Page 112 of The Secrets of Lord Grayson Child
Donaldson and Digby returned from the street above, and in short order, Donaldson persuaded the lady, her daughter, and the three station staff to pose in front of the telegraph station, which they proudly did.
Gray grasped Izzy’s hand and tipped his head toward the town. She nodded, and with Toby and Martin, they slipped around Donaldson and started down Castle Hill Road.
Hustling Duvall between them, Baines and Littlejohn followed.
In the lead, Gray and Izzy strolled slowly, and soon, Donaldson, Digby, and Hennessy caught up. Thereafter, they stepped out more briskly, although Donaldson assured them they had an abundance of time to reach the station for the next train, which departed at six-fifteen.
He directed them along a different route, one he said was more direct and which led them along Townwall Street, from where, in the deepening dusk, they could look across the harbor toward the Channel. Gradually, Izzy and Gray slowed, allowing the others to pass, until they were the last of the straggling company.
Gray knew he was gripping her hand too firmly—too possessively—but he couldn’t seem to ease his hold.
He’d nearly lost her.
After all the years apart, when they’d just found each other again, come to appreciate—tolove—each other again, to lose her…would have been devastating.
It would have been the end of the future that shaped his dreams.
That hadn’t happened.
A brisk sea breeze, chilly and bracing, reminded him they were alive, yet…
Perhaps by the time they reached London, he’d be able to release her hand.
Speaking to the wind, he said, “I’ve taken my share of risks in this life.”
“I’m sure you have,” she murmured. “But risks are a fundamental part of life. I suspect we—you and I—will be taking risks until the day we die.”
He glanced at her, saw the love in her eyes, and squeezed her hand. “I can’t lose you, not now.”
“I don’t plan on being lost.” She squeezed his hand back. “So we’ll go on together and face the world as one. And that, my darling Gray, will, I warn you, be a big enough challenge for us both.”
He read the truth of that in her expression, softly humphed, and faced forward.
After a moment, gazing out over the harbor, she said, “I look about, and it’s as if all our risks, our endeavors, excitements, and thrills, haven’t left any mark. Everything seems so normal.”
“That was rather the point, wasn’t it? The preservation of normality is our ultimate success. And truth to tell, after my years of wandering and risk-taking”—his tone grew definite—“I’ve become rather fond of normal.”
Chapter 15
The following day was Sunday. Gray timed his arrival in Norfolk Crescent so that he could join the Descartes ladies before they left for church.
It had been after eight o’clock when their by-then-weary party had walked off the platform at London Bridge Station to be met by Drake, who Toby had arranged to be informed of Duvall’s capture. Drake had been accompanied by guards from the Tower, to whom Baines and Littlejohn, who were by then heartily sick of their determined-to-be-difficult prisoner, had handed Duvall.
Despite the hour, Drake had insisted on hearing their story, and Izzy had suggested they repair to the printing works to debrief. They’d piled into hackneys and had arrived in the mews to discover that, despite the hour, the Lipsons, Maguire, and Mary were still there, waiting for news.
Everyone had crammed into Izzy’s office, and their story had been told.
Thereafter, they’d dispersed, heading for their respective homes. Gray and Izzy had walked to Woburn Square and spent time glossing over what had happened and calming everyone before rattling on to Norfolk Crescent.
Gray had accepted Izzy’s invitation to share a late supper, which they had while describing their day to Sybil and Marietta, who had hung on their every word.
When Izzy had seen him to the door, neither he nor she had been in any condition to further address their personal situation. He’d suggested calling on her the next day, and she’d invited him for luncheon. After indulging in a kiss that had held both satisfaction and promise, he’d left for Jermyn Street.
That morning, he’d woken restless and impatient and, instead of waiting for midday, had decided to arrive at ten-thirty and escort the three ladies to Sunday service.
When Cottesloe opened the door to his knock, Gray saw he’d timed his arrival to perfection; all three ladies were in the front hall, tying on bonnets and pulling on gloves.
All three looked at him and smiled in delighted welcome, which was pleasing in and of itself.
