Page 69 of Traitor in Her Arms (The Scarlet Chronicle 2)

He was about to say yes, but one look at her decided him otherwise. She appeared tired and disheveled. He was just about to fall over from fatigue as well. And even if they found an exit, they couldn’t be seen on the street until morning. They had time yet to search.

He arranged the blankets on the floor, then took off his coat to give the makeshift bedding more padding. “Sit and rest for a moment.”

“What about the light? Can we leave it for now?”

Was she really afraid of the dark, or did she worry rats were nearby? Her voice sounded like that of a frightened child.

“Leave it,” he said.

She sat beside him, drawing her knees under her chin. He admired how she was able to do it so gracefully. She did not look like a boy at all. “You were good today.”

He raised a brow.

“In Robespierre’s office. You were quicker than I to deal with the locks.”

He didn’t think so, but he was glad for the topic, because he’d been wondering about her skills for some time. “Where did you learn to pick locks?”

She cut her gaze sideways, seeming to consider what to reveal. “My housekeeper taught me,” she said finally. “She has a rather…eccentric background. When McCullough’s creditors began to demand payment, she gave me a means with which to stave them off.”

“You steal artifacts from theton.”

“And sell them on the black market.” She lowered her chin to her knees again. “I’m not proud of what I’ve done. But I don’t know any other way short of fleeing for the Continent.” She gestured to the limestone walls surrounding them. “You can see how that has turned out.”

I don’t know any other way.

She was as trapped as he by her circumstances. Of course, she had not made her bed, and yet she had no choice but to lie in it. He had built the damn bed from the frame up. He had no one to blame but himself.

“What about you?” She was watching him carefully, her gaze heavy on his, seeing all even in the flickering light. “Where did you learn?”

Ah…And now he had a decision to make. Tell her the truth or lie even more than he had done?

He decided on a half-truth for the moment. “I taught myself to pick locks. I found it a useful skill at times.”

“Why would the son of an earl need to pick locks?”

He wouldn’t. Neither would the son of an earl need to know how to pick a pocket, but he had practiced both endlessly as a boy. One does what one must when one’s family is starving.

“Why would a viscountess need to know? Things aren’t always as they seem.”

“Youare not what you seem. I had always thought you something of a gallant.”

He shook his head. “The papers are not to be trusted.”

“Then you don’t associate with the demimonde?”

He clenched his jaw. What man liked to discuss his previous love affairs with the woman he’s now hoping to seduce? With the one woman who was actually starting to mean something to him? “I have a great many associates.”

She studied him. “Did George have these associates?”

Ramsey took her hand. “I never saw him with another woman while the two of you were married.”

She looked away. “Too busy gambling, I imagine.”

“No man is too busy for a woman, if that’s what he’s seeking.”

The silence of the catacombs was heavy for several moments. The lantern’s sparks and pops sounded deafening. “I’m sorry,” she said at last.

“For asking about McCullough?”

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