Page 35 of Paladin's Faith

“Probably. But she’s also the jealous sort, so you might have done me a good turn showing up like that.”

“Well, then that’s two favors you owe me.”

“Ah.” His voice was still superficially light, but she saw the sudden watchfulness in his gaze, a coiling of intent. “Are you planning on calling that favor in, then?”

“I might have need of some of your skills. One never knows.”

“Interesting.” He smiled, although she doubted he meant it. “I don’t suppose it’s my skill in bed that you’d like to test out?”

She gave him a wry look. “I can’t say that’s particularly interesting at the moment.”

“You wound me to the quick, my dear.”

“Yes, you look extremely wounded.”

He chuckled. “I’m glad you’re here, Marguerite.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. One gets so tired of not having someone else to really talk to, when one is charming silly women out of their secrets.”

“And their money?”

“Tsk, tsk. The occasional expensive love-gift. They go away well satisfied and I go away with my pockets a little heavier.”

“As long as you go away.” Marguerite hooked her arm through his to let him know she was joking. They meandered along the refreshment table. “It’s not the love-gifts I’m interested in, Davith.”

“Ah. Playing the game, are we, my dear?”

“As always. Am I correct in assuming that you’re working for someone?”

“You make it sound so commercial.” He clucked his tongue. “I suppose it’s possible that there’s someone somewhere who might be interested in what I happen to turn up.” He disentangled from her and picked a plate up from the table. “No different from you. In fact, I imagine we’re on the same side.”

“Always a pleasure to be on the same side.” She eyed him thoughtfully. Time to roll the dice… “Would you care to pool our resources?”

Davith turned away, carefully selecting tidbits for the plate. “I suspect that something could be arranged,” he said, neatly arranging strawberries alongside a candied snail. “My patron’s love-gifts are quite generous, after all.” He handed her the plate. Marguerite took it, noting that it contained all her favorites. Which is not surprising. Davith is very, very good at his job. He probably also knows your favorite flower and what herbs you brush your teeth with.

“I don’t suppose there’s any salt to be had…?” she murmured, her fingers brushing his.

Davith stilled. Only another spy would have caught the flicker of an eyelid, the infinitesimal catch of breath. Marguerite cursed internally. The mention of salt had startled him. He knew what it meant, but he hadn’t expected her to be looking for it.

The Sail must have told him that he was the only operative sent for this one. Damn and blast. Now I’ve put his back up, and he has to decide if I’m an enemy or a loyalty test.

He laughed. To any on-looker, they would look like two old friends sharing a joke. Only Marguerite could see that his eyes were deadly serious. “On second thought, my dear, I fear that some widows are far more jealous than others. It would be my balls in a vise should they catch me with someone else.”

Marguerite laughed as well. “I’ve no desire to see you run afoul of such a widow.”

“Nor I you. For I cannot imagine they would like being jilted.”

“Perish the thought.” She took a bite of canape. “Ah, well. A woman can dream.”

“Indeed. I’m glad we understand each other, my dear.” He gave her a small salute with one finger. “And now, I must go and smooth over Lady Sancha’s ruffled feathers. Do you mind being an inconvenient lover from my past who simply cannot let go?”

This time Marguerite’s laugh was genuine. “Not at all. Was I very tiresome?”

“Dreadfully tiresome. You wanted us to dress in matching outfits. I think…puce.”

“You wound me. Scarlet, if you please.”

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