Page 56 of Bargaining with the Devil

No point in denying that—’twas the pure truth. “What with circumstances, we’ve come to know each other rather well the past couple of weeks.”

“I had gathered as much,” Blackmore said drily, “given the manner in which I came upon you two.”

’Twas not the way he’d have preferred that moment to go. “I care about Lucy.” No point in denying that they’d clearly become intimate in other ways.

“I’ve known you a long time. What is it . . . six years now or thereabouts?”

“Sounds right.”

“It’s the only reason I haven’t asked you anything harder yet.”

Not directly, he hadn’t, but a master of subtlety when he wanted, was Blackmore. Asking now, without coming right out and asking it, what his intentions were towards Lucy. Blackmore didn’t have to append to it that he was more than equal to taking care of any man who crossed him or his own.

They were well matched in that. Loose ends that needed severing, lives that needed ending—those were jobs he was tasked with most often himself because he was suited to it, and he was never asked to maintain the same level of cover demanded of Blackmore. Himself, he was too rough at the edges to be anything but what he was. Blackmore was a chameleon who could pass himself off as whatever he needed to appear—or had been, before he’d given up the work to start a quiet life here with his wife.

However, retired from it or not, Blackmore was just as capable of maiming or killing a man as he himself was. He didn’t want to come to physical blows with Blackmore. Or worse. Well, and ’twouldn’t come to that, for many reasons. Blackmore wasn’t exactly warning him off Lucy, but he didn’t have to.

Still, he’d be straight with Blackmore. As much as he was willing to be anyway. “I didn’t expect it. Didn’t come here looking for entanglements. And I sure as hell didn’t seduce her. I hope you know that much of me by now.”

Blackmore tipped his head slightly—in agreement?

“Nothing has passed between us, needs you to call me to account,” he added.

Blackmore raised an eyebrow.

“You’ve my word on that,” he added firmly. And mayhap more straight talking on his side was in order. “And if you’re concerned that I’m risking planting a babe in her, ’tisn’t a thing we’ve done, that. Nor will we. I’ll not do that to her. You know why.” He’d still been torn up by Mairéad when he returned to the Continent after her death. He’d not told Blackmore about Lorcán—although he doubted the man would have judged him harshly—but he’d told Blackmore why Mairéad took her own life.

Blackmore made a noise of acknowledgment, then said, “Even so, if she’s as fragile as you say⁠—”

“’Tisn’t fragility.” His voice was more vehement than he meant it to be. “’Tis just . . . She’s held too much in for too long, as you said. ’Twas crushing her.”

“Was?”

Not surprising that Blackmore caught his parsing of language. “She’s starting to let some of it out. Starting to talk about it.” He thought of their slog across to Heston Isle, the storm bearing down. “I’m not giving her much choice, I suppose. Pushing her, like, when she gives me any opening at all.”

“She trusts you.”

He didn’t know why, exactly, but she did. “Aye. She trusts me. And you have my word I’ll not ever betray that trust. She has the reins, whatever she wants from me.”

Blackmore nodded without further comment.

“I’m not sure you trust me.” He was fishing, trying to feel out farther where he stood with Blackmore. Not the same place as before Blackmore walked in on him naked in Lucy’s bed.

Blackmore considered him before answering. “I’ve trusted you for many things over the years. I’ve never doubted you when you’ve been at my back or by my side in an operation.”

The unspoken but fairly leapt into the air, but he wasn’t going to coax it out. Blackmore would say his piece or wouldn’t.

And Blackmore still didn’t voice it when he spoke again. “I don’t want to see her hurt, which I’m certain you comprehend even without my saying it.” And then he did tack on the but: “But I also want her to heal.”

They were in agreement about both those points. “I’m not sure she can have the latter without the former.”

“Aye. I believe the same.” Blackmore rubbed his hands together against the cold.

“I’ll keep her safe,” he said again.

Even if ’twas from himself.

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been this worn out. In every way—body, mind, and spirit. But for all that, she wasn’t empty of emotion, which wasn’t entirely comfortable.