“Easy for him to say,” she replied.
He put aside the whisky and picked out several splinters before rubbing some of the herb-scented salve over the cuts. “Do you want to tell me what’s upset you? Or would you rather that I guess?” A pause. “My imagination will likely conjure up something far worse than what actually happened.”
That made her smile, though her gaze remained troubled. “You keep insisting that you’re ruled by facts and logic—empirical observation, not imagination.”
“For the most part I am,” he declared. “But not when it comes to my wife.”
A sigh signaled her tacit surrender. “My pride is more bruised than my body.” She made a face. “I’m upset at myself for failing to stay alert. My skills are getting rusty.”
Ah.In her youth, Charlotte had eloped to Italy with her drawing teacher in order to avoid being imprisoned in the gilded cage of aristocratic life, which offered her sumptuous pleasures and gorgeous plumage . . . but no freedom.
“Go on,” he encouraged, though he was fairly certain he wasn’t going to like what was coming next.
“After the meeting, I did exactly as planned and set out to make a discreet return home through the spiderweb of footpaths that crisscross through the stews,” she explained. “I know the way by heart, but that made me careless. I stopped paying attention to my surroundings. By the time I noticed that someone was following me, I had turned onto a narrow footpath, and it had me trapped on either side by buildings that offered no gaps between them through which to escape.”
His chest clenched as Wrexford fixed her with a searching stare, trying to spot some unseen injury that he had somehow missed.
Nothing. And yet, that didn’t assuage his fears. “What—”
“I had to go up,” she said, anticipating his question. “I knew where there was a broken overhang that I could jump and reach, allowing me to scramble over to a slanted roof from which I could climb to the top of the adjoining brick storage building. From there, I was able to descend to a cart path and lose myself in the maze of alleyways near the Foundling Hospital.”
“Your pursuer didn’t try to follow?”
“He caught my boot, but by some miracle—don’t ask me how it happened—a rock sailed out of nowhere, knocking him to the ground.”
“The Weasels were tucked up in their beds when I arrived home just an hour ago,” he mused. “I don’t see how it could have been them.”
“Thank heaven,” she muttered. “Be that as it may, whoever decided to play guardian angel saved me. By the time my assailant recovered, I was halfway up the brick wall, using the gaps in the mortar as handholds to reach the roof.” A pause. “With his size and weight, he never would have made it.”
“Is that supposed to reassure me?”
“No,” admitted Charlotte. “I should never have been in such a precarious position in the first place.” Her shoulders sagged to a very un-Charlotte-like slump. “My arms have no more heft than those of a rag doll. I could barely pull myself up over the edge of the overhang, a feat I’ve accomplished countless times in the past.”
“You’re out of practice,” he observed.
“Precisely!”
He might have smiled, but the look of distress in her eyes warned that it was no laughing matter.
“Wrex, my ability to transform into Magpie is important to me. It’s integral to my ability to unearth the secrets and hidden clues that allow me to keep the public informed on the issues that matter to their lives.” She looked away for a moment, throwing her face in shadow. “No one else cares about the great unwashed masses and whether they have the right to a modicum of fairness.”
“Magpie may fly less frequently, but that doesn’t mean—”
“I’ve grown too weak.” Though a mere whisper, Charlotte’s voice resonated with an aching vulnerability.
Wrexford rose in a flash and gathered her in his arms. “My love, you are the strongest person I know.”
“My body nearly failed me. If it again in falters in a mission, I may put you or the boys in danger.”
“It’s the heart that matters,” he said. “Physical deficiencies can be easily remedied.”
“B-But how?”
“As to that, I have an idea.” Touching a fingertip to her face, he lightly traced the ridge of her cheekbone. “Come to bed, and I shall explain.”
“Be serious, Wrex,” she murmured, though a smile quivered at the corners of her lips. “I—”
His kiss silenced whatever protest was coming. “Trust me, I take the matter of your beautiful body quite seriously,” he said, reluctantly ending the embrace sooner than he would have liked.
