Page 3 of An Extraordinary Lord

“I’m a peer of His Majesty’s realm.” Merritt could still barely say that without laughing. Or wanting to flee.

She shook her head. “Claiming to be Mrs. Fitzherbert was more believable.” She kept her sword pointed at the burglar, who was too afraid to flee. “As you can see,” she pointed out, “your assistance is unnecessary.”

In other words, he could go rot, and she could be on her way, criminal in tow, to the nearest watchhouse.

But Merritt wasn’t ready to saunter off just yet. Not once had he experienced a night like this since he’d returned to England last year, taken up at the bar again by day, and been compelled to patrol the streets at night to keep from going mad. The Home Office’s mission for him tonight suddenly fell out of favor. Who needed an escaped convict to distract him when a woman like this stood before him?

“You think I’d dare try to steal credit for your arrest with the night watch?” He feigned offense. “What kind of gentleman would I be to do something like that?”

She shrugged. “A thief-taker.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. I leave the thief-taking to better men.” And better women, too, apparently. “I’m the exact opposite, in fact.”

Good Lord, was he ever. In his daylight profession as a barrister, he encountered more thief-takers than he could shake a stick at, and God knew how much he wanted to take a sticktothe corrupt, lying lot of them. As far as he was concerned, only the foot patrols had worth. Men who walked the streets to look for crimes as they were happening, to arrest the criminals right then rather than hunt them down after the fact the way most runners did. After all, wasn’t that what he did himself almost every night, patrolling the streets to protect innocents?

Shemust belong to one of those patrols.

And clearly didn’t believe him. “Then why would you be out on a night like this, prowling the dark streets at this hour?” She sardonically clucked her tongue. “A defenseless thing like you might get hurt.”

I’m hunting.And not just for an escaped convict.

“I could ask the same of you,” he dodged, pushing darker thoughts from his mind. “I’ve never met a female thief-taker before.”

“Then we’re even,” she shot back. “I’ve never met Mrs. Fitzherbert.”

With a lazy grin, he let that pass. There was no good response to that, and he had more important things to focus on at the moment. Or at least more pointed things.

He nodded at her sword. “Do you truly know how to use that thing without hurting yourself?”

“Do you?” She gestured at his.

He pushed back his greatcoat to fully reveal his sword. “Want to find out?”

She studied him for a silent moment, her eyes flickering eagerly at the temptation. “Are you asking me to dance, my good sir?”

Dance, fight…anything else she felt like doing with him. “Yes.”Oh yes.

Her attention flicked to the burglar as she weighed her options, then she conceded. “All right.” She lowered her sword and stepped back. “It’s your lucky night,” she told the burglar. “Leave.”

The man turned and ran, stumbling over himself and the cobblestones in his scramble to vanish into the darkness of the passageway.

Slowly, she stepped into the middle of the alley. The challenge Merritt had tossed out now tingled like an electric storm between them, and the deserted street came to life beneath the cold and damp night.

Who the devilwasshe? The desire to find out coiled in his gut.

Merritt pushed himself away from the wall and deliberately drew his sword in a controlled slide from its scabbard. He didn’t know her, didn’t know how she’d been trained or how skilled she was, how controlled in her reactions and emotions. The last thing he needed was for her to startle at any quick movement and decide to run him through.

But that worry quickly turned baseless. Judging from the way she circled him, now assessing him openly with the cool detachment of an adversary, the woman possessed control of emotion, body, and weapon that wouldn’t have faltered even under cannon fire. A well-trained and experienced soldier. Each fluid, graceful move she made reminded him of a lioness stalking its prey.

He stood still and let her circle him, his sword drawn but pointing nonthreateningly at the ground. He followed her path with a glance over his shoulder. “You’ve had significant training, then?”

“I have.” Her boot heels clicked softly against the cobblestones, and every breath she took sent up a cloud of steam on the cold air. “I’ve studied under some of the best fighters in Spain and France.”

“What a coincidence.” He turned his head to glance over his other shoulder, keeping her in sight as she completed her circle. “I’ve killed some of the best fighters in Spain and France.”

She stopped in front of him. “Then you might possibly offer a challenge.”

An amused grin tugged at his lips. Oh, he was enjoying this! “Possibly.”