Grave Mercy (His Fair Assassin #1)(57)

“So very many,” I murmur.

He cocks an eyebrow but says nothing as the sound of galloping hooves reach us. De Lornay rides into view, nods his head, and holds up five fingers, then one. Six pursuers. Duval mutters an oath. “How far back?”

“Not far at all,” de Lornay says.

“Could you tell who they are?”

De Lornay shakes his head. “They are men-at-arms, wearing no identifying tabards or colors.”

Duval nods grimly, then waves us off the road and into the surrounding forest. His eyes search the area until he spies a small glade with a log and dappled sunlight. He steers his horse toward that, and the rest of us follow.

By the time I reach the glade, he has dismounted and is waiting to assist me. He lifts me from my saddle, then grabs the bag slung across his horse’s neck. He points Beast and de Lornay to a flat boulder that sits closer to the road, then takes my hand and leads me to the log.

He lowers himself onto the grass and then leans back against the log and tries to pull me down beside him. “My lord!” I squeak as I nearly tumble into his lap.

He looks at me. "Would you rather I put my head in your lap?”

“Can we not just sit side by side?”

His eyes glitter as brightly as highly polished steel. "We are besotted lovers, remember? I, who never leave the duchess’s side except on her business, am out lolling around with my mistress. Or so we must make them believe.”

I glance away, ashamed. It is the plan we concocted last night, but it is harder than I expected to play this masquerade. I clear my throat. “If I must choose, I would rather sit and have your head in my lap.” I will feel less helpless that way.

He rolls his eyes but quickly switches positions. I have hardly settled my rump to the ground before he is stretching his long body out beside me, and then his head is in my lap.

It is heavy and solid and warm, and for a moment, it consumes all of my attention. embarrassed, I glance over at de Lornay and Beast, but they are busy doing their part, sprawling and dicing, looking for all the world like bored attendants waiting on their lingering lord.

when Duval’s hand closes around mine, I jump like a startled rabbit, and his eyes crinkle in amusement. “How long must we stay this way?” I whisper.

“Until they are satisfied that we are naught but the besotted lovers we claim to be.”

It is my turn to roll my eyes.

“Do not scowl so.” His voice is amused, tender. “Pretend I am de Lornay, if it is easier.”

I snort in disgust.

“My brother, then, if you fancy him. I do not care, but God’s Teeth! Paste a smitten look on your face or our ruse will not work.”

I soften my eyes and force my mouth into a smile. “I do not care for your brother either,” I murmur, as if it is a declaration of love.

Something in Duval’s face shifts. “Good,” he whispers, and I must remind myself he is but playing the game. It should not surprise me that he is so very, very skilled at it.

Then our pursuers are upon us. Beast and de Lornay spring up and draw together, as if trying to protect us from prying eyes. It is no great struggle for me to look discomfited by the intrusion, especially when the mounted soldiers do their best to peer around the two men. Lewd curiosity has replaced their suspicion, and after slowing down to gawk, they quickly ride on.

As they canter away, some of the tension leaves my body and I allow myself to sag against the log at my back. when I open my eyes, I find Duval staring up at me. "We really must work on your skills of seduction,” he says.

without thinking, I reach down and hit him in the arm. He laughs, and reluctantly, I smile. I am bad at this, but only with him. I was able to play the flirt with Martel and even Fran?ois. It is only with Duval that my skills leave me.

Duval reaches up and brushes away a strand of hair that has fallen across my cheek. I expect to see amusement or jest in his eyes, as if he is trying to teach me how to play this game. But there is no hint of amusement there — only his gray eyes, which are deep and serious.

I hear a quail call just then, the signal Beast was to give once the soldiers had ridden out of sight. As if some master is pulling on my strings, I leap to my feet, nearly sending Duval’s head thudding to the ground. He looks at me as if I have lost my wits. Perhaps I have.

I brush the grass and twigs off my skirts as Duval rises. De Lornay and Beast join us. “Did you recognize them?” Duval asks.

Beast shakes his head. “But now that they have passed, will you tell us where we are meeting this mysterious fellow of yours?”

Duval glances down the road, as if assuring himself they are well beyond hearing. “At the church in St. Lyphard.”

At his words, all the blood drains from my face. Not wanting the others to see, I turn and lead my horse to a stump so I may mount. But Duval—damn his eyes—misses nothing. when I am settled on my horse, he nudges his own mount closer to me. “Are you all right?” he asks.

“I am fine, my lord.”

“Then why is your face the color of chalk?”

I manage a crooked smile. “It is just that I was born in St. Lyphard and have not been there in years. It was not a happy place for me.”

“You mean you did not spring wholly formed from drops of sweat off Mortain’s brow?”

I smile. “Not wholly formed, no.”