away and looked up. Fixed her stare to his face. Only that was worse. He was handsome. Beautiful in a harsh, menacing sort of way. In an instant she knew this was a dangerous man. She had never thought such a thing by looking at Bloodsworth, but looking at this man, she knew.
His deep-set eyes were a piercing dark blue. They drilled into her, watching her keenly. “Go ahead. Drink.” He nodded at the cup. The movement dipped his dark blond hair lower over his forehead.
She resisted the impulse to hide from his scrutiny—where could she go, after all?
She took the cup from him, careful not to touch his fingers with her own. She meant to only sip, but the moment the water touched her tongue she was gulping it down. She handed the cup back to him. “More, please.”
He moved back to a small tray on a scuffed, ancient-looking sideboard and poured water from a pitcher. “Just a little more. Don’t want you getting sick.”
She took the cup and drank greedily again, eyeing him above the rim. He watched her in turn, not looking away.
Lowering the cup, she wiped the water from her mouth with the back of her hand, not caring how unladylike she must appear. She’d been the perfect lady before—or tried to be, at any rate—exemplifying only the best manners, aping her betters, and look where that had gotten her.
“I suppose I owe you a thank-you.” The moment the words escaped she realized they sounding grudging.
He held her stare for a long moment with his deep-eyes gaze, not responding. Taking the cup, he finally turned from her. “You owe me nothing. I found you. Was I to leave you there to die?” His words were terse and she was struck with the suspicion that this was not a man accustomed to making polite conversation.
“Not everyone would have bothered with me.” Indeed not. Her faith in mankind was dismally low at the moment. Inhaling a deep breath, she repeated, “Thank you.” This time she sounded sincere.
He shrugged one well-formed shoulder and his lean, muscled torso once again became a point of fascination. She had never seen a man built like him before. She forced her gaze from the ridged plane of his stomach and examined the room. After a moment she frowned. It was not like any room she’d ever seen. It was all wood, crammed with cupboards and chests.
“What is this place?”
“We’re in Mirela’s wagon. You’ll meet her in the morning when she comes to poke and prod at you again. Sadly, you’ll be awake for it this time.”
Like a magnet, he drew her gaze again. She watched as he effortlessly sank down onto the pallet beside her bed, one arm propped over his knee.
“They’ve given us use of this wagon? That’s very kind of them.”
“Oh, they’re not entirely altruistic.”
“What do you mean?”
Those dark blue eyes stared steadily at her. “Nothing is free in this world. Everything has its price.” Truer words had never been said. Hadn’t Jack, in effect, bought a duke for her?
“You’re paying them?”
“They need to survive, too.”
She considered this before replying. “People do what they have to.” Just like she would. She would do what she must to make sure she never became that girl again. The one cast into the river. She wouldn’t be naive and stupid again.
His head tipped to the side. As though he didn’t expect her to say that.
She continued gazing at him evenly. “And what shall be your price for helping me, then?”
He stared until she grew uncomfortable. She resisted the urge to fidget.
“You said nothing is free in this world. I simply wondered what manner of recompense you expected.”
He spoke at last. “I did not mean myself.”
“Oh.” She stared at him, wondering about this man. He held himself tensely, clearly uneasy with their exchange, and she began to suspect that it wasn’t just her but conversation, people in general, that discomfited him.
He looked away, the flesh along his jaw tensing in a way that hinted at his lack of
Learning to Kill: Stories