Page 8 of Grave Expectations
I blinked until his words sank in. "Oh, yes. I imagine they'll oppose the marriage quite vehemently."
He reached across the table and took my hand. His touch was warmer without gloves, and more thrilling. "They have no real power over me, Charlie, or you. If we want to marry, it's nothing to do with them."
"Not directly, I suppose."
The committee members considered me a danger. They claimed evil people would want to use my power, and although I hated admitting it, they were right. Twice now, mad scientists had tried to capture me and use my necromancy. But it wasn't only my attraction to those people that the committee feared. It was the amount of time and effort Lincoln had wasted to keep me safe. It was my distracting influence on him they didn't like. As the leader of the ministry, he couldn't afford such a distraction. It didn't help that part of me agreed with them, and I worried about that very thing too.
"Charlie." His quiet purr coaxed a small smile from me. "I'm in charge and always will be while I am alive. They have to accept my decisions."
"Can they remove you from the leadership?"
"They wouldn't go against the prophecy. There may be consequences. Supernatural ones."
I'd forgotten about the prophecy. A seer who lived many centuries ago foresaw Lincoln would become the ministry's leader. When the man in the prophecy was linked to baby Lincoln, he'd been taken in by General Eastbrooke and given tutelage in a wide range of subjects as he grew up. Now that I thought about it, the committee had invested quite a lot in him without really knowing how he would turn out. Clearly they were very certain they had the right person.
"You've told me so little about the prophecy," I said. "Now that you are to be my husband, will you tell me more?"
He glanced toward the window and the street beyond, where well-heeled Parisians hurried between shops to get out of the cold. "I'll tell you everything I know, but not here and not now. The weather is turning. I'd like to see the jeweler then return to the hotel. You don't have a warm enough coat to be out in this."
"I'm used to the cold." I'd survived bitter London winters in clothes so thin they were worn out in places and with one coat to share between a dozen boys in my gang. We'd huddled together in our bunker for warmth and somehow survived. At least some of us had. Those days had passed, thank God.
At my shiver, he rose and held out his hand. "You'll never be cold again." He drew me into his side, where it was warm and safe and felt so very good. So right.
He paid for our meal before we headed back outside and strolled along the Rue de la Paix to a fine jewelry shop. I ordered a diamond—diamond!—ring, and Lincoln insisted I also needed a sapphire necklace and earrings "to match your eyes." He wanted to take me back to the hotel, but I insisted we finish our shopping today to leave us the rest of the week for sightseeing. We continued on to Worth's, where I was measured and prodded until the small army ofmodisteswere satisfied they had enough to assemble a new wardrobe of day gowns, riding habits, evening dresses and a fur-lined coat.
Upon our return toLe Grand Hôtel, I flopped onto the sofa and removed my boots. "Is this real?" I murmured to the ceiling as I lay back on the cushions. "Surely I'm dreaming."
Lincoln's face appeared above me. He stood behind the sofa, his arms resting on the back. One dark, twisting strand of hair tumbled forward, having escaped from the tie. The muscles in his face relaxed so that he no longer looked like the formidable gentleman who'd had themodistesrunning hither and thither with a mere look.
"Are you tired?" he asked.
"Not at all. I feel like I could climb that new tower I keep seeing everywhere I turn."
"Eiffel's Tower, they're calling it. We'll visit it tomorrow, weather permitting."
I sat up and caught the front of his shirt as he went to move away. He'd discarded jacket and waistcoat already and looked delectably casual. "Kiss me," I murmured.
He cupped my face in both hands. His long fingers teased the hair at the nape of my neck, and his lips touched mine in a light, lingering kiss that promised more would come.
But it didn't. He drew back and let me go with a heaving sigh. "I need to exercise."
I caught his hand before he could pull away from me entirely. I rose to my knees on the sofa and tugged him back. He offered no resistance. Only the sofa back separated our hips, and nothing but a few layers of fabric separated our chests. My heart thudded against his, strong and erratic.
I went to kiss him, and whispered against his lips. "Lie with me."
The muscles around his mouth tightened and the sharp focus of his eyes returned. He drew back. Shook his head.
"I don't see why we can't," I said, holding onto his shoulders so that he wouldn't walk away. "We're engaged now."
"Charlie." My name rumbled from the depths of his chest. He unclasped my fingers and held them in front of him the way an uncle would his niece. It was all very civilized, when I wanted to be anything but. "Don't."
"You're a cruel man."
"You're the cruel one for teasing me like this when you know I want you." He walked off toward the door that led to his adjoining room.
"Then take me!"
"You can be sure that I will," he tossed over his shoulder. "When we are wed."
