Serpent & Dove (Serpent & Dove #1) - Shelby Mahurin Page 0,42
time mulling over an answer, meticulously unlacing my boots and placing them beside the washroom door. Tying my hair on top of my head. Unwrapping the dressing on my arm.
He waited patiently for me to finish. Damn him. Exhausting all my options, I finally turned around. Perhaps I could . . . deter him. Surely he didn’t want his new bride to spend ungodly amounts of time with another man? I labored under no delusions he liked me, but men of the Church tended to be possessive of their things.
“Go ahead, then.” I smiled pleasantly. “Bring him in. For your sake, he’d better be handsome.”
His eyes hardened, and he walked around me to turn off the tap. “Why would he need to be handsome?”
I strolled to the bed and fell back, rolling to my stomach and propping a pillow beneath my chin. I batted my lashes at him. “Well, we are going to be spending quite a bit of time together . . . unchaperoned.”
He clenched his jaw so tight it looked likely to snap in two. “He is your chaperone.”
“Right, right.” I waved a hand. “Do continue.”
“His name is Ansel. He’s sixteen—”
“Oooh.” I waggled my brows, grinning. “A bit young, isn’t he?”
“He’s perfectly capable—”
“I like them young, though.” I ignored his flushing face and tapped my lip thoughtfully. “Easier to train that way.”
“—and he shows great promise as a potential—”
“Perhaps I’ll give him his first kiss,” I mused. “No, I’ll do him one better—I’ll give him his first fuck.”
My articulate husband choked on the rest of his words, eyes boggling. “Wh—what did you just say?”
Hearing impairment. It was getting alarming.
“Oh, don’t be so priggish, Chass.” I leapt up and crossed the room, flinging the desk drawer open and snatching the leather notebook I’d found—a journal, stuffed full of love letters from none other than Mademoiselle Célie Tremblay. I snorted at the irony. No wonder he loathed me. “‘February twelfth—God took special care in forming Célie.’”
His eyes grew impossibly wider, and he lunged for the journal. I dodged—cackling—and ran into the washroom, locking the door behind me. His fists pounded against the wood. “Give me that!”
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