Page 73 of Bargaining with the Devil

Inasmuch as men of that world can be good.

She immediately mentally walked back that harsh thought. Nathaniel was good. Quinn was good in a more complicated sort of way. She’d seen no evidence that Mr. Pereira wasn’t as well.

Even so, it wasn’t the question of Mr. Pereira’s decency that was bothering her. “Perhaps he is. That’s not what’s troubling me.”

“Then what is?” Quinn’s tone was nearly surly when usually there was a playful undertone to his challenging her.

“Eva was forced into marrying him.”

“’Tisn’t how either of them described it.”

Her ire mounted. “I don’t mean in the sense that someone had a gun to their heads. But she’d not have needed to marry Mr. Pereira had she not been married to her first husband. That marriage made her vulnerable forever after, especially with her child’s future to consider.” Never mind that Edmund wouldn’t even exist without Eva’s first marriage.

“’Tis a particular sort of situation, hers. Not a usual one.”

“Be that as it may, had she never been married the first time, she’d not have needed to marry now. Her fate will always be in men’s hands, not her own.”

Quinn tilted his head. He looked edgier than usual. “Do you trust Blackmore?”

What had that to do with anything? “Of course I do. But I’m not married to Nathaniel.”

“And do you believe, truly, he’d ever do your sister harm?” Quinn took a step toward her.

She flinched, both at the words and Quinn’s scowl. “Of course not. Nathaniel would cut off his own arm before he hurt Isobel. Give up his life for her safety.”

“Then ’tis as it should be. And he would, you know. Lay down his life for your sister. Little Rachel too. And he’d do it for you. You’re his family.”

“Isobel couldn’t have been certain he’d be like that. No one can be sure of that. It’s not—” She broke off because he’d taken another step towards her. “It’s not wise to trust. Trust is easily broken.”

“Sometimes, aye. But not with what they have. You see that for yourself.”

She didn’t want to admit he was right about it. “Then it’s the exception.”

Another step. “So you’re saying no men save Blackmore are trustworthy? What about me? Do you trust me, Lucy?” He’d reached her now.

She didn’t like that he’d used her name rather than his usual endearments; he hadn’t used a single one yet in this conversation. She didn’t like what was in his eyes. “Whether I trust you or not has nothing to do with anything.”

Almost too fast for her eyes to follow, one of his knives appeared in his hand. “Take this then.”

She recoiled. “I don’t want that.”

“I understand true why you feel the way you do.” He caught her hand, forcing her trembling fingers to wrap around the hilt. “I do. But you not trusting me . . . If you truly believe under it all that I would ever hurt you, well, ’tis the same thing to me. Hurts me the same way.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I know it, a mhuirnín.” He’d finally used an endearment, but she didn’t like it better after all. His voice was gentle, too gentle, because what was on his face didn’t match the words or the tone. “You’re used to hurting yourself instead.”

“Stop it.”

“You should learn how to kill a man. Might be you’ll find it a bit easier livin’ on if you’ve that knowledge.”

She didn’t want her hand on the knife’s hilt, but his fingers were unrelenting. Not hurting her but not letting her drop the knife. Moving it up towards his throat.

“You do it clean if you can. If you can’t do it clean, do it quick. Takes more force than you might think, cutting on through a man’s windpipe so he can’t draw air enough to shout. But if that’s not a concern, if you don’t need to do it quiet, well, ’tis easy enough to quickly nick the spot where the blood rushes fastest. Right here, a mhuirnín.” He tapped a spot under his jaw with his free hand. “’Tis messy, sure. But cut it deep enough, and it takes no time at all for a man to bleed out. Especially when your knife has a good edge.”

Which his did. She’d watched him put it on herself.

“Stop it, Quinn.” Her voice was sharp. Sharp because the blade was sharp and that scared her. Sharp because what was on his face scared her even more. “Let go of my hand.”