Unraveled (Turner #3)(37)

“One month.” His pulse was beating more erratically than it ought. This was business—simple business. Not something to care about. No reason to watch her so carefully, to wonder what that flicker of her eyelashes might mean. No reason at all. He bent and retrieved Ghost’s stick, to avoid looking in her eyes, and hurled it as far as he could. “In addition to what I mentioned before,” he added, “I’ll pay you a thousand pounds.”

That got him an incredulous look. “One thousand pounds. Are you joking? Or are you mad?”

He’d decided on a few hundred last night. He wasn’t sure where the new, vastly inflated number had come from. Perhaps because he feared that she might refuse two hundred.

“Neither,” he said repressively.

“You drive a worse bargain than my friend Jeremy.” She put her hand to her head. “I beg your pardon for not immediately snapping up the offer. My financial understanding stretches to shillings and pence in the quantities of ones and tens. I have never heard the word ‘thousand’ anywhere near the word ‘pounds.’ I am having difficulty comprehending what you mean. You had seemed a sensible man, but you cannot be one. That’s an absurd amount for just that one thing.”

“Yes,” he snapped. “This entire endeavor is absurd. I don’t know why I asked you to come, or why I could scarcely breathe this morning until I saw you. The only thing I know for certain is that I want more than one thing from you. I want forty or fifty. Most of all, I want this: when we are through, I want to be certain that I will not leave you in danger. This way, I’ll know that you’ll never find your way into my courtroom again—neither you nor Robbie—and I’ll never have to compromise my judgment. I want you to be safe. I can’t purchase that for a few pounds and a minute against a wall.”

She was watching him. The bright green of her eyes bored into his. She raised one eyebrow at that, and he almost thought she might be laughing at him. But instead, she said, “That’s four things you want. What are the other forty-something?”

He reached out and took her hand. She was wearing knit gloves; they thinned at the fingertips. He rolled the fabric off her hand, slowly, and then pressed his hand into hers. She stared down at their entwined fingers, and then looked up at him.

“There’s really only the one other thing,” he heard himself say. “But I imagine I’ll want it more than once.”

Her hand twitched in his.

“Also,” he said, “to be quite truthful—I chose a thousand pounds because I don’t want to risk the possibility of your saying no.”

She gave him a little smile—as if she’d realized what he’d just said. He had the money, the power. And he’d practically admitted that she had him in the palm of her hand. She could have asked for two thousand pounds, and he’d have agreed. Ten.

But instead, she pulled back from him. Her nails trailed along the skin of his hand. “I have my own conditions,” she said.

“Yes?”

“You can have my body. You can have my fidelity. You can even have my honesty—” this, with a little wayward smile “—but there is one thing you cannot ever buy from me, not with any coin you have.”

“Oh?”

“You can’t buy my affection.”

It was not disappointment he felt. It would make matters easier. He should have been overjoyed.

“That hardly signifies.” He jammed his hands in his pockets. “Affection is not one of the forty-four other things I want to have from you.” He wouldn’t know what to do with it, in any event. “I told you I have no desire for effusive sentiment.”

She gave him a brisk nod. “There’s something else you need to know.”

“Oh?”

She cast her eyes down and then looked up at him through her lashes. “You’re adorable when you’re uncertain.”

“Uncertain?” He drew himself up. “What makes you think I’m uncertain? I’m certain. I’m quite certain. I’m—”

He lost his words, the entire rest of his sputtering speech, when she stepped close to him, popped up onto her toes, and kissed him. The feel of her was a cool, clean shock, as bracing as fresh morning air after a tortured night.

Smite remembered everything. He remembered every prisoner he’d thrown in gaol, and the ones he had let go. He remembered reports of crimes and the details of bloody history.

But when she kissed him, he forgot. He forgot everything in the world except the heady feel of her hands, resting against his lapels. For just that moment, he was nothing but an ordinary fellow out with his sweetheart. When she kissed him, she made him feel like a man—just a man, not a burdened magistrate responsible for the fate of half of Bristol.

And so he deepened the kiss, sliding his tongue between her lips. He set his hands on her hips and pulled her close, and she didn’t resist. She nestled against him, sighing deep in her throat. He kissed her until the rumble of a cart intruded on the quiet fog shielding their tryst.

She drew back. He felt almost unsteady on his feet. He was drunk on the taste of her. He’d been knocked off balance, and he wouldn’t be able to walk a straight line for years.

No, he definitely wasn’t going to miss his thousand pounds. He’d got the better end of that bargain. Even if she never gave him one scrap of affection.