Stoker frowned, confused by her resistance. After a moment he said, “I wished to conceal my injuries from them when I was on death’s door, but now that I am—” he paused, looking for the correct word “—going to survive, it’s rude of me to not send some word. Elisabeth’s feelings are wounded when I am in London and I don’t call.”
“Oh yes,” murmured Sabine to her mural,“Elisabeth.”
“How would you feel,” he went on cautiously, “if I send them a note and explain my recovery here in London? I could ask if we might interview Bryson on a confidential topic related to shipping? I can vow for their complete and total discretion. And his support in whatever we may need.”
“I don’t need support,” she said, still facing the wall. “This investigation is my own. Mine.”
He opened his mouth to tell her she would require considerable support when her investigation moved from observation to action, but her tone gave him pause.
He tried again. “You’ve used my support, or at least my knowledge, and see what we’ve managed to deduce? But look at me, Sabine. I’m back in bed. Today has proved that I’m unable to even walk to the garden without paying the price.” He shifted in bed and winced. “I’m a very weak lieutenant, indeed, and I detest myself for it. Can you...” He paused, almost losing nerve. This was too important to bungle. Bryson could help with information, but the Courtlands could also help protect Sabine. He couldn’t believe he’d not thought of it sooner.
He started again. “I would consider it a personal favor if you would allow us to include them in your investigation.” He watched her shoulders tighten as she scribbled notes on her mural. “It kills two birds with one stone. I cannot, in good conscience, remain in London much longer without sending some word. Elisabeth would never forgive me.”
Sabine said, “I doubt that.”
“Sabine, what is it?” he asked. “I—your hesitation is beyond my ability to interpret.” He waited, but she did not turn.
He pressed on. “You will like them, I promise. They have asked to meet you for these past four years. They have begged for an introduction. The reality of my marriage to a woman they do not know has been a... sore spot. The tension was avoidable when you and I lived separate sort of lives. But now that we are friends...”
And now he did lose heart. Sabine had stopped writing, stopped breathing. Slowly, she turned.
“Is that what we are?” she asked. “Friends?” She leaned against the mural.
He swore in his head. “I don’t know.”
“Because if we call on the Courtlands, they will wish to know. It will be their first question.”
“I have conditioned the Courtlands not to pry,” he said. “They will accept us. Whatever our relationship.”
Sabine nodded and looked out the window. He’d said the wrong thing, that much was clear. Possibly everything he’d said had been wrong. This was one of the many reasons he preferred to say so very little at all.
After a moment Sabine looked back. “They will wish to move you,” she informed him. “Their home is one of the grandest in London. You would have every luxury there. Elisabeth will want to care for you. They are your family, you’ve said it yourself. And I am merely your...friend.” She looked at the floor.
Stoker stared at the top of her head. He had no working memory of Sabine ever betraying a moment’s insecurity. Not when he’d rescued her from the locked cupboard, or when she’d trailed around the Duke of Wrest. But this...? It sounded like she was afraid to lose him.
It sounded as if shewantedhim.
For the second time that day Stoker tried to engage his brain, to think and reason, but he heard only the sound of the ocean. He blinked, trying to stay ahead of his shock and... and... something else he could not name, something he’d never allowed himself to identify.
Carefully, slowly, he ventured, “I am comfortable here.”
“In my cellar apartment?” she asked sarcastically, casting him a wry glance.
“Yes.”
“With my dog?”
He looked at the vermin dog, licking the last vestiges of chicken and potatoes from his plate. “Yes,” he lied.
“And Perry, and being looked after by a footman who is unavailable most of each day?”
“I am comfortable here,” he repeated, the only phrase that seemed to have been right.
Sabine pushed off the wall. “With me kissing you when clearly you hate it.”
“I don’t hate kissing you, Sabine. I hate what comes next.”
“Avoiding me?”
