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Saving our lives from such a horrible fate in the vaults was rather more than a good turn, but Gage and Bonnie Brock’s interactions had always been contentious. Bonnie Brock did delight in poking the bear, so to speak. He loved nothing more than to make my husband snap and growl.

“If he merely wishes to see for himself that I’m uninjured, then I imagine the interview won’t take long,” I consoled him.

Though once the suggestion was made, I did begin to wonder if perhaps there was another reason for Bonnie Brock’s insistence on seeing me.

After all, he had eyes and ears all over the city.

If anyone had learned something dubious about the floor collapse at Lord Eldin’s former home, it would be him.

But then just as swiftly, I discarded the notion. It had been an accident, plain and simple. To suggest otherwise was ridiculous.

Gage exhaled another long-suffering sigh.

“I suppose there’s nothing for it. We’ll have to receive him.

” He tossed back the remainder of his whisky and then gritted his teeth, either from the burn of the spirits or the prospect of seeing Bonnie Brock.

Perhaps both. “But that doesn’t mean I’ll like it. ”

“Of course not. Heaven forfend.”

Gage looked up at me sharply, as if uncertain whether I was taunting him. When I merely stared back at him innocently as I savored another bite of my lemon cake, he narrowed his eyes, unconvinced.

Jeffers coughed into his fist, smothering what I strongly suspected had been laughter. My husband seemed to agree, for he turned his glare on the butler, whom I grinned at remorselessly, feeling absurdly proud that I’d amused our stalwart majordomo.

“Will there be anything else?” Jeffers asked, preparing to rise to his feet and demonstrating yet again his shrewdness in knowing when it was best to retreat.

“No. That will be all,” I told him before Gage could say otherwise. “But please let us know if you hear anything else.”

He agreed, bowing formally before departing.

I turned to find Gage eyeing us both, as if we were conspiring against him. “You don’t want your cake?” His dessert sat untouched on the tea table next to his now empty glass.

“No. But you’re welcome to it.”

I considered it, for Mrs. Grady’s lemon cake was difficult to resist, but then I shook my head, allowing it to loll back against the settee.

“I’m sore enough without adding a stomachache to my list of complaints.

” A cough suddenly shook my frame, and Gage stood to remove my tray from my lap, lest I overset it.

However, when he reached for me as if he might pick me up, I protested.

“No, darling. You’ll tear your stitches. ”

“Well worth it to have you in my arms,” he countered, displaying his legendary charm. The glimmer in his eyes and the softening of his features told me the whisky was at least having some effect in dulling his pain.

But I was having none of it. “You can have me in your arms once we’re both in bed, but I can transport myself there, thank you very much.”

He chuckled, offering me his hand instead to help pull me to my feet. “Far be it from me to argue with a lady.”

I failed to completely stifle a groan as my back and right leg objected to my movement.

“You never did get your painting,” he said as we hobbled toward the bed.

“No, but it hardly seems worth mentioning considering all that’s happened. And it might have been damaged in the collapse.”

“True. But if it wasn’t, they will still need to auction it at some point. Perhaps you should write to that auctioneer’s assistant we met and let him know you’re still interested.”

“Mr. Rimmer? Yes, I suppose I could do that. And ask after his health as well. He must have fallen with the rest of us,” I realized, for the floor of nearly the entire southern half of the back drawing room had collapsed and the last time I’d seen him he’d been standing next to the easel displaying the Teniers picture.

As I removed my dressing gown and climbed up into bed, I thought back over all the other people we had met or exchanged greetings with at the auction yesterday and today, wondering how they had fared.

And what of Mr. Smith’s friend Reverend Jamieson?

Had he attended today? Was he aware of his friend’s passing?

Was Mr. Innes—the fellow they’d quarreled with?

If they’d been close associates, I hoped yesterday’s words of anger weren’t the last they’d spoken to each other.

Gage returned to the hearth, dampening the fire and then extinguishing the braces of candles set about the room before undressing.

I heard the soft thud of each of his garments landing on the floor and smiled, grateful as always that I wasn’t the one who had to clean up after him.

Slowly, he crawled under the covers and lay down beside me, but neither of us made a move to take the other in our arms. For my part, I was too sore to move.

A few moments passed, and then I felt his hand brush mine. “Perhaps we could just lie side by side touching,” he suggested in a stilted voice that suggested he was stifling a cough.

In answer, I turned my hand over to cradle his. “What a pair we make,” I attempted to jest, also struggling not to wheeze.

“Better than the alternative.”

With this statement, Gage lost his battle, eliciting a great barking cough. One that set me to coughing as well. It was some time before we both subsided, and for a few long moments there was nothing but the sound of our labored breathing.

Then his hand suddenly gripped mine tighter. “When the floor dropped, and your arm slipped from mine…” The sound of him swallowing was an audible click, and then I heard the rustle of my husband’s hair against his pillow as he turned toward me. “I thought…I thought…”

“I know,” I whispered, turning to peer at his shadowed features. In the flickering firelight, he was naught but smudges of gold, sienna, and umber, but occasionally the glow was bright enough to reveal the glint of his pale eyes. The agony and residual terror matched my own.

“I’m so glad we didn’t lose you,” he murmured in a broken voice.

Ignoring the ache in my bones, I rolled toward him as he did likewise, meeting me halfway.

The joining of our lips was brief, but fervent, and as much giving comfort as seeking it.

For all the times that I had been in danger, for all the times I’d risked death in the course of our inquiries, this was only the second time I had actually felt on the brink of it, just one step from the other side.

The first time, I had been drowning and nearly insensible.

But this time I had been fully aware. Fully aware of what I faced, and that Sebastian was also facing it.

How indefinite life could be. How fickle and changeable and mutable. And like the flame of a candle, so easily snuffed out.

These were things I knew, things I’d encountered before.

My first husband had been an anatomist, for heaven’s sake.

His research had required him to dissect the recently deceased for the betterment of the living.

I had aided him in that for a time. And now I used the skills I’d learned from him, wittingly or not, to aid my second husband in the effort to bring justice to those who had been murdered—deliberately taken from this world before their time.

Even conceptually, the idea of death had never frightened me, for I believed in Our Lord and Savior and His resurrection and an eternal afterlife in heaven.

Yet, somehow, today was different.

I knew the simplest explanation was that I was now a mother.

It was no coincidence that the first thing I’d thought of when the moment of crisis had come was my daughter.

It terrified me to think of leaving her before she’d grown.

Before she’d even taken her first steps.

Who would be there to love her, to protect her, to teach her all the things a mother should?

I couldn’t help but think of my own mother.

How frightened she must have been to know she was dying.

It gave me new appreciation for the amethyst pendant she had gifted me for protection.

Not that an object could ever actually hold such magical powers to safeguard someone, but I knew that it was imbued with all her love and desire for my safety, and that was enough.

But had I died today, Emma wouldn’t have even retained a memory of me, let alone the assurance that I’d loved her. It was a nearly unbearable realization, and it had cut me to the quick. However, I didn’t think all my rattled nerves could be laid at its feet.

I wondered if my husband’s thoughts ran similar to my own, but I was too sore and weary to put them into words.

I suspected he was, too, and he had the benefit of the whisky to lull him.

His breathing slowed and evened out, leading me to believe he’d settled into slumber.

It was only after I’d rolled over, trying to find a more comfortable position, that I realized he hadn’t when he reached out to pull me back into the spoon formed by his long, warm body.

His arm held me fast to him, and not wanting to jostle his stitches, I settled, eventually drifting off to sleep.