17
HONEYMOON HIDEAWAY
Temple was raising the hammer high when the summoning stone began to burn a hole through his pocket.He leaned the hammer against the table and pulled the stone out.He’d told the king he’d be away from London for a fortnight, but the man couldn’t wait two more days.
Temple wouldn’t go.He had plans.
Involving his wife.And whatever surface he found her closest to.And the other increasingly uncomfortable tool in his trousers demanding his attention.Diana was the only thing currently on his schedule other than pretending to work in his forge.
But the stone still glowed.
He placed it on the worktable and heard the knock, soft.Then, softer, her voice.
“Temple?”
He abandoned the hammer on his worktable, wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead and threw a shirt over his head.Sweat hugged it close to his skin as he made it through the forge and into the stables.
She stood alone in the alley, peeking inside the stables.A horse nickered at her, and she laughed.“Temple!”she called again.
“Here.”He strode into the doorway and leaned against the frame.“Is something wrong?”He knew there wasn’t.He’d have felt it through the iron band on his finger.She looked fine, perfectly so.God damn it.She looked wonderful, her hair a bit messy, strands clinging to her neck and falling in her eyes.Her cheeks were rosy, and he knew what every curve on her lovely little body felt like beneath that pretty new gown.The sensation a part of him now.
She looked like a cream puff.The sleeves sectioned into smaller and smaller puffs the lower down the sleeve they went, a row of little bows marching down the skirt.A delectable bit of fluff he wanted to tear his teeth into.
“Temple?”She tilted her head to the side.
“Oh, yes.”He blinked away from the images his very active imagination had been weaving of peeling that dress away from her body.“Right.Is something wrong?”If not, he could take her upstairs.He’d hit a dead end with his own project.Might as well stimulate the mindand bodywith other pursuits.
She shook her head.“Nothing is wrong.”Then she frowned.“Notwrongwrong, but… I’m out of books.Again.”
In the last twelve days since their wedding—no, in the last nine days since he’d let her leave the bedroom—she’d gone through boxes of books.And then even more boxes.
“I’ll send to Nickleby for another box.”
“Or…” Her hips swayed as she made her careful way to him.“I could go.Wecould go, and?—”
“Not yet.”Leaving too risky.A woman like her wasn’t supposed to exist.If anyone found out—a chill ripped up his spine, and it was damned difficult for an alchemist to feel cold.Hell, he’d been shocked when he’d seen her with a glamour.He’d been unable, for several agonizing moments to reassure her he’d never harm her.The implications were astonishing.Transcendent talent, despite what the ton claimed, likely had little to do with the blood.Or not everything to do with it.And Diana had taught herself to control it.
Clever, clever woman.
And he’d managed to marry her.
“The king,” she said in the dark, “has already sent two letters asking you to return to town.”
“I’m already in town.”
“Youlied.To theking.”
“So that we could have time to learn one another without interruption.And to keep you safe.”That more important now than ever.Though it did complicate his own ends.How could he keep the king pleased with a wife he could not name?How could he care for his family without the approval of the king?
He pushed through the door into his forge at the back of the stables, and he slid open the large wall that opened into another alley.Cooler air rushed in, and Diana gulped it down.
She didn’t seem to notice, even though her lungs did.She spun in slow circles, her gaze dashing about, unable to focus on one thing longer than a few seconds.
“What do you think?”he asked.
“It seems to be like any blacksmith shop I’ve seen.But… cleaner.”
“A good forge is a tidy forge.”
