The Postilion (The Masqueraders #2) - S.M. LaViolette Page 0,131

tightly. “You did what you had to do,” he repeated.

“I don’t even remember leaving the spinney that night.” Her words were hot against his shoulder, where she was resting her head. “I couldn’t go to the village—it was the first place Michael would look for me. So, I just started walking south. I walked for days. And every time I heard a carriage or horse behind me, I dove into the nearest hedge or bush or ditch; I was terrified that it was Michael. Or the sheriff.”

She sat up, dabbing at her eyes with a dainty handkerchief that had materialized from somewhere. “I was so scared those first days, Jago. Everything was strange, people were so—so harsh and life move so much faster. It was easy to make mistakes, and the mistakes had dreadful, dangerous, consequences. I never knew any of that growing up.” Her pained blue eyes finally met his. “I spent my money foolishly when I got to Newcastle. I took rooms at inns and ate meals that didn’t seem expensive at the time, but…” She sighed and then shrugged. “Well, I ran out of money so fast.”

Jago had known that she had run away, but he’d not allowed himself to imagine the enormity of what she had done. “You are so brave, Benna.”

“No, I’m—”

He took her chin, keeping her from turning away from him. “Yes, you are. I, too, ran away from home. I still recall how frightening it was to leave everything I knew with only a few of my possessions. And I wasn’t in fear for my life, forced to masquerade as somebody else, and hunted by an unscrupulous man who was supposed to protect me.” He kissed her lips softly. “You are utterly astonishing.”

Her cheeks darkened, and she pulled away, putting some distance between them. “There is more,” she said, the set of her jaw grim.

“You don’t need to—”

“I do need to tell you, Jago.” She turned to him. “You see, Diggle wasn’t the only man I killed.”

***

The alarm in his eyes was there and gone in a heartbeat, but Benna had seen it.

But it was too late to turn back now.

“The man I worked for wasn’t named Fenton. His name is Geoffrey Morecambe and he’s not dead.”

Jago’s eyes widened. “Morecambe? Was he related to—”

“He is a younger son of Baron Morecambe.”

For the first time, Jago wouldn’t meet her gaze and Benna saw the slight tightening in his jaw.

“You know him?” she asked.

He nodded. “Yes. He was two years ahead of me in school.” He looked up at her, his mouth twisted into an odd smile. “A handsome and engaging rogue. I can certainly understand your attraction to him.”

“It wasn’t love, Jago—never that. I was infatuated—but even that didn’t last long. He was not an easy man to work for and live with.” Benna saw Jago’s nostrils flare and recognized jealousy on his beautiful face.

“There is nothing to be even remotely jealous about, Jago. He was—”

He took her hand. “Don’t fret about me, darling—I was just … surprised.” He gave a self-deprecating smile. “My jealousy is not logical—and I don’t know why it bothers me that I actually know the man—but I promise you I will not let it ruin what we have. Go on with your story.”

“I told you that Geoff—er, that’s Morecambe—tied me up and sold me to Michael?” Jago nodded. “Michael didn’t come himself, he sent a man called Willy Karp to fetch me from Geoff. His orders were to take me to a remote cottage and wait for Michael.” Benna swallowed and cut him a nervous glance.

“I am a grown man,” he assured her, reading her anxious look correctly. “I can handle whatever you have to tell me.”

Several Minutes Later …

“My God,” Jago said.

That was the third time he’d said the words since Benna had described where she’d stabbed Willy.

“My God,” he said again, and then gave a flustered laugh. “Lord, I sound like a demented parrot. I’m sorry, Benna, but that’s just, well … my God.” He swallowed, and then nodded, as if he’d settled some matter with himself. “As horrific as it is, I have to admit it is appropriate for what he was about to do.”

Benna might have fibbed a little when it came to how far things had progressed before she had pulled out her knife. He didn’t need to know the entire truth; nobody did.

Jago, still a bit greenish, smiled at her. “Er, as much as that would hurt like—well, like nothing I want to