For a house cat, she lives a relatively uncharmed life. Street life is sordid, and she dabbles in it. Gossips in alleys, flirts and teases wherever she can. She met him in an alley, on a balmy day in the shadows, him with his grin like mercury and miasma of charm that melts her heart, whenever she'll let it.
Unluckily for him, Rhydderch's reputation preceded him. Andraste knows what he wants- and it isn't her. He wants what she'll provide for him, the boost to his business she can give. He wants a mother, and he'll lock her up in a prison to make her one.
She refuses his advances, each time he comes at her with that easy, easy smile. She'll let him seduce her for a moment or two, and then she'll snap at him, bold digs about his family trade and his morals so rotten she can smell them a block away.
Each time it's a little to stop him where she does. She only has so much willpower, and he's wearing that away. The tramp is good at what he does.