Page 127 of The Muse of Maiden Lane

It had, as it turned out, been the exact right thing to say.

Teddy’s lips grazed her temple as she snuggled against him, loving her so much it still made his heart ache to touch her.

And she loved him in return. She’d said so.

No, what she’d said is that she’d loved him for months. Months. He still couldn’t quite believe it.

But today had been a day of firsts. Their wedding, their painting session on the banks of the Thames, and now this. He’d revealed his deepest vulnerabilities to her, and she’d accepted him. Loved him.

He smoothed her hair from her brow. “Would you like to see something?”

Her cheek was resting on his chest. He felt her smile. “Haven’t you already astonished me enough this evening?”

His mouth hitched in a lazy grin. “Something else, I mean,” he said. “You’ll have to put on your dressing gown.”

She groaned in complaint, her soft, shapely body boneless on his.

He nudged her gently. “I promise, it will be worth it.”

“Very well.” She slowly moved to rise.

His body went cold as she lifted away from him, depriving him of her warmth. He watched her walk to the lamp and light it. His blood ignited again. He had to suppress the urge to drag her back into his arms.

“Would you pass me my trousers?” he asked instead.

She slipped on her dressing gown, tying the silk sash around her waist, before fetching his discarded clothing for him.

He didn’t require any help to dress. He could even get out of bed on his own, once Stella brought his wheeled chair up beside it and applied the brake. Hoisting himself up to a sitting position, he used his arms to swing himself into the seat. He adjusted his legs with his hands, setting his bare feet on the footrest.

Stella held the lantern aloft as she opened the door. “I hope we’re going to the kitchen. I’m ravenous.”

“My studio first,” he said, wheeling through the doorway. “Kitchen second.”

She padded along next to him through the darkness, their path illuminated in the small halo of light cast from the lantern.

Drop cloths still covered the floor of his studio. He rolled over them in his pneumatic chair, the rubber wheels overcoming the difficulty far easier than his wooden wheels had done.

“Shall I light the other lamps?” she asked.

“Please.” He wheeled to his canvas. Jennings had returned it to the large easel, leaving it covered in the same cloth Teddy draped it in whenever he wasn’t working.

Stella lit the lamps one by one. The studio was illuminated by degrees, first softly, then brighter and brighter until no corner of the room was hidden from view.

When she’d finished, Stella came to stand behind him. Her silver hair fell in waves all around her.

Teddy took hold of the corner of the drape that covered his painting.

“No, you mustn’t,” she objected, suddenly comprehending his intention. “You’re not ready.”

“I’m ready,” he assured her.

“But it’s not finished. You said that no one could see it until—”

“You’re not no one. You’re my wife.” With that, he pulled the drape from his canvas, revealing his portrait to her for the first time.

Stella gasped. Her hand drifted up to cover her mouth. “Oh, Teddy. It’s…It’s…” She moved closer to examine it.

He’d depicted her in loose brushstrokes, a creature in motion, the glitter of her spangled dress and the shimmer of her hair emerging as one with the twilight. The sea behind her reflected the waning sun in a sensual tumult. So, too, did the paillettes of her dress, each of them aglow with a luminosity that drew itself from both water and sky. She appeared to have just alighted from the heavens—the moment of transition from star to woman captured a breath before the transformation had become complete.