Page 5 of The Duke’s Price (Wayward Dukes’ Alliance #18)

5

A t last! If his heart beat any louder, she would hear it. Ruth had come to him. Before she joined him, he had taken temporary measures to prevent a hair trigger reaction. He had, in fact, seen to his own needs so they would not be too insistent while he gave her pleasure. After all, tonight was just one more step in her education and seduction.

He’d not done such a thing in years. He was not a cub, still wet behind the ears, allowing his desires to drive him. He’d been celibate before, sometimes for months on end, and had not allowed it to bother him, nor to prevent him from enjoying himself in the fashion of a gentleman when he reached a temporary oasis in the desert of female company, with expert attention to her delight and his own.

Something about Ruth Henwood tested his self-control as no one else had in years. Even now, freshly satisfied in a physical sense, he could feel his interest stirring again. Not bad for a man of three and forty!

He pulled her to him, and wrapped his free arm around her delectable form while bringing their linked hands up to rest on his breast. “Would it be easier for you to reach my lips if we sit?” he asked.

Her eyes had darkened as her pupils expanded. “I suppose,” she admitted.

Agreement enough to scoop her up and place her on the bed, leaning against the pillows. He hurried around to the other side and took his own place beside her. “Better?” he asked.

When he had been a boy, running wild over his ancestral lands with Walter ever at his side, a poacher had taught them how to tickle fish. They hadn’t, at the time, known the fellow was a poacher. To them, he was just an old man who didn’t mind them being around, as long as they did not scare the fish.

The trick was to stay very quiet, to move very slowly and carefully, feeling under the banks with fingers that drifted like the water. Then, on encountering a fish, one had to move the hand gently up the belly, from the tail to the head, barely touching the fish, until the hand could firmly grasp the head.

Patience and gentleness were the keys to trout tickling, as they were to seduction. Perry lay back against the pillows and stroked Ruth’s arm with the fingertips of one hand, with barely any weight in the brush of his hand. Perhaps a little more than he would have used had her arms been bare, for he wanted her to feel his touch.

He said nothing, waiting and touching, touching and waiting.

At last, he was rewarded. With a sigh, she came up on her elbow, put a hand on the side of his face, and bent to lay her lips on his.

This time, she knew about the play of mouth on mouth, tongue on tongue. This time, he intended to take her a little further. With her above him, he had both hands free, and he began at her neck, at the soft spot below the ears, again just a soft brush, slightly more substantial than a breeze.

He wanted to cheer when she moved to accommodate him. No frightening the maiden. A few more moments, and then he allowed his lips to follow where his fingers had been, letting his fingers drift lower. She tasted so incredible that he forgot his plan for a minute, instead simply letting his senses soak in everything about her. Her scent—something floral but with an edge of spice, her taste—tooth powder and something indefinably Ruth in her mouth, pure Ruth as he licked and sucked her neck, lower and lower, his fingers having made short work of the ribbon ties.

Sound, too. Moans and whimpers that she did her best to keep to herself, so that every single one was precious.

Her untutored response was ruining him for the artificial theatrics of the experienced women he usually bedded, who seemed to think his generosity would depend on their flattery of his performance.

And oh, the sight of her, the feel of her! If he died tonight, he would die happy, though he had every intention of living, at least long enough to enjoy her to the full. More than once. Once would not be enough to drive her from under his skin. She had possessed him, and the only way he knew to exorcise her was to let her further in.

If he allowed himself think about it, it would terrify him, so he wouldn’t think. He would just enjoy her. A little more. Surely, she was ready for a little more? A kiss on her nipple! He reared up and pivoted her backward against the pillows, falling on her and taking her nipple into his mouth, sucking her through the linen, all in one movement.

For a moment, she stiffened in shock and he feared he had gone too far, but even as he started to lift his head to apologise, she softened again, and arched her back to lift her breast against his mouth.

A touch skin to skin! He needed it more than he needed to breathe. Slowly, carefully, gently, trying not to attract her attention, he stretched out his arm to use one hand to gather her nightgown, lifting it from her ankle to her knee. A little more and it would be up to her hips and his hand would be on the bare skin of her thigh.

“De-Ath?” Her voice was strained, soft. “You said kisses.”

He had pushed her too far. Time to retreat. “And caresses, but if this is as far as you wish to go, darling Ruth, let me make the other breast feel as good as this one.”

He hiked himself higher on his elbow to reach the other breast, and—he offered fervent thanks whatever capricious power sometimes gave rakes more than their just deserts—she turned towards him to make it easier.

The knock on the door a few minutes later startled them both.

“Your Grace? De-Ath? Sir? May I come in?” It was Walter’s voice. The fact that Walter would not disturb him for anything less than a clear and present danger slowly penetrated Perry’s lust-preoccupied mind.

“Excuse me,” he said to Ruth, as he rolled from the bed and padded across the room. As he opened the door he glanced back. She was under the blankets. All he could see of her was her head—wide eyes and a furious blush.

It was both of them at the door. Walter and Bella. “Your Grace,” said Walter, “The duque’s man is here. Iago Garcia. The princess saw him in the innyard.”

With a mental sigh, De-Ath said. “You had better come in. Just a moment while I put on a robe.” Iago Rodriguez Garcia . He was not from the valley, but had returned with Carlos after the wars. A stone-cold killer, he was completely loyal to Carlos.

Bella was certain of the identification. “The light was on his face, De-Ath. It was certainly him. And I recognised some of the men with him. They had their saddle bags over their shoulders. They looked as if they were planning to stay here for the night.”

“Coincidence?” Perry mused. “If they have just arrived in Toulouse, they cannot know which inn we chose, and they must stay somewhere, after all. Walter, can you go and see what you can learn? Ladies, we will need to go tonight, before they begin to ask questions. Pack your things and be ready to leave at a moment’s notice.”

He grimaced. “All they need to do is ask after the De-Ath party, and half the merchants in town will be happy to talk about how much money we spent. I am sorry, ladies. I should have changed our name again.”

Ruth replied with an old saying. “It is easy to be wise after the event.”

True enough, but the safety of the party was Perry’s responsibility. He had been stupidly arrogant, and now he had to make certain that Bella and Ruth did not pay the price. Though there was one precaution he had thought to take.

“One more thing.” Where were they? Ah! There. Tied up in brown paper and string. “I asked Walter to order you some men’s clothes. Slightly more respectable than those awful things you were wearing when I met you up in the pass.” Walter had written on them. Just their initials. R.H. and I. V.

“There you are. Ruth, you would be more comfortable changing in Bella’s room. I shall dress and then pack.”

“But De-Ath,” Bella protested, “what are we going to do?”

“We can discuss that when we know what Walter finds out, and when we are dressed and packed,” Ruth said, and guided Bella out of the room. Magnificent woman.

Perry dressed, and was loading his carriage pistols when Walter came back from his scouting mission. Bella and Ruth returned to hear his report.

The Spanish gentleman had taken rooms for himself and his men. “They asked after the De-Ath party, your grace, and described you and the princess. The innkeeper is a veteran of the wars and hates the Spanish. He has ordered his servants to tell them nothing.”

A stroke of luck.

“Walter, I want you to acquire a carriage and team. I would prefer to buy the carriage, so we do not need to change?—”

A knock on the door interrupted him. Pistol in one hand, Perry opened it a crack. It was the innkeeper. “Sir, I came to warn you. I have a guest at the inn, a Spanish gentleman by the name of Garcia. He has asked about you—told me a tale about you running off with somebody’s niece. I did not believe him. I think he is a dangerous man, sir.”

“Come in,” said Perry. Best to have this conversation where one of Garcia’s men could not accidentally wander by.

The innkeeper’s eyes widened when he saw Bella and Ruth. Dressed as men, they were unconvincing, but a long coat and a hat would cover most deficits.

“As you can see, innkeeper, we are already preparing to flee. My daughter saw Garcia from her window. You are right about him being a dangerous man. He was with the guerrillos during the war, and did many terrible things.”

“Please,” said Ruth, extending a pleading hand towards the innkeeper, “do not tell him you have seen us. Our daughter… he is infatuated with her. He demanded to marry her, and would not take ‘no’ for an answer.”

That was a good one! Perry could work with that. “He has friends in high places in Spain, and men who work for him who will stop at nothing. My family and I thought we had escaped him when we left Spain, but he pursued us and tried again, here in France.”

Bella eclipsed the thespian skills of them all by bursting into tears and casting herself into Perry’s arms. “I am so frightened, Papa. You will not let him take me, will you?”

“Never, Bella,” he assured her. “We will keep you safe. Innkeeper, we must flee. If I can make the coast, we can take passage to Belgium, where all his influence will not matter.”

“The magistrate?” The Frenchman suggested. His doubtful tone suggested he had little faith in the ability of the magistrate to withstand ‘friends in high places’.

“We tried that, sir,” Ruth informed him, her tone indignant. “But the magistrate said Senor Garcia had done nothing that was illegal in France. We were to inform him at once if Senor Garcia actually abducts our daughter! Or shoots my husband, as he has threatened. By then it will be too late, I told him. But he said there was nothing he could do.”

“We must leave Toulouse,” Perry said. “Tonight. Before he begins to ask for us. This is my fault, Madame De-Ath. We should have travelled under another name. I did not think of it.”

Bella had stopped sobbing into Perry’s shoulder. “I shall finish packing, Papa.” She smiled at the innkeeper, though her lips quivered as if she were about to burst into tears again. “Thank you for not giving us away. Thank you for coming to warn us.”

She went off into her room, and the innkeeper watched her go. “That pretty child. It is monstrous to think of it, her and that man. How can I help you, Monsieur and Madame?”

“Can you tell us where we can buy a carriage?” Perry asked. “Now? In the middle of the night? I am, of course, prepared to pay a premium. Money means nothing compared to the safety of my wife and child.”

“He was a guérilla , this Garcia?” the innkeeper asked.

“He was the second in command of the band known as Los Demonios ,” said Bella.

The innkeeper’s eyes widened. “ El Diablo ’s people? Certainly, the young miss must not fall into their hands. I shall sell you my carriage, Mr. De-Ath.”

Perry went down with the innkeeper to see the carriage, using the servants stairs to avoid Garcia and his men. It transpired that the innkeeper’s wife had been angling for a better carriage. The innkeeper was blunt about it. “I am charging you more than the carriage and team are worth, Mr. De-Ath, but you are rich. Also, I and my people are taking a risk, keeping information from one of those demons. You will pay my price, yes? And then the little miss will be safe, my wife happy, and all of us shall have what we want except that swine Garcia.”

The price he named was extortionate and once more reduced Perry’s cash reserves to almost nothing, but Perry supposed he was buying the inn’s silence as well as the carriage and team. He agreed. “We are very grateful,” he assured the innkeeper as sincerely as he could, as the man robbed him blind.

The innkeeper somewhat redeemed himself by helping Walter and Perry to harness the carriage, since Perry wanted as few people as possible to know when they left and in what vehicle. Garcia and his men were on the other side of the inn, the innkeeper said, and undoubtedly fast asleep. He had heard Garcia talk about visiting every inn in Toulouse to ask after the De-Ath party.

“He will not get much cooperation. I shall spread the news that he was with the Demons.”

That couldn’t hurt, and even without the people of Toulouse being deliberately obstructive, checking all the inns would take Garcia most of the day. Perry and his people would have a fair start. The sky was clear, and the moon, though past full, would be in the sky before they left the last lights of Toulouse. They should be able to travel quickly on a good road.

With the innkeeper’s help, and with Ruth and Bella carrying a trunk between them, they fetched the luggage in one trip, loaded the carriage, and said their thanks and farewells. The innkeeper waved them on their way. “Good luck to you and your ladies, sir,” he said, “and a plague on Garcia and all his men.”

Perry took the driver’s seat for the first part of the trip. Walter would be able to manage in full daylight, so Perry would take a rest then, but not now. Not with chancy visibility, an unfamiliar team, and an unknown road. He had no doubt of his own ability to keep his precious cargo safely on the road.

Precious cargo? What sentimental claptrap. He had made a promise and he was keeping it. That was all. Added to that, Ruth Henwood had still not paid her fee. And if he began thinking about the evening’s entertainment and where it might have led, he would overturn the carriage himself.

Ah, Ruth. I fear you will be my ruination .

Ruth was exhausted, and sore all over. Between moonrise and sunset some sixteen hours later, they had travelled from Toulouse to Carcassonne, stopping only to change horses and attend to the needs of their bodies, Walter and De-Ath taking it in turns to drive.

They used different names at each stop, hoping to throw Garcia off their trail. Bella and De-Ath thoroughly enjoyed inventing them, each trying to top the other with more and more ridiculous suggestions.

Exchanging stories had entertained them for most of the journey. De-Ath and Walter had an inexhaustible store of tales. Bella had had some hair-raising adventures as a child causing as many problems for invaders as possible. Ruth, by contrast, had led a calm and uninteresting life, apart from one incident in her youth, when her first position had ended with her and her pupils having to make a wild escape.

But that adventure was not fully hers to share, and even that had led to six years of peaceful village living. She could, however, and did share the adventures of the Redepennings, the family she had come to regard as her own.

She spoke of Rede, the Earl of Chirbury, his years as a trapper in Canada, and his romance with Ruth’s first pupil and almost sister, Anne. Also, his cousin Alex, and his desperate escape from villains with his now wife, Ella. Both of them injured and weak, they had sent Alex’s manservant to draw off the pursuers and had ridden in comfort from Cheshire to London on a canal boat.

Alex’s sister Susan had fallen in love with her husband when they pursued her daughter and a French spy up the Great North Road. Dear Mia, married to Alex’s brother Jules, had faced off and defeated a kidnapper who was trying to steal her stepson, and a group of French spies who had made a prisoner of her husband. And who could have expected that the love Kitty, Anne’s sister, had for a gamekeeper would led to an all-out battle for control of a village in the far north of England?

It helped to pass the time, even with repeats as one driver replaced another, saying, “Get Miss Henwood to tell you about…” or “You won’t believe what her Highness said about…”

Even so, in the last couple of hours they had run out of stories, or perhaps just out of energy. Surely, at the speed they had been going, they had left Garcia far behind and could afford to stop for the night at Carcassonne?

Ruth heaved a sigh of relief as they turned into the stable yard of an inn.

“He might just be going to change horses,” Bella said gloomily, referring to De-Ath, who was driving.

But when the carriage stopped and De-Ath opened the door, he said, “I’ll take a couple of rooms for the night, but we’ll be on our way first thing in the morning. I don’t want to give Garcia time to catch up.”

The inn was a bit rougher than last night’s place. “We will eat in the ladies’ room,” he instructed the innkeeper. “Whatever you have hot, and as fast as possible. A jug of wine with it. A bath to be delivered to the ladies’ room as soon as the meal is cleared.”

The ladies’ room, he said. So, he did not mean to continue what they had started. At least tonight. Was Ruth pleased or disappointed? She was too tired to decide.

Money changed hands and the innkeeper nodded and agreed to everything.

Over the meal, a delicious stew with crusty bread, De-Ath said to Walter, “I have one more errand this evening. Are you awake enough to come with me?”

“Always,” Walter replied.

“Ladies, lock your door once the bath arrives, and don’t let anyone in until morning. I don’t want the footmen coming to empty the bath unless one of us,” he indicated himself and Walter, “is here to protect you.”

He must have caught the spark of rebellion in Bella’s eyes, or perhaps in Ruth’s. “Yes, I know you are both Amazons, but the footmen don’t know that. If they try something, Walter and I will have to stay up late to bury the bodies, which would be inconvenient, since I plan an early start.”

Bella burst out laughing at the insouciant remark.

“De-Ath, we shall lock the door,” said Ruth, who had not thought about the risk from lusty footmen. Since Anne married Rede, she had never had to seriously consider such things. Until Sombras. She had been locking her door in the castle ever since he came back from the wars.

Obviously, De-Ath was sincere in his concern, since he appointed Walter to watch the footmen deliver the bathwater. “I have a few questions to ask in the bar room. Don’t leave until the ladies have locked themselves inside, Walter. Then come and join me.”

What on earth was the man up to? Ruth knew him well enough by now to know that he wouldn’t answer questions until he was ready. Bella, bolder and perhaps less perceptive, said, “Where are you going, De-Ath, and why?”

“I had an idea,” De-Ath told her. “I’ll tell you more if it works out.” And with that typically obscure remark, he was gone.

Walter, when Bella turned her attention to him, put up both of his hands in a “stop” gesture. “He hasn’t told me a thing, Miss,” he said.

As they took turns in the bath, and prepared for bed, Bella kept wondering what it might be. Ruth noticed that the girl didn’t doubt De-Ath was working on a plan to escape Garcia. Neither did Ruth. For all his reputation, the Duke of Depravity was an honourable man, and he had promised to help them.

Ruth fell asleep considering the price she had yet to pay for that promise.

When she woke again, it was dark in the room. For a moment, she wondered where she was and what had woken her. Then she heard the tapping on the door, which answered the second question, and by the time she reached the door, she had remembered going to sleep in Carcassonne.

“Who is it,” she said, pitching her voice to reach through the door.

“De-Ath,” said the now familiar voice. “Get dressed, my dear. We must be on the road in fifteen minutes.”

Ruth found her way to the fireplace, fumbled for a poker, and stirred the ashes enough to find a couple of glowing embers, to which she put a spill so she could light a candle.

That gave light enough to see Bella sitting up in the bed. “Is it time to get up?” the girl asked.

“Yes, and we must hurry. Get dressed, dearest, and pack anything that you have unpacked.”

Walter was waiting outside of their door ten minutes later to take the small bags that were all they’d brought into the inn, and to escort them down to the carriage.

De-Ath was up in the driver’s seat, but he gave up his place to Walter and climbed into the carriage behind Ruth and Bella.

Ruth’s curiosity would wait no longer. “Did your errand last night prosper?”

“It did,” De-Ath answered. “Thank you for asking.”

When he said nothing more, Ruth found herself wishing for a fan to hit him with. Or an umbrella. Much more satisfying.

The incorrigible man burst out laughing. “Your face, Ruth! Very well, Bella. I will tell you all before you decide to carve important pieces off me with the knife I am certain you still carry,”—one of Bella’s stories had involved the use of the knife she said she, “always strapped to my thigh under my skirts”.

“Ruth, I was struck by your story of Alex Redepenning and the canal boat. Walter and I went to the inn just out of town where the canal boat folk gather. I’ve found a family—father, mother, and three daughters—who are willing to take Bella and Walter as far as the coast while you and I amble our way along leaving a trail for Garcia. And Carlos, for if he has figured out we are in France, he is certainly searching, too.”

Ruth wasn’t at all keen on being separated from her charge. “Could we not all go? Surely, he won’t think of looking on a canal boat?”

De-Ath shook his head. “We need to give them something to chase, Ruth. Keep their attention away from the canals altogether. A canal man, his brother, his wife and his four daughters are a crowd on a canal boat, but not unlikely. Add another man and another woman, and it will draw attention.”

“It would be better if I am Walter’s daughter,” Bella said. “People who know your canal family will question an extra daughter.”

De-Ath gave her a nod of approval. Ruth had further objections to make, but De-Ath had answers for them all, and so did Bella. The family were, De-Ath said, kind people and a happy family. He had told them the story of the pursuing suitor, which was true enough, as far as it went.

When Walter brought the carriage to a halt by a boat moored on a quiet stretch of canal, Ruth had to agree with De-Ath’s assessment of the family. The father and mother clearly loved one another and their daughters were both respectful and lively—and very curious about the young heiress who was running away from a powerful suitor.

Ruth helped Bella hunted through her luggage for items suitable for a canal girl—not much, but she could at least wear her own undergarments—and the daughters of the family assured Bella that they could loan her whatever outer garments she needed.

Soon, they had said their goodbyes and the canal boat was pulling away from the bank. “She will be as safe as Walter can make her, Ruth,” De-Ath reassured her, “and we shall do our part by laying a trail for our enemies to follow. For the first part, we’ll head back to Carcassonne, where I shall make a great show of my rank while hiring a driver to take us to the next town, since my own faithless driver has abandoned us. After all, a duke cannot be expected to drive his own carriage, even for a princess!”

It was not until they were on the road to Carcassonne that Ruth realised that, for the next part of their journey, she and De- Ath would be alone. There was no point in wondering whether De-Ath would take advantage of that fact. Of course, he would.

Perry gave an excellent performance of a spoilt English duke to a fascinated audience of an innkeeper, more than a dozen maids and grooms, and a score or more of travellers and bystanders. He had made a spoilt duke’s attempt at disguising his name—he was the Marquess of Rich, he told the innkeeper, and the driver, and anyone who was listening. He required immediate attention, for his ward was in danger, and he had to get her out of the country.

He had played many roles in his life, and spoilt duke was one of the easiest, since it was what people expected. And perhaps it was true. Certainly, he had never wanted for material possessions. Nor for women, at least the easy sort. In his maudlin moments, he wondered if being a duke had deprived him of most of the rest of what made life worthwhile. A loving family. A worthwhile profession. Pride in self rather than simply one’s name.

He had little patience with his maudlin moments. He would rather focus on the fact that he would have Ruth to himself in private for two hours, until they reached the next change of horses. He didn’t intend for her first time to be in a moving carriage, but he did intend for her to reach the end of the day’s journey eagerly awaiting her first time.

She had waited in the carriage, supporting the impression he had been at pains to convey—that “his ward” was in there with her governess. The lure duly laid, Perry gave the driver the word to move off, and joined her.

“That should send Garcia after us. Carlos too, if he has joined the hunt here in France. When we leave the driver with his fare home towards the end of the day, I propose to double back a little by hidden ways. I have friends who will give us safe shelter for the night. I’m happy to lead Garcia and Carlos on a wild goose chase, but I don’t propose to permit them to catch up.”

“That is good,” Ruth agreed. “They are both men of violent tempers, and will have others with them. I do not wish you to be hurt.”

“I thank you for your kindness,” said Perry. “I do not wish me to be hurt, either.” If it came to it, he was more able to defend himself than Ruth might expect —or Garcia and Carlos. But in any conflict, something might happen to Ruth, and that was not acceptable.

His surge of anger at the mere thought alarmed him. I am not feeling possessive, am I? The Duke of Depravity was never possessive. No. It wasn’t that Carlos might take her from him, it was that she might be hurt.

He shot a glance at her and sighed. That wasn’t it at all. He could lie to others. He was good at it. He gloried in his reputation for debauchery. He always followed his own self-interest. But he did have standards. He never forced anyone. He always kept his promises. And he didn’t lie to himself.

Ruth Henwood had become important to him, quite without him intending it or understanding the reasons.

“Is something wrong, De-Ath?” she asked, looking at his with concern

“Not particularly. Why do you ask?”

“You sighed,” she explained.

Yes. He had. The lady was far too perceptive. “Nothing to concern yourself with, sweetheart.” He shifted to put his arm around her. “Now, Ruth dearest. Where were we two nights ago when we were so rudely interrupted.”

Her eyes widened and her cheeks flushed red. “De-Ath! We can’t. In a carriage? Can we?”

“Oh yes, we can, my darling innocent. Let me show you.”

She regarded him gravely from those innocent brown eyes, but said nothing.

“I need you to give me permission, Ruth,” he coaxed. “I shall not take things too far, not in the coach, but I shall make you feel good, I promise.”

“You have my consent,” she said—or whispered, rather. “I promised I would be your mistress during the trip. I have not kept my promise, but it has not been my doing, De-Ath.”

He had an urge to hear his name on her lips. Perry, short for Perran. The name he used when he lectured himself. The name his grandmother had called him. The name he hadn’t heard anyone else use since Grandmama died when he was twelve.

Even his sister had called him by his title—Lockswell until he became duke, and Richport thereafter. That had been five days after the accident in which his grandmother died, for the old duke had lingered, refusing to submit to his wounds. But even the Duke of Richport was not able to force wounds to heal, or broken bones to mend, or infection, that great killer of men, to leave his rotting flesh.

Like his grandfather, the uncle who had become his guardian only ever called him Richport. “Richport, sit up straight.” “Richport, apply yourself.” “Richport, remember who you are.”

“De-Ath? Are you upset with me?” Ruth’s warm voice, recalling him to the present.

“Upset with you? Not at all. None of the interruptions have been your doing, darling. A blue moment, that was all. I am not a good man, Ruth, and I do not deserve to have your trust.”

“You are a rather bad man, in some ways,” Ruth said, judiciously, “but I trust you because you do not break your promises, you have been kind to Bella, and Walter loves you. You are a good man, in many ways, De-Ath.”

“Perry,” Perry said, quite without meaning to. Ah well. It was done now, and he really would like to hear her say his name. “It is what my grandmother used to call me when I was young. Perry, usually. And sometimes Perran. Will you? Call me Perry or Perran, I mean?”

“Perry,” she said, obediently. “You are a good man, Perry.”

The feeling in his chest was alarming. Was it some sort of heart attack? It felt like pain, only good—and he had never been one to regard pain as pleasure. He made a joke to lighten the moment. “Good in parts. Like an egg, that has only just begun to go off.”

She chuckled, and then said, “Kiss me, Perry, if you wish to do so,”

And he did so wish. He wished, in fact, to keep her in his life forever, which frightened him, so he kissed her to give himself something else to think about, and for a while, it worked.