“You are perfect,” he sighed, and he scooped up her hand and tugged her against him. They walked arm in arm until they came to the corner of Regent Street and Great Castle. He stopped in front of the familiar millinery shop and collective of florist stalls that crowded the corner. The dog circled back and sniffed a lamppost. She looked at him expectantly and he realized he had run out of time to avoid saying the words that must be said. He wanted to say them. He would perish if he did not say them, but he was also terrified... as afraid as he had ever been.
If she rejected him because he amused her but she did not need him, not really...
If she sent him away because he was well and the investigation was over...
He felt himself begin to sweat. The bustle of the sidewalk and the noise of the road fell away. He cleared his throat.
“I wasn’t sure where you wished to walk,” he began.
His voice sounded odd and he cleared his throat.
He continued, “Regent Street is my neighborhood, actually, when I am in London. I think I mentioned the suite of rooms I keep for when I am in port.”
“Oh right,” she said, looking around. “I’ve never heard of anyone actually living in Regent Street. My research suggested that it is only shops and the science institution.”
“Someone has to live upstairs,” he said. His heart was pounding. “I knew I did not want to stay anywhere near the neighborhoods where I ran wild as a boy, and the stodgy squares of Mayfair did not suit me. No proper neighborhood seemed quite right, and I was so very rarely in the city. The traffic and commerce and life on this street appealed to me. I wasn’t searching for a home when I let it, just an active, distracting place to stay.”
He glanced at the shiny facade of his apartments above them. Someone had slapped on a fresh coat of paint and the windows looked clean. He wondered if she would like it.
“And now?” she asked, brushing away a stray lock of hair. “What do you search for now?” She stooped to pick up her dog.
“I feel like I’ve spent my entire life searching for you,” he whispered.
If he believed she would have some response for that, he was mistaken. She dipped her head into her dog’s fur and looked up at him through lowered eyes. She waited. Stoker shifted on his feet. Two women rushed from the milliner’s shop, and the bell on the door chimed. He swallowed hard.
“I climbed in and out of so many terrible places, searching for you, Sabine,” he said.
She blinked, listening with fascinated eyes.
“Today,” he continued, “when I thought my own vanity and... fear had kept me from protecting you—my fit of pique after you denied me this morning—when I thought Dryden would reach you before I could locate your mural and rally the police and be of some proper use to you, all vanity left me. And I knew the greatest fear of my life. I thought I’d lost you.”
“We are both very difficult to lose,” she said.
“When I found you, you had sorted it out yourself.”
“There was no guarantee Sir Dryden would not have given chase.”
“I should like to see him defeat you and your dog in a foot race, especially with a letter opener jutting from his leg.”
She laughed.
Stoker exhaled deeply. “I honestly had no plan for where I would go or what I would do after I healed.”
“I... I thought you were being very secretive about it or you had no idea. It was my very great hope that you had no idea.”
He laughed. She was so honest and forthright and clever. She was everything he required. He said, “I wanted to come to some agreement with the duke. I needed to make certain my brig was not at the bottom of the ocean. After that my only plan has been to follow you, wherever you may go. If you will have me.”
“Of course I will have you,” she whispered, stepping closer to him. She stooped to release the dog. “I have been working very hard to hold you captive in my cellar for six weeks, or perhaps you haven’t noticed. Pity you are so... virile. You healed and regained your strength despite my worst efforts. Now I must rely on you to willingly remain.”
“You are a terrible nurse,” he said, reaching for her, spanning her waist with his large hands. These admissions were halting and difficult to reveal, but touching her was the most natural thing. He lowered his head until their foreheads bumped. There was more. His chest felt as if it would burst with all he wanted to tell her. He closed his eyes. He opened them. “I love you, Sabine,” he said on a rush of air. “I love you so much.”
She sucked in a small breath and blinked. It occurred to him that he had surprised her. He was happy to reveal the unexpected but he marveled that she did not know. How could she not have known?
“I love you,” she whispered back. The words flooded him with relief and hope and the courage to say the next harrowing thing.
“I will endeavor not to—” he cleared his throat “—bore you. Or leave you unsatisfied. If you will allow me. As an authentic husband. In every way. If you will be my authentic wife.”
She pulled her head away to look at him. “Not bore me?” she teased. “I am very demanding, I’m afraid.” But now she sobered. “I think some part of me always wanted to be your authentic wife. From the very first day.”
