An Extraordinary Lord (Lords of the Armory #3) - Anna Harrington Page 0,1
to him first.”
“I would never attempt to pull rank.” Not with a woman. And certainly not one armed to the teeth. Good Lord, was that a gladius sword sheathed at her hip? “But I’m a bit foggy tonight, so you’ll have to explain to me why I would want him.”
“He broke into the shop.”
“I see.” Actually, he didn’t have a clue. “And you are…?”
“Rich man, poor man, beggar man…thief,” she mused, chanting out the beginning of the old children’s rhyme. With a slow smile, she added, “Taker.”
He narrowed his eyes on her. The streets were filled with thief-takers these days, lurking about in the wakes of the riots to arrest opportunistic men who used the confusion and destruction to cover their own crimes. Low-hanging fruit. Merritt had no patience for them, knowing they were profiting off the riots as much as the men they captured. But this one… Sweet Lucifer. He’d never seen one like her before. Hell, he’d never seen a female thief-taker at all.
His boring night had suddenly turned interesting.
“So as you can see, I don’t need your help,” she reiterated.
Apparently not. “Good. Because I wasn’t offering it.” He ran a deliberate and assessing gaze over her. “I didn’t realize Bow Street employed women.”
“Bow Street?” Keeping the knife lightly pressed under the burglar’s chin, she turned sideways to shoot Merritt an expression of such disgust that he wondered for a moment if he’d sprung a second head. “Do I look weak and corrupt to you?”
“Not at all.” Actually, she looked…magnificent. And deadly.
“Bow Street,” she muttered in an aside to her prisoner. “He thinks I’m a runner. No honor among thieves with that lot. Did I behave like a runner to you?”
The thief stiltedly shook his head, afraid to move more for fear of slitting his own throat.
She slid her eyes to the criminal. “Did I ask you for bribery money to turn you loose or make an offer to split the profits of what you’ve stolen? Of course not.” She scoffed a snort of revulsion. “Bow Street…please.”
“Then who are you?” Merritt asked.
“You first.”
Damnation. Where was a good false identity when he needed one? He really needed to work on that. The first name that popped into his head—“Mrs. Fitzherbert.”
“And I would have guessed you were Lady Jersey.”
It was her turn then to finally scrutinize him with a good long perusal. If she were surprised to see him looking like a wraith in the night, the hilt of his own sword visible beneath his open greatcoat, she didn’t show it, and her expression remained as enigmatic as ever.
She arched a brow. “Prinny’s tastes in women have definitely turned unique, I daresay.”
His lips pursed in mocking insult. “Are you saying I don’t look feminine enough to entice a prince?”
“Not at all. Only that you look…younger than I would have assumed.”
He sent her his best rakish grin. “It’s not the years. It’s how you wear them.” And speaking of wearing… He nodded toward her sword. “That’s an interesting choice of fashion accessory.”
“My dressmaker was all out of matching parasols.”
“Really.”
“I’d show you what she substitutes for reticules, but I’m not certain you’d survive.”
Good Lord, she was sharp. So were all three blades she carried, he’d wager. “What—no pistols?”
“A weapon that’s useless up close, has to be reloaded after a single use, and kills more people who pull the trigger through misfires than those whom the barrel is pointed at?” She shook her head with only slightly less disdain than she’d expressed at being confused for a Bow Street runner. “Where’s the fun in that?”
She took a step toward Merritt and sheathed her knife on her left forearm. From the curious way her gaze journeyed over him, she couldn’t quite fathom him or what he was doing lurking in the rain-soaked streets so far from any place respectable. But then, he could barely understand it himself.
Her eyes drifted down from his shoulders and across the black tunic he wore instead of a shirt and waistcoat, then down his black trousers. His cock flexed shamelessly when her attention landed on his crotch.
He grimaced. That look was certainly more likely done to note if he carried a pistol tucked into his waistband than because this unusual encounter was arousing her. Disappointingly.
Behind her, the burglar moved to step away from the wall and run.
“Stay.” With a lightning quick reflex, she drew her sword and pointed it at the man’s chest, not looking away from Merritt.