Page 119 of The Muse of Maiden Lane

“There’s always tomorrow,” she said.

“Yes,” he agreed.

But before tomorrow, there was tonight.

Teddy returned his attention to Stella. His heart thumped hard, and not only from the effort it had taken to get into the carriage. After the wedding breakfast, and the ordeal of getting themselves back to Maiden Lane in what appeared to be worsening weather, there was still the wedding night to get through.

Is that why she was being so quiet? Why she’d appeared to have retreated behind her mask again? Brides were meant to be nervous on their wedding night. It was practically a tradition. It was a husband’s responsibility to put his new wife at ease.

Teddy took her hand. His voice deepened with sincerity. “I’m so glad it’s you,” he said.

She turned to him. “It will be me a long while after your painting is finished.”

“There will be other paintings,” he assured her. “Haven’t I told you so?”

“One thousand, you said once. You shall doubtless get bored after the hundredth.”

“Bored of this?” He touched her cheek. “Never.”

Her eyes softened. “Thank you.”

“For what?” His hand curved around her neck. They were seated side by side like any other newly married couple—he in his wedding suit and she in her bridal gown. There was no Jennings. No wheeled chair.

“For proposing to me,” she said. “For being so generous about furnishing the house, and making the stable fit for Locket.” Her breath hitched as he drew closer, bending his head. “For letting us marry in a church. I know you’d rather have got it over with in an office somewhere or a—”

His mouth captured hers.

She closed her eyes, leaning into his kiss. Her arms slowly circled his neck. There was no doubt. No hesitation. She was soft, and warm, and welcoming, yielding to the pressure of his lips even as she claimed his lips for her own.

One kiss became two, and then another. Each dissolved into the next, punctuated by sweetly muffled words and sighs.

The Finchleys’ carriage was more private than a sleigh. More dangerous than Teddy’s studio. There inside the shadowy cab, with the curtains drawn, and the rain beating the windows, he felt closer to her than he’d ever felt before.

Was the carriage solely to blame? Or was it those vows? That ring?

“I’d do it all again, and more,” Teddy said huskily. “Anything to have you.”

“Was it purely selfish, then?” Stella asked, lips brushing over his. “Saving me from a life in the background?”

“It was you who saved me. I told you I’d run mad if I couldn’t paint you. I would have done, you know.”

“I cured you, did I?”

“Not completely. Not yet.” He was still half-mad. Twisting his fingers in the thickness of her hair, he took her mouth again.

Raindrops fell in a continual drumbeat. It wasn’t until the carriage turned onto Half Moon Street that the drops began to come further apart, eventually ceasing altogether. The carriage slowed to a rattling halt, giving Teddy and Stella ample time to collect themselves.

A footman opened the carriage door while Jennings fetched Teddy’s wheeled chair. Fog blanketed the street. The sun had belatedly emerged behind it, streaking the landscape with brilliant color.

Teddy set a hand at Stella’s back. “Look at that light,” he said. “Pity I can’t commit it to canvas.”

She turned to him. Her lips were very pink, her face flushed from the passionate kisses they’d shared. “Who says you can’t?”

“It’s our wedding day. I wouldn’t be so churlish.”

“But we married to please ourselves. To do what we want, when we want.”

“Today is about what you want,” he said.