Page 3 of How To Tempt A Bodyguard

She spluttered, her perfect face turning pink, her hands gripping the edge of the seat cushion so hard her knuckles went white. "You're the rudest man I've ever met!"

"Doubt that."

"I beg your pardon?"

He kept his eyes on the book, trying to study the mechanics of an O Goshi hip throw as he spoke. "A brat like you? Bet you've met plenty of rude men."

Her face went from pink to red, but beneath the anger—a flash of hurt. Raw and wounded. She shuttered it away before he could examine it.

"You know nothing about me."

"Know you're running from something." He glanced up. "Or someone."

Her chin lifted, but her voice came out too bright, too rehearsed. "I'm visiting friends."

"With seven trunks and no maid?"

She fell silent. When Matthew glanced up properly, she was staring out the window, her jaw set, her throat working as she swallowed. One hand had drifted to her opposite wrist, fingers pressing against the fabric there.

"My maid took ill," she said finally, still not looking at him.

"Sure."

Her head whipped around. "She did!"

He went back to his book.

Another five minutes of blessed quiet. The carriage swayed over a rough patch of road, and he heard her exhale slowly. Not quite a sigh, not quite steady.

"Is it good?"

"What?"

"The book." She gestured towards it, her movements smaller now, less imperious. Tired.

"Aye."

"What's it about?"

"Controlling what you can control."

She laughed bitterly, the sound sharp and hollow. Her gaze drifted back to the window, to the grey London streets sliding past. "How nice for men, having things to control."

Matthew studied her.

Beneath the perfect face, he saw shadows under her eyes, carefully hidden with powder. The way she held herself—not just proud, but braced, as though expecting a blow. And there, just visible beneath her glove where it had ridden up: a fading bruise and healing scrapes circling her wrist like a bracelet.

His jaw tightened. He looked away.

"Bath's good for fresh starts," he said quietly.

Her eyes met his, surprised. The mask slipped, just for a moment, and beneath it he saw exhaustion. And underneath that, barely visible: Fear.

"So I'm told."

"Mrs Raines will make sure you're settled proper."

"You know her well?" She turned from the window, a flicker of curiosity breaking through her studied indifference.