Serpent & Dove (Serpent & Dove, #1)(38)

I grinned and continued reading. “‘I long to look upon her face again. Surely there is nothing more beautiful in all the world than her smile—except, of course, her eyes. Or her laugh. Or her lips.’ My, my, Chass. Surely thinking of a woman’s mouth is impious? What would our dear Archbishop say?”

“Open—this—door.” The wood strained as he pounded against it. “Right now!”

“‘But I fear I’m being selfish. Célie has made it clear that my purpose is with my brotherhood.’”

“OPEN THIS DOOR—”

“‘Though I admire her selflessness, I cannot bring myself to agree with her. Any solution that separates us is not a solution at all.’”

“I’M WARNING YOU—”

“You’re warning me? What are you going to do? Break down the door?” I laughed harder. “Actually, do it. I dare you.” Turning my attention back to his journal, I continued to read. ‘I must confess, she still haunts my thoughts. Days and nights blur together as one, and I struggle to focus on anything but her memory. My training suffers. I cannot eat. I cannot sleep. There is only her.’ Good God, Chass, this is getting depressing. Romantic, of course, but still a little melodramatic for my taste—”

Something heavy crashed into the door, and the wood splintered. My livid husband’s arm smashed through—again and again—until a sizeable hole revealed his brilliant crimson face. I laughed, chucking the journal through the splinters before he could reach my neck. It bounced off his nose and skidded across the floor.

If he hadn’t been so obnoxiously virtuous, I think he would’ve sworn. After reaching an arm through to unlock the door, he scrambled inside to collect the journal.

“Take it.” I nearly cracked a rib from trying not to laugh. “I’ve already read enough. Quite touching stuff, really. If possible, her letters were even worse.”

He snarled and advanced on me. “You—you read my personal—my private—”

“How else could I get to know you?” I asked sweetly, dancing around the tub as he approached. His nostrils flared, and he looked closer to breathing fire than anyone I’d ever known. And I’d known quite a few dragonesque characters.

“You—you—”

Words seemed to be failing him. I braced myself, waiting for the inevitable.

“—you devil.”

And there it was. The worst someone like my upstanding husband could invent. The devil. I failed to hide my grin.

“See? You’ve gotten to know me all by yourself.” I winked at him as we circled the tub. “You’re much cleverer than you look.” I tilted my head, pursing my lips in consideration. “Though you were stupid enough to leave your most intimate correspondences lying around for anyone to read—and you keep a journal. Perhaps you aren’t so clever after all.”

He glared at me, chest heaving with each breath. After a few more seconds, his eyes closed. I watched in fascination as his lips subconsciously formed the words one, two, three . . .

Oh my god.

I couldn’t help it. Truly, I couldn’t. I burst out laughing.

His eyes snapped open, and he gripped the journal so hard he nearly tore it in half. Spinning on his heel, he stormed back into the bedroom. “Ansel will be here any moment. He’ll fix the door.”

“Wait—what?” My laughter ceased abruptly, and I hurried after him, careful of the splintered wood. “You still want to leave me with a guard? I’ll corrupt him!”

He grabbed his coat and stuffed his arms inside. “I told you,” he snarled. “You broke trust. I can’t watch you all the time. Ansel will do it for me.” Jerking open the door to the corridor, he shouted, “Ansel!”

Within seconds, a young Chasseur poked his head in. Wildly curly brown hair fell in his eyes, and his body had the appearance of being stretched somehow, like he’d grown too much in too little time. Beyond his gangly frame, however, he was actually quite handsome—almost androgynous with his smooth olive skin and long, curling eyelashes. Curiously, he wore a coat of pale blue rather than the deep royal blue typical of Chasseurs. “Yes, Captain?”

“You’re on guard duty now.” My infuriating husband’s gaze was knifelike as he looked back at me. “Don’t let her out of your sight.”

Ansel’s eyes turned pleading. “But what about the interrogations?”

“You’re needed here.” His words held no room for argument. I almost felt sorry for the boy—or I would have, if his presence hadn’t foiled my entire evening. “I’ll be back in a few hours. Don’t listen to a word she says, and make sure she stays put.”

We watched him close the door in sullen silence.

Right. This was fine. I was nothing if not adaptable. Sinking back onto the bed, I groaned theatrically and muttered, “This should be fun.”

At my words, Ansel straightened his shoulders. “Don’t talk to me.”

I snorted. “This is going to be quite boring if I’m not allowed to talk.”

“Well, you’re not, so . . . stop.”

Charming.

Silence descended between us. I kicked my feet against the bed frame. He looked anywhere but at me. After a few long moments, I asked, “Is there anything to do here?”