He knew the way, ushering her through them as if he was sovereign of this clandestine cityscape of dim passageways and cut-throughs. ‘This way, Laure.’ He shuffled her this way and that, plunging her into a couple of alleys so narrow that they barely justified the term.

There had been a micro-second of doubt about taking up his offer.

‘You’re quite safe.’

‘I have to get back to my employers.’

‘And you will.’

‘Is it safe?’

‘No need to worry. Someone will take you back.’ His smile was lopsided and slightly mocking. ‘If I’m lucky it might be me.’

The smile touched the sore place in Laure’s heart. She had been so busy acclimatizing to the job and celebrating her liberation from Brympton and her grief-stricken home, that she had not realized that she had missed friendship, talk, joshing.

He came to a dead stop, turned around and she went smack into his ribcage. He grunted and she cried out, ‘I’m so sorry.’

‘It’s all right,’ he said. ‘Only one rib is broken. It’ll be fine in a month or two.’

‘What? You don’t mean it?’

He grinned at Laure’s distress – and took pity. Placing his hands on her shoulders, he said, ‘At most, a faint bruise.’

‘Thank God,’ she breathed.

The heat seemed to wrap them in tight, private world.

Slight as he was, his physical presence was almost overwhelming. Skin gleaming with heat, his grip on her shoulder, the suggestion of sweat and tobacco and drink all combined to make her feel lightheaded.

He looked down at Laure and they found themselves smiling broadly at each other. He had, she noted, absurdly long, dark lashes. She looked down at his bare forearm, fretted with light gold hair. To her astonishment, she longed to run her hands over his chest and the curve of his shoulders.

‘I’m a stranger,’ she said. ‘Why are you being so nice? People aren’t nice to strangers.’

Something else crept into his expression. It was if he recognized a Laure that no one knew or suspected.

‘I don’t know why,’ he replied, his face still bent over hers. ‘Do you?’

His mouth was good humoured, with some stubbornness in its definition. She loved that. ‘No.’ As soon as she uttered it, she checked herself. She wasn’t going to lie. Not with him. ‘Yes, I do.’

He nodded as if he expected that answer. As if he was pleased with it. ‘Could it be that you’re not a stranger? Not really.’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I think that might be it.’

‘Good.’

CHAPTER 10

SHE WAS EXPECTING TO BE TAKEN TO A CAFE. INSTEAD, she found herself mounting an unlit sweeping stone staircase in what had once been – clearly – a grand house.