you had time to pack."

She smiled slightly, the first genuine expression he'd seen on her face, and some of the tension eased from her shoulders. "One is books."

"Books?" He couldn't quite keep the surprise from his voice.

"I read too." She arched an eyebrow, a hint of mischief softening her features. "Shocking, I know."

"What kind?"

"Philosophy and poetry." She paused, dropping her gaze to her lap as a faint flush crept up her neck. "Terrible Gothic novels that would make you mock me."

"Wouldn't mock anyone for reading."

She tilted her head, studying him with those violet eyes as though seeing him for the first time. The wariness was still there, but so was a cautious reassessment.

"You're not what I expected."

"Lady's escort should wear fancy clothes?"

"No. Well, yes, but..." She worried the lace on her sleeve, the delicate motion at odds with the sharpness she'd wielded earlier. Her gaze traced over his face—lingering, he suspected, on every scar and crooked line—and he forced himself not to flinch from it. "You haven't noticed my beauty."

The words came out quieter than her others. Almost tentative.

"Noticed it. Don't care."

"Every man cares." A bitter edge crept back into her voice, and she lifted her chin as though bracing for argument.

"Not every man."

"Why not?"

Matthew marked his page with his thumb, giving her his full attention. She held herself very still under his gaze, her breath shallow.

"Beautiful flowers poison you as quick as ugly ones. Sometimes quicker, 'cause you don't see the danger coming."

Her lips parted. For a moment she looked almost wounded. "I'm not poisonous."

"Maybe not." The corner of his mouth twitched. "But you're definitely thorny."

She laughed, a hearty laugh. It bubbled up from somewhere deep, nothing like the crystalline Society tinkle he'd expected. The sound caught him off guard, warm and unguarded, and he found himself staring as her whole face transformed with it.

"Fair enough," she said once she'd composed herself, pressing her fingertips to her lips as though embarrassed by the outburst. But her eyes still danced.

He opened his book and rested his elbows on his knees, shifting his weight to stretch his aching back. The old gunshot wound was acting up again, a dull throb radiating along his spine.

They rode in more comfortable silence, the tension between them loosened, if not dissolved entirely. Outside, London gave way to open country, and the carriage wheels found a steadier rhythm.

"How do you know Mrs Raines? Or is it her husband, Dr Raines, you are friendly with?"

He didn't look up. "I knew Mrs Raines before she became Mrs Raines."