His voice turns ragged. “Rose . . . you’re not thinking straight. Stop that.” “Why should I?” “Aren’t you a Moirene sister? Don’t you have celibacy vows or something?” I giggle. “That’s the stuffy old Edgithans you’re thinking of. My order makes no such vows. I don’t have to be celibate at all.” For emphasis, I rub my hand down the front of his coat. His heart thumps against my ear, racing faster and faster. I feel a rumble deep in his chest, a suppressed groan, as if he is fighting against himself. He pushes at me, but the effort lacks conviction. I lift my eyes to his again and drag my
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