Page 9 of Truly, Madly, Daring

“I do not,” she objected. “But I must be practical and not shy away from unpleasantness.”

“The sight of your husband with gravy down his shirt, for example,” he said, his tone bitter.

“That is hardly what I meant,” she snapped. “As if I care for such things! Though, if it troubles you unduly, we shall find solutions.”

“A bib?” he offered with a sneer.

“Wrexham,” she said, sighing and wishing he could see himself as she did, but she did not feel equal to the task of explaining that to him. If he knew what a muddle he made of her poor brain, it would likely make things—make him—a great deal harder for her to manage.

“I’m sorry,” he said abruptly. “I ought never to have dragged you into this. I know I ought not, I just—”

Before she could think better of it, Emmeline stood and crossed to sit beside him. Everything about him tensed, and the sense he was listening intently became unmistakeable. Gingerly, she reached over and laid her hand upon his.

“Don’t be sorry,” she said. “And don’t make me sorry, either. I think we shall rub along quite nicely.”

His lips quirked a little, giving him a boyish look that was so endearing her stupid heart lurched. Lord, but she was in a deal of trouble.

“Quite nicely,” he repeated with amusement, turning his hand to capture hers.

Emmeline went to pull free, unnerved by the excitable dance her heart was performing behind her ribs, but his grip firmed, holding her fingers in place.

“Sweet Milly, what a mess you’ve gotten yourself into.”

“I have not,” she retorted, though the little voice in her head was agreeing with him enthusiastically. “I did this for very practical reasons, besides which, you clearly need someone to take you in hand, and not because you’re blind,” she added before he could make some self-deprecating comment.

“Oh? Why, then?”

“Because you’re an absolute devil and you’re going to give poor Humboldt a breakdown. How the man has borne with you all these years is beyond me.”

He chuckled, and the sound did terrible things to her equilibrium. Combined with the feel of his hand holding hers, she would be a puddle at his feet long before Birmingham if she didn’t have a care.

“I adore you,” he said, grinning.

He was teasing her, of course. She knew that, but still, the words made her feel fluttery and daft and she very much feared she might giggle. So, instead, she frowned and tugged her hand free.

“Stuff,” she replied sternly. “You’re a wicked man with a glib tongue, and don’t think I don’t know it.”

Birmingham would forever live in Emmeline’s mind as a confusion of smoke and noise. Her head was pounding, her eyes gritty, and she crossed the station with the jerky, stiff-legged motion of an automaton. Her nerves leapt at every sound, and she felt certain there would be a shout of recognition from someone who worked for her father. The shrill shriek of a whistle blowing made her gasp and sidestep. She crashed into Wrexham, who was holding Humboldt’s elbow as they navigated the busy platform. He muttered a curse but caught her against him, a strong arm lashed about her middle.

“I’m supposed to be the clumsy one, Miss Knight,” he observed.

“I beg your pardon. I’m rather tired and the whistle startled me.”

Wrexham smiled. “Rather tired, my arse. You’re ready to drop. Give me your arm.”

“But won’t it be difficult for you—”

“Stop fussing, pet,” he said, impatient now.

Too worn out to protest, Emmeline took his arm, and the three of them made their way to the waiting train. This time, Wrexham had booked the entire first-class carriage, and Emmeline fell rather than sat down. Janet bustled about, tucking the fur-lined blanket over Emmeline’s knees. She was a kind and efficient young woman and Emmeline thought they ought to get on well.

“Go away,” Wrexham said from beside her. He waved off both Humboldt and the blanket the man offered with a tut of annoyance. “I don’t need a blanket, I’m not an infant. I just want to be left alone. Stop fussing over me! Sit at the other end of the carriage and let me speak to Miss Knight in peace.”

“Yes, my lord,” Humboldt said with a sigh, though he looked at Emmeline first, checking she did not mind being left alone with Wrexham.

Sadly, Emmeline did not mind a bit, though she sent Humboldt a rueful smile in the hope he might not think her forward.

“You are very rude and ungrateful,” she scolded Wrexham. “Poor Humboldt had the organising of this journey, and you’ve done nothing but nag and worry at him since we left.”