Pax looked past her, out into the night. “I know.”
“You saw it, too. He wanted death at your hands,” she said. “So he left you no choice but to kill him. There was nothing ahead for him but humiliation, trial, and execution, so he bought a quick martyrdom. And he made you suffer.”
“He tried,” Pax said.
“If you feel the Furies breathing on your neck, he’s won. If you think these”—she squeezed his hands, tight, to make perfectly clear what she meant—“are stained with blood—”
“They are.”
“With his blood. We’re not children, you and I. Our innocence was problematic at best. If you look at your hands and see unclean blood, he’s won. If you—”
“I can see what he tried to do. None of it worked.” Pax’s mouth closed over hers. He freed himself from her grip and slid his arms around her to nestle the two of them together. He set his forehead to her forehead. He whispered, as if he were telling secrets. “I’ve done worse things than rid the world of that bastard. I’m not going to lose sleep over it.”
He would, though. His Service had chosen him for terrible deeds because he was honorable to the core of his being. She’d chosen a man who would do whatever was necessary and pay for it afterward in bad dreams. The best sort of man.
In their married life, she’d try to do whatever killing became necessary, as a loyal wife should.
“I’m glad you’re untroubled,” she said, softly in his ear. “I begrudge that man even a small victory over you. Can we leave this damp and windswept roof and find better shelter in that shed? That one. Do you see? One small pony quarters there at the moment and he won’t object to our visit. A huge heap of hay was delivered this afternoon and piled into the back corner. It’s quite clean.”
“That’s coincidence, I suppose. Not connivance from your cousins and aunts.”
“Entirely coincidence,” she agreed.
Slowly, carefully, giving it all his attention, he kissed her. And kissed her. Warmth grew between them, and then heat. Clouds covered and uncovered the moon.
After a while they left their chilly perch and sought more privacy.
Joanna Bourne has always loved reading and writing romance. She’s drawn to Revolutionary and Napoleonic France and Regency England because, as she puts it, “It was a time of love and sacrifice, daring deeds, clashing ideals, and really cool clothing.” She’s lived in seven different countries, including England and France, the settings of the Spymaster series.
Joanna lives on a mountaintop in the Appalachians with her family, a peculiar cat, and an old brown country dog. Visit her online at joannabourne.com and twitter.com/jobourne.