“A penny for them,” she said, prompting him to pick one from the long list. “I’m happy to spend my only shilling.”
He kissed her hair, choosing the one problem she didn’t want to face. “We need to arrange your father’s funeral.”
We. Not you. One small word that steadied her world.
“It’s a kindness he doesn’t deserve.”
“Perhaps we could fasten a weight to his ankle and toss him back into the Thames. Or pack him into a crate bound for India.”
“Yes, a gift for the commissioner Mr Irving mentioned.”
“He’d best stay in India. He’ll face a dawn appointment if he dares set foot on English soil.” The threat lacked its usual spark. His quest for vengeance had not ended as he’d hoped, with a grave he could visit just to curse.
“And Aunt Augusta alongside him.” She trusted Mr Moseley to keep his word, though she wasn’t entirely sure why. “Hopefully the magistrate will receive her confession, and we can finally lay the past to rest.”
In the brief silence, she waited for a pang of guilt.
None came. Her aunt deserved no one’s mercy.
She looked at the flames, recalling how many times Mr Beattie had made her build the fire that first morning at Shadowmere. The bitter chill of that room a reflection of her heart.
She wasn’t cold anymore. She wasn’t afraid.
“I’m not sure Carter believed our version of events.” Dominic’s hand came to rest on her thigh, the soft stroke a welcome distraction. “Though them fleeing after realising they’d been overheard was a plausible explanation.”
“It’s fortunate Charlotte came when she did. At least she saw my aunt leave in an unmarked carriage.”
He fell silent at the mention of her aunt.
She knew why.
He’d spent years hunting a monster. He hadn’t expected her to wear a mourning dress and pour tea.
“We made the right decision.” She pressed a lingering kiss to his knuckles. “You can’t imagine the horrid things a barrister would have said about our mothers. They don’t deserve that.”
“No. And I’d have wanted to bury your aunt.”
They lay watching the flames in the grate.
His lips brushed her damp hair before drifting to her temple. She tilted her head and met his mouth, the kiss slow and deep. Her hand rose to his jaw, her fingers slipping into his hair as she drew him closer.
“Come home with me?” he whispered, nipping the corner of her mouth, then kissing her softly. “That’s a question, but it would be a command if I thought you’d obey.”
Her heart missed a beat. There was nowhere in the world she would rather be. But how did he envisage their future? She had to know.
“Will you visit me in the cottage when the stars are out? Will you woo me with hot chocolate and white roses?”
He took her chin between his fingers. “I’d kneel at your feet, pump the water while you washed. I’d dry every inch of you, carry you to our bed. The cottage could be our own personal observatory when we need an escape from the children.”
She swallowed. “The children?”
“There’ll be many. I can’t keep my hands off you.”
The heat between her legs took the chill from the water, but practical things filled her mind. “At Shadowmere?”
He paused, as though catching himself. “They’re hopes, not presumptions. There’ll be no more guests, no more wild parties. It will be a place to raise a family. The home my mother always envisioned.”
Oh, he knew how to steal her breath.
