Page 72 of Hexbound

Bishop captured her wrists. Interest flared in his eyes, but he shook his head. "No."

Verity groaned in frustration. "I'm not an innocent, Bishop! And I'm not a little girl! If you wanted to do some naughty, wicked things to me, I truly wouldn't mind. And I know you're not averse either." She could feel the press of his blatant enthusiasm all too well beneath her bottom.

"It's not your age that bothers me," he replied, still trying to hold her still, though he'd given up on her wrists by now.

"Oh?" Verity cupped his jaw with her hand, her thumb stroking the rasp of his stubble. Touching him like this meant that he couldn't look away from her. "We've already ascertained that you like kissing me. So if it's not my age, and it's not me, then what is it?"

The carriage rolled to a halt. "Which way, sir?" bellowed the coach driver.

"Left!" Verity called, then lowered her voice. "We're nearly there. Tick, tock, Bishop...."

"It's not you," he blurted, straightening his coat, and setting her aside. "I can't be with a woman."

A suspicion began to gnaw at her. Verity straightened, her eyes widening in pure shock as memories intruded upon her: the hesitant way he'd kissed her that first time, the somewhat fumbling attempts to caress her. She'd thought his hesitation was due to her. But.... "Bishop, are you trying to tell me that you'veneverbeen with a woman?"

All of her suspicions were confirmed by the look in his eyes. Verity gaped. "You're a virgin?" she blurted. "But how?"

"I'm going to sit up top," he replied, his cheeks red.

Then Bishop slipped out of the door and vanished, leaving her sitting on the spring seat with her skirts awry and her mouth gaping open.

Of all the reasons for him to push her away, she had never, ever expected this one.

"Why are you a virgin?"

"Can we concentrate on the matter at hand?" Bishop growled, eyeing the white brick building ahead of them and ignoring her. "If Horroway's inside that house, then this might be dangerous."

Verity shot him a long, slow look. "I will temporarily refrain from this line of conversation, but don't think it's over."

It was definitely over. He didn't want to think about his reasons, or how explaining them to Verity would make him feel. He liked the way she looked at him, her flirtatious attempts to seduce him. He didn't want to see her smile fade off her face when she learned the truth of what type of man he was.

You're no killer, are you?

God. If only she knew.

He swallowed hard and pushed aside those thoughts. Horroway was close, Verity was certain of it. And that meant the Chalice might be at hand.

Bishop focused on the house.

"Something's not right," he murmured, his hard body held defensively in front of her. "This place looks like a well-to-do nabob owns it. Not a shabby necromancer without a shilling to his name. Last time I saw him he could barely even afford a bloody coat."

"Maybe someone's paying him?" Verity murmured.

Tremayne. "That bodes ill," Bishop muttered, striding along the pavement beside the garden walls. "I'd prefer a single target, not an entire conspiracy of allies."

Though it would mean this could be all done and dusted within the hour.

It also meant more potential danger that he was pushing Verity into. Bishop scowled.

The gardens surrounding the home were lush and sprawling, ringed by a black wrought-iron fence. A flock of crows fluffed themselves on the front lawn, eyeing the pair of them with beady black eyes, and he had the uncomfortable feeling someone else was watching them. Verity tucked her hand through the crook of his arm as he slowly led her past. They might look like any other couple out for a stroll, if not for the fact that nobody would mistake him for simply a well-to-do gentleman.

"It's well warded," he noted quietly, seeing the shimmering traces of ward work stretched over the gardens. "Exceptionally well warded."

"Which means someone's trying to stop others from getting inside. I wonder...." Verity peered at the top floor, where a shadow flitted past a window. "I could translocate inside, get a closer look—"

"Not on your life," Bishop replied, and trapped her against the fence. He towered over her, a knot of hard worry choking him. "You're too rash and careless with yourself."

"I was stealing when I was thirteen, Bishop, from dangerous people who wouldn't have thought twice about cutting my throat. If you think I cannot handle myself—"