Nothing happened save for the incessant ticking. Praise be! One more wire to go, and only twenty seconds to take care of it. Still, a single hasty move now could still blow his head off.
Holding his breath, he slid the blades to the last remaining wire. The shears jiggled slightly against the dynamite. Enough to set the thing off?
Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.
Sweat dripped down his forehead, stinging his eyes. The world blurred. He swiped his free hand across his eyes, flicking away the perspiration. It was now or never.
Slice.
No explosion, but the clock kept ticking.
Strangling the timing mechanism with his fingers, he eased the hair-raising annoyance away from the dynamite then slammed it against the wall. Before the pieces hit the floorboards, he collapsed back to his haunches, heaving for air, and closed his eyes.
Thank You, merciful God. Thank You.
“Is it over?” a voice shivered behind him.
He jumped to his feet and wheeled about.
And then his blood really did drain to his boots.
Martha stood just past the threshold, face phantom pale.
“What the deuce are you doing here?” he exploded, the words booming. “I told you to leave!”
Though her skirt quivered, she jutted her jaw defiantly. “I did as you asked. I got the children to safety across the street to Mrs. Henny’s. Then I came back.”
“Yes, I can blasted well see that.” He flailed his arms, a churlish response, yet one he could no more stop than the setting of the sun. Sweet heavenly mercy! If he’d have clipped the wrong wire, he’d have sent her to eternity. “Why the blazes did you do such a thing? You could have been killed! Did you even think about that?”
“I’m not daft, Mr. Baggett.” Her nostrils flared, yet he noted she avoided making eye contact with the bundle of defused dynamite on the floor. “I very well knew the consequences.”
He raked his fingers through his hair. Women! Who could understand them? “Explain it to me, for I cannot begin to comprehend why you would take such a foolish risk.”
“Can ye not?” Grabbing handfuls of her skirt, she approached him. “I couldn’t jes leave ye here alone.”
“But that is exactly what you should have done!”
She didn’t so much as flinch at his outburst. On the contrary, she rested her fingers lightly on his sleeve, her scent of warm bread and all that was good in this life so heady his fury began to fade.
“All right, Mr. Baggett,” she said softly. “The truth is I couldn’t bear the thought of not knowing if ye’d live or die, because…well, because I love ye. Ye hear?” Tipping up her face, she stared boldly into his eyes. “I love ye more than any man I’ve ever known.”
A club to the head couldn’t have stunned him more. “But…you’ve been married before. What of your former husband?”
“Flit.” She pulled her hand from his arm and shoved back her long braid. “I were a namby-headed dolt, scarce but thirteen years when my father fairly sold me to the man. It weren’t fer love I wed, that’s fer certain. It were for survival.”
Thirteen!He gritted his teeth. No girl should have to suffer such an indecency, but knowing this one had—this beautiful, stalwart woman…Bile rose to his throat just thinking of the violations she’d suffered. He reached out tentatively, and with his finger, he dared to sweep away a strand of hair dangling on her brow. “It grieves me to hear how sorely you were treated. Even so, you are a strong one, Martha Jones.”
“No, not really.” Sudden tears shimmered in her eyes. “I were close to bucklin’ watchin’ ye take that wicked bomb apart.”
He nearly dropped to his own knees thinking of her standing silently at the door as he held both of their lives in his hands. She hadn’t cried. She hadn’t whimpered. She’d merely been there for him…been therewithhim.
Cupping her face, he drew close, his heart thudding so loudly that half of London could hear it. “You, my love, are the bravest woman I know, and I would be the most honoured man in all of England if you would agree to be my wife.”
Her lips parted, and his entire future hinged on what words may pass.
“On one condition,” she murmured.
Not what he’d expected, yet fair enough. This was no untried maiden but a woman who knew her own mind.
