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He sighed. “I gave him enough money to pay to bury the boy. And a bit more for his trouble. I thought you’d want me to.”
“Thank you.”
He slumped in his seat and canted his legs to the side. “You have a soft heart, my lady wife.”
She shook her head decisively. “No, I have a just one.”
“A just heart that gives succor to a boy who would’ve shot you without a qualm.”
“You don’t know that.”
He watched the hills. “I know he set off last night with older men and a loaded gun. If he did not mean to use it, he should never have loaded it.”
He felt her gaze. “Why didn’t you shoot last night?”
He shrugged. “The highwayman’s pistol went off and used the shot.”
“Mr. Pynch told me this morning that there are pistols beneath the seat.”
Damn Pynch and his loose tongue. He glanced at Melisande. Her expression was curious rather than condemning.
He sighed. “I suppose I should show you so you can use them if need be. But for God’s sake don’t take one up unless you intend to use it, and always keep it pointed at the ground.”
She raised her brows but didn’t comment.
He moved across to her seat an sto ut d pulled up the thin cushion from his own. Underneath was a compartment with a hinged lid. He lifted the lid to reveal a pair of pistols. “There.”
She peered at them and Mouse jumped from the seat where he’d been dozing to take a look as well.
“Very nice,” Melisande said. She looked at him frankly. “Why didn’t you take them out last night?”
Jasper shoved the dog gently aside before closing the compartment lid, replacing the cushion and sitting back down again. “I didn’t take them out because I have an unreasoning dislike of guns, if you must know.”
She raised her brows. “That must’ve been a handicap during the war.”
“Oh, I shot a pistol or a rifle often enough when I was in the army. I’m not a bad shot either. Or at least I wasn’t—haven’t picked up a pistol since I returned to England.”
“Then why do you hate guns now?”
He used his left thumb to rub hard at the palm of his right hand. “I don’t like the feel—the weight maybe—of a pistol in my hand.” He looked across at her. “I would’ve gotten them out, though, if there was no other way. I wouldn’t’ve risked your life, my heart.”
She nodded. “I know.”
And that simple sentence filled him with a feeling he hadn’t felt in some time—happiness. He stared at her, so sure of his competence, so sure of his courage, and he thought, Please, Lord, let her never find out the truth.
SHE WISHED SHE could simply tell Vale that she didn’t want to sleep apart from him, Melisande thought later that night. She stood in the courtyard of another inn—this one fairly big—and watched as the hostlers unhitched the horses and Vale talked to the innkeeper. He was procuring a room for the night.
Her room.
It seemed the inn was nearly full, and there was only one room left, but instead of sharing it with her, Vale intended to sleep in the common room. Lord only knew what the innkeeper made of that. She sighed and looked to where a footman was leading Mouse on a leash. Or, rather, Mouse was leading the footman, straining forward on the leash. He dragged the poor man to a hitching post, lifted his leg against it, and began dragging to the next post.
“Ready, my sweet?”
Melisande looked up to find that while she had been puzzling out their marriage, Vale had finished his transaction with the innkeeper.
She nodded and took his arm. “Yes.”
“Mouse is going to wear out that footman’s arm,” Vale commented as they strode inside. “Do you know that they toss dice to see who will take him for his nightly walks?”
