“To be wanted. Not as a benefactress. Not as someone’s aunt. Just… myself.”
He bent, kissed her forehead, let his lips rest there a moment. “You are the only woman I’ve ever wanted. Then. Now. Always.”
Her throat tightened, tears threatening, but she forced them down. “I was afraid you’d see how much I’ve changed.”
“I do see,” he said quietly. “Every wound. Every strength. And I love you more for them—if you’ll let me.”
Her chest cracked open. It was enough. More than enough.
They stayed like that, not in silence so much as a stillness that held them both. She traced idle lines across his chest, feeling the heat beneath his damp coat.
At last, the outside world pressed in. The carriage had come to a stop before a tall townhouse, gaslamps throwing their glow across the wet stones. The horses stamped, shook their manes, impatient.
Felix stirred, blinking toward the window. “Where are we?”
Maisie reached for her gloves. “The Marquess’ townhouse.” She unlatched the door just as the driver came down. “Come inside,” she said.
But Felix hesitated, cleared his throat. “I… haven’t told you about Lilly.”
Maisie froze. Her breath caught. “Lilly?” she repeated, voice a little too bright.
He nodded, solemn. “I need to make sure she’s well at home.”
Home. With Lilly.
A low sound escaped her, half growl, before she could stop it. Shefolded her arms, her tone clipped. “I want to meet Lilly. Now.”
Felix blinked, startled, then leaned out into the rain. “To 87 Harley Street, driver!”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Felix helped Maisiedown from the landau, their hands still joined. Neither seemed ready to let go, as if the air between their palms might fracture if broken too soon.
“You’ll like it,” he said, nodding toward the narrow townhouse. “Treatment rooms in the back, waiting room in front. Just me here now—except Lilly.”
Maisie’s mouth curved, though her eyes thinned. “Lilly.”
He gave a quiet laugh. “She’s just learned how to howl. Come on.”
Before she could press further, he turned the key. The door swung open, filling the air with the scent of antiseptic and beeswax, sharp and clean. From somewhere inside came a faint whimper.
And then—
Crash!
A door slammed upstairs. Heavy boots pounded down.
Felix spun. “Alfie?”
Maisie froze where she stood.
A man appeared, papers clutched in one hand, a golden puppy trembling in the other. Not Alfie. Not anyone she knew.
Felix went taut, the change in him instant. “Who let you in?”
The intruder smiled, thin and deliberate. His accent curled around the words. “That’s who letyouin, milord?”
The notorious Baron Wolfgang von List? Dangerous.
