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“Gentlemen, you seem to think that I’m a lady of fashion,” she said. “I’m not. I’m a professional, and I am the sort of professional who has just thrashed all four of you together. And then I let you live, because you’re not a threat to me and I don’t have any quarrel with you.”
Irene smiled again, because it was that or glare back at him. Her fear hadn’t disappeared; it was a constant whisper at the back of her mind. But her anger let her keep her composure and snipe back at him, looking for an opening. It was the best argument she’d come across yet for the deliberate cultivation of certain deadly sins.
