War assured that where she knew too well what could be made of gunshots and shrapnel, the injuries she had earned along the way of being a lady detective were ones she proudly wore. No, no one was fond of scuffed and bleeding knees from needing to duck out of the way of an assassin's bullet, or the consistent pulling ache of ribs bruised by an intruder in her home or a murderer attempting to place her name on the newest line of their crimes. Her gaze lingered on the scar that bisected his eyebrow and crossed over his eye toward his nose, and thought that he would understand. Battle scars were proof you lived, after all.

It certainly didn't hurt that the line of that scar added to the air of rakishness about him she found so very appealing. She wondered at his style of fighting, and thought perhaps by the look of those shoulders of his and that certain amount of swagger in the way he moved that he might just be a brawler.

"People do always say that," she nodded, as if allowing that sort of logic in the least before she lifted her brows and leant in across the table a touch more to tell him, "I refuse to believe it."

"Perhaps I just need to brush up on my swordplay."