patter of their footfall clamoring on the cobblestones of the street beyond.
They’d gone but the girl had not. She stood, frozen it seemed, in her ridiculous stance of defense.
The bones beneath her alabaster skin were exquisite, with high curved cheeks, graceful jaw, and straight, delicate nose. Michelangelo might have sculpted her. And a blow from one man’s fist would smash that beauty in an instant.
“Go home,” he said to her.
She flinched slightly but stayed set, swaying a bit as though dazed.
He sighed. “Go, before I decide to teach you a lesson.”
That snapped her out of it. She eyed the wall behind her, where the safety of her home lay, and then the alleyway to her side. She didn’t want him to know she was home, but had no desire to run off down that alley. Was she a servant? No, she hadn’t the hands of one. Nor could Ellis afford a servant. But he had daughters. Three that Archer knew of, and only one that remained in the home. Miranda. His mind rolled over the name, savoring it like wine.
“Leave,” she squeaked. “And I’ll go home.”
He bit back a smile. Had defiance ever been so intriguing? Youth so beguiling? She was old enough to marry. He blinked, clearing his mind of that insane thought. She was an innocent. He would not think of her as seductive. But she would be—someday. Would that mouth grow lusher still? The slight baby softness at her cheeks melt into greater delicacy?
He watched her, momentarily entranced by the golden strands of hair that swirled about her angular face like flames.
“Who are you?” she snapped.
The sharp query brought him to attention. He made a courtly bow.
“A concerned subject of the Crown.”
She harrumphed but did not drop her fists. Shockingly, she came closer. He backed away into the dark and collided with the alley wall. The deep-hooded cloak hid the mask he wore. Even so, he didn’t want to scare her. A ridiculous notion, considering she tracked him like a falcon, drawing near, sensing his reticence and acting on that weakness. Admiration filled him.
“Lower your hood. Let me see your face.”
He should walk away. Leave her be. “No.”
Heated energy flared around her, almost palpable in the cold air. Anger made her lovely, powerful.
“I could make you.”
In the shadows, he grinned. He could not account for the utter confidence in her, yet it made him… exhilarated. “An intriguing idea. Perhaps you ought to try.”
Had he been a normal man, her movement would have been a blur. Even so, it shocked him how quickly she was upon him, a knife in her hand shoved firmly against his ribs. He ought to teach her a lesson in taking on strange, large men in the night, but the sweet, grassy scent of her distracted him, and he was curious as to what she would do.
“Turn around.” Her voice was forged iron. “Your hands to the wall.”
When he simply stood there amused, she flushed. “I don’t care who you are as long as you go. But I will check you for weapons before I send you on your way.”
Foolish girl. He really ought to set her straight. “Of course,” he said.
The damp on the bricks seeped through his gloves as she reached around to skim her hand over his chest. The moment she touched him his senses snapped to attention. A light shiver passed over him. He tapped it down, thought of the Queen, pickled eels, or… the fact that no woman had been this close to him in years. For a moment, he was dizzy.
“Quality clothing. Carrying the scent of the sea. The sea and…” She trailed off with a noise that made him wonder what she detected. Did the unnaturalness in him carry a scent?
“You’re here to harass my father.”
His head snapped up, and she made a sound of annoyance.
“You are not the first to ooze from this alleyway in the dark of night, nor will you be the last.” Her hand slid over his belly. His gut grew twitchy, aching. “I assume he owes you money. Well, it is gone. There is nothing left. You cannot get blood from a stone, and I won’t let you take his blood in payment.”
He winced at the hurt in her voice, at what she had to face for the deeds of her father. It changed nothing; save he wanted to keep her away from her father’s inevitable demise. Tenderness warred with the deep, tight-chested anger that was his constant companion.