Page 14 of Til Death Duke Us Part
“I am good. Better than most. It takes an ungodly amount of energy to produce an illusion that appears to be impacted by touch.”
“I’ve already complimented you. Do you want me to fawn further?”
“No. I say it more for myself. Consider it an admittance of exhaustion, of weakness.” God, he sounded maudlin. He needed sleep. “You should go inside the brougham and sleep.”
“I don’t trust you enough to sleep around you.”
“Still afraid I’ll cut off your hand?”
She sniffed.
“Very well, then. Perhaps you can drive, and I can sleep.”
“No thank you. I don’t trust horses.”
“You don’t trust me. You don’t trust horses. What do you trust?”
“No one. Nothing. Not even myself.”
“That’s not true.” He’d seen her trust just that morning. “Your neighbor. You offered her the use of some jar beneath a bed? Though I’m not confident there’s anything under your bed but an infestation.”
“A little bit of savings. Though I shouldn’t tell you because no doubt you’ll steal it.” She yawned.
“I won’t.” Likely it wouldn’t be enough, not nearly as much as he needed. Even still… she shouldn’t trust him. Not that she ever would.
He was about to say more, but her head dropped to one side and her eyelids drooped, and as quietly and quickly as he’d fallen into a freshly dug grave last night, she fell asleep sitting upright.
He hadn’t smiled in so long, it felt tight and awkward. But she was swaying and sleeping, and he couldn’t help himself. “Sleep while you can, Miss… Shit.” He didn’t even know her name.
Not that her name mattered. She was a grave digger he’d use for his own purposes then never see again. Meant less than a hunting dog he might keep in the stables.
Still… what had her neighbor called her?
“Sephy.”
She stirred in her sleep and listed toward the outer side of the brougham.
He dove for her, pulling her back to the center before she could fall out. Only he yanked her too hard, and she landed against his shoulder. He froze. She snorted, a grating sound that morphed into a soft snore and then melted into silence.
“You can stay there for now,” he said as she nestled into his side. Better this than she fall out of the brougham and break her neck. He couldn’t afford to lose her little alchemist’s hands and all the riches they would unlock for him.
The grave digger slept the entire damned way to the first inn, and when the brougham rolled to a stop in the coaching yard, Victor slipped the ring on her finger. Somehow, she still did not wake. He almost hated to wake her. But that little sign of weakness, that almost, propelled his elbow into her ribs. She squeaked, lifted her head, and opened her sleep-hazed eyes as he passed the reins to the groom who’d approached. Then he gathered her up and jumped with her to the ground.
She squeaked and clung to him, her soft arms tight around his neck.
“What’s happening?” she cried into his chest.
“You sleep like the dead, that’s what’s happening.”
She looked up, eyes blinking so fast, he imagined a slight breeze coming from them. “Put me down.”
“Yes, dear. Stay close.”
“Dear?” She scowled. “Where are we?”
“Seven or so hours from London. We’ll stop here for the night.”
She rubbed her eyes with her fist as he unloaded the brougham. Then she froze. “What is this?” She held her hand in front of her face, perfectly flat like a blade. Her eyes almost crossed as she inspected the gold band he’d put around her finger.
