“Illustrated manuscripts!” Iona cried excitedly when he didn’t explain. “The ladies were hiding precious works of art.”
“Iona,” he said warningly. “You promised.”
“Don’t make me punch your sore arm.” She stepped away from him defiantly. “I love you madly, but you aren’t allowed to make all the decisions.”
He quirked his eyebrows. His gut clenched, but he refused to let anyone see his fear. If he loved this woman, he had to listen to her. Occasionally. Especially when she claimed to love his worthless self in the process.
She stood on her toes and kissed his jaw. “You can’t hide fromme, my lord. I know you want to find those books. You can’t, not without help.”
“My decision, isn’t it?” he asked, keeping his voice neutral. He really didn’t want to explain this to an audience.
His insides knotted more when she glared back.
“Oh, and deciding who I was to marry without asking was your decision too?” she taunted. “How is that, pray tell?”
“She’s right, Cuz,” Phoebe said gleefully. “Sometimes, it’s best if one simply swims with the tide.”
“Perhaps we should go upstairs and discuss this over tea like civilized human beings?” Rainford raised his shoulder from the wall and gestured for the ladies to proceed him.
Gerard wanted to stay and explore, not be mauled with questions he couldn’t answer.
But he had a wife now, and as she’d so rudely pointed out, they needed to learn to make decisions together. Besides, despite her strength and courage, he’d just put her through a painful and terrifying experience. Even he was still shaken by the violence.
“More than tea.” Wrapping his arm around Iona’s waist and leading her from the tunnels was the only thing that felt right at the moment. He didn’t feel like himself but more like one of those barbarian warriors chasing down the invaders.
“Illustrated manuscripts?” Rainford asked from behind.
“Books,” Max grumbled. “More blamed books.”
Phoebe laughed. He couldn’t blame her there. Poor Max couldn’t read but he’d married alibrarian.
“Why the devil are you still here—Cuz?” Gerard asked his long-legged cousin. The woman was striding ahead of them like a jungle explorer with her lamp.
“I’m to help prepare your bride and her sister for their visit with the queen, of course. The aunts insisted.” This from a woman wearing split skirts and a porkpie hat.
“That is generous.” Iona spoke hesitantly, as well she should. “Do we really need preparation?”
“You are fine just as you are,” Gerard insisted. “You’ll probably only see the Lord Chancellor anyway. Phoebe’s family is just bossy. I’ll be there with you.”
“If you want to keep the aunts and quite possibly my mother from going with you, you’ll take me,” Phoebe called back. “Andrew needs to go with us. I believe he’s under consideration for knighthood for one of his inventions. We’ll make it a party.”
“Or a circus,” Gerard grumbled.
Iona snickered and squeezed his arm. He hoped she had a way out of Phoebe’s machinations.
But if he was to rely on the only person in the world who understood his weird gift—
He had to concede to tellingtheirtale, as she’d made clear. The vision belonged to both of them. His duties had become tremendously more complicated. Or perhapslovecomplicated them.
“It can be very simple,” Iona whispered, as if hearing his thoughts. “We do what we like unless it affects others. Think about it.”
Lydia bustledin to join them once they settled in the small guest parlor with their tea and whisky. “I’m so glad you’re safe! You were gone so long! And the books could tell me nothing about your whereabouts. The past isn’t always helpful.”
Gerard tipped his cup in Iona’s direction as if saying, “See, old history doesn’t count.”
Iona didn’t believe that. They couldlearnfrom experience. That was the whole point of their library. “Does the library mention illustrated manuscripts?”
Lydia looked surprised. “I haven’t looked. Shall I?”
