Perhaps it had been unwise to make such an accusation when trapped with the criminal in question. I clapped my hands over my mouth, cursing my own newly impulsive tongue.
But Gawain, far from stalking me and choking the life from me, began to laugh. His laugh was merry and deep, the kind of infectious and hearty laugh that rolls effortlessly from a man’s gut and sets all other lips to twitching.
I straightened. “There is nothing amusing about a man’s death.”
“There is much amusing about the thought of me killing another.” A thrum of amusement echoed beneath Gawain’s words, then his tone sobered. “No, not any other, but your husband.”
The word hung betwixt us, heavy with accusation. I fidgeted, though I knew I owed this scoundrel nothing. “I did not intend for you to know.”
“Clearly.”
