“A dream, not a nightmare? There’s hope for us yet.”
She smiled. “You have been a good friend to me. Based on the marriage you proposed, I’d say there’s every chance of success.”
The carriage rattled westward through the thinning streets, the bustle of the Strand fading behind them. Wheels splashed through puddles as they climbed towards Chelsea. Olivia wiped a misted patch from the window and glimpsed shuttered shops and the dark outline of a church beyond. A bell tolled nearby, deep and mournful, as they turned into a narrow lane.
“We’re here.” Gabriel shifted to the edge of the seat, unease evident in the tightness of his jaw and the brief hesitation before he reached for the handle. “Kincaid will wait with you. I won’t be long. Under no circumstances are you to leave the vehicle.”
Outside, a weather-stained board above the door readStLuke’s Parish Watch-House. Dread coiled in her chest, yet every instinct urged her to accompany him.
“I shall come too.”
“It’s no place for you.” His voice softened. “The sight alone would rob you of sleep. Wait with Kincaid.”
She weighed her options. They had married for friendship, and she would not fail him. “I’m coming with you because that’s what friends do. They stand together in times of need.” She gave a light laugh to ease the tension. “I won’t swoon. You have my word.”
“There’s every chance I’ll punch the wall and curse to high heaven. A husband should not appear weak in his wife’s eyes.”
Weak? Perhaps he’d not looked in the mirror of late.
“I disagree. We should be aware of each other’s failings.”
He regarded her with a glint of amusement. “You promised to obey me.”
“And you promised to protect me, as every dutiful husband should. You can hardly manage that from inside the watch-house. I’d rather stay close to you.”
“Close to me?” He leaned forward a fraction, a teasing smile tugging at his mouth. “Be careful, Olivia. These quiet provocations can heat a man’s blood.”
“Then I shall choose my words more carefully, my lord. We wouldn’t want you overheating before we reach the door.”
His gaze held hers, then dropped to her mouth. The shift was slight, deliberate, and enough to steal her breath. “Keep your wits. If you faint, I’ll be the one forced to revive you. I’m sure the thought of a second kiss today would rouse you faster than any remedy.”
A second kiss would be dangerous, blurring lines they’dsworn to keep. Yet something in her thrilled at the idea of seeing the Marquess of Rothley undone.
“A second kiss, my lord, and you’re likely to faint.”
“If we’re to continue discussing kisses, you had better call me Gabriel.”
They should not be discussing kisses at all.
He stepped down to the wet cobbles and offered his hand, guiding her step. Coal smoke and the yeasty tang of brewing tainted the air, but something heavier beneath it made her scan the shadows.
“Stay alert, Kincaid, and keep your pistol cocked.”
“Aye, my lord.”
They crossed a narrow yard toward a small brick watch-house, ivy climbing its corners and window ledges. It stood at the edge of the churchyard, half veiled by a thin river mist.
A stocky man in a black coat answered their knock, keys clinking at the belt barely visible beneath his paunch.
Gabriel drew the folded paper from his pocket and handed it over. “From Sir Basil,” he said. “We have leave to see the body.”
The watchman glanced at the seal, then nodded towards the dim interior. “There’s a seat inside for the lady. You’ll need to give the Reverend Clay a moment to finish his prayers.”
Gabriel frowned. “The rector is with the deceased?”
Olivia looked at him. Twice he’d avoided using his friend’s name. Was he still plagued by doubt, or fearful of what awaited him inside?
“Aye. When a man dies in tragic circumstances, the rector always says a few kind words to help the soul find peace.”
