The Double Life of Incorporate Things (Magic Most Foul) by Leanna Hieber Page B

never wanted to say yes to anything more,” I whispered, achingly. He nodded, biting back a smile, seeming in part placated, in part still nervous. “Besides,” I added, “don’t you think the forces at work would like to see us split apart? We can’t give them that opportunity.”
    “True,” he agreed. “Tonight, I do think a crisis may have been averted.”
    We had intervened before further victims had been ensnared for Stevens’s experimental purposes, sowing seeds of chaos. I felt a proud surge flood my body. We were clever, resourceful, and gifted. We were more than the enemy would expect of us.
    As we left, for we could not stay out into the night indefinitely, we had to step from the shadows and into the brighter gas-lit entryway. I cast one look back over my shoulder. The man, Stevens, was staring at me. Right at me. Through me. His eyes flashed oddly, unnaturally.
    And suddenly I didn’t feel so clever anymore.

Chapter Nine
     
    Jonathon and I shared a hired carriage back to our respective residences. I doubted he’d have to sneak back into Mrs. Northe’s in the way I’d have to sneak back home; men did not have to answer to their whereabouts. Lord Denbury was lord of his own domain, and that would never be questioned. A young woman was not afforded such freedom of destiny.
    But the particulars of freedom were lost to me the moment that Jonathon closed the cab door behind me, shutting us into the dark compartment. Somehow being truly alone together in full cover of night gave us permissions we hadn’t allowed ourselves of late. The intense situation we had just shared brought us back to each other, to the partnership and perils we had become so familiar with. With those perils also had come passion. He and I must have been of a mind, for the moment I reached for his hand, he took the opportunity…
    “Will you permit me a moment of not being entirely gentlemanly, Miss Stewart?” he asked in a hot murmur in my ear. “We’ve been trying to be so proper and behaved—”
    “You’re permitted,” I nearly gasped. He tore the cap from my head and entwined his fingers in my hair. Pulling me into his arms, he kissed me deeply, again and again, hands roving, until the carriage slowed its pace. East down the block stood my home, and I could not remain locked in his embrace indefinitely.
    With a reluctant groan, he released me to catch my breath. I was just as woeful to be let go. But the driver wouldn’t just sit there without question or further payment, and we did not dare to be suspect in our actions. Silent as I descended the carriage—I was afraid my voice would tell tales of me—I donned my cap once more, hoping no one was watching the front door of the divided townhouse, and that I could quietly ascend to our top floor rooms as undetected as I’d descended.
    I was in luck in returning to my bed unnoticed, though the eyes of Stevens still haunted me, as if I could see him hovering at my window like some creature in my beloved Gothic yarns. The sorts of tales that had once so titillated me left a far different taste in my mouth now that I was living what would only be believed as fiction.
    That night came a nightmare, as if the night’s victory was just a tease, as if I couldn’t possibly be afforded a sensual dream of Jonathon’s kisses alone, heaven forbid. Just as I was beginning to feel we were gaining ground as lovers and partners once more and winning against enemies in our waking hours, the dread fear and reality of his looming departure was writ large over my unconscious hours and the dread I could not entertain while awake had full reign while asleep.
    This time the dream was shared with Jonathon, as we used to when our souls met in the painting and our consciousness was linked in dreams, a life-saving particular his curse could never have predicted. I was so glad to see him in my mind’s eye, thrilled that he had returned to my resting self, but it seemed he didn’t see me down