She wished she could fly, though at the moment leaving the safety of his spell sounded like the worst idea she’d had in years.
“I think you’re wrong,” she said. “I’m sure of it.”
He nodded slightly. “As you say.”
“Agree with me, damn you!”
He only stopped and looked at her, his face full of pity. No fear, though, and that surprised her.
“You’re not afraid.”
“I am never afraid for myself,” he said slowly.
“And for me?”
“I’ll find a way to keep you safe.”
“That wasn’t an answer.”
“I refuse to give you an answer for that.”
She went into his arms. If her knees gave way, well, he was a gentleman after all and knew when to keep his mouth shut.
He also carried her with a fair amount of gallantry the entire three steps it took to reach one of the chairs in front of his fire. She thought sharing chairs with him might be becoming something of a bad habit, though she couldn’t remember when it had started—well, she supposed that wasn’t true. She had a vague and unpleasant memory of almost fainting in his arms after she’d shot bolts into two mages hovering over him, preparing to slay him. She thought they might have briefly shared a stool while those mages had simply vanished into thin air.
There were several things, she decided, that she might not want to think about again.
“I can move,” she said.
“Why?”
“So your legs don’t lose all feeling?”
“I’ll wiggle my toes occasionally.”
“Good of you.”
He sighed. “Altruism, I’m beginning to find, gets me into all sorts of trouble.”
She gave in and made herself comfortable, then leaned her head against the winged side of the chair back where she could watch him. His expression was grave, but there was no fear lurking in his eyes. Then again, he was accustomed to people wanting him dead.
“Would you prefer to have the lamps brighter?” he asked quietly.
She shook her head. “You’re very beautiful by firelight.”
“I was just going to say the same thing about you.” He put his arms more securely around her and sighed deeply. “I’m sorry about this morning—and no comments about all this apologizing being the ruination of my code of conduct, if you please. I’m keenly aware of how far down the path toward syrupy sweetness I’ve strayed.”
“If it eases your conscience any, I’ve been harder on horses that I loved,” she offered. “And I apologize for being rude to you.”
“Aren’t we just the picture of polite, almost connubial bliss.”
“More treacle from you, my lord?”
He smiled that small smile she imagined got him more things he wanted than awful spells ever had, but he apparently found no need for any for comment. He simply combed his fingers through her hair with one hand and kept his other arm around her. It was, she had to admit, surprisingly comforting.
She only wished it were enough.
“What will I do?” she asked, finally.
