A Grave Robbery (Veronica Speedwell, #9)

by Deanna Raybourn

You are the most impetuous, headstrong, reckless—” “There is no call to make hurtful remarks,” I cut in. “Hurtful? I mean them as compliments.

“I cannot think of anything more horrifying than shackling oneself for all of eternity to a woman with anything less than your courage. You are a lioness, Veronica.” I sniffed hard and he peered down at me. “My god, if you mean to weep, warn me so that I may stop the cab and leave you here upon this pavement.”

So I think we should make a pact. Neither of us is permitted to die without the other. What do you think?” He wrapped his arms more tightly around me. “I promise. If I am ever near death, I vow to take you with me.”

But shadows are cold things, Miss Speedwell. And nothing grows well in darkness.” It seemed churlish to point out that any number of things thrive perfectly well in darkness—bats, opossums, most species of fungi, several intriguing moths—so I said nothing and let her enjoy her metaphor, however inapt.

We spoke in the conversational shorthand we often adopted. It was the effect of being, as it were, souls entwined, with that perfect understanding that so often frustrated bystanders.

“Veronica,” Stoker said, his eyes brilliant in the low lamplight, “I have known you in every possible way a man can know a woman. I understand you better than you will ever admit because one cannot fully love what one does not fully comprehend, and believe me when I say I love you entirely and comprehend you completely. For all your delightful unpredictability, you are thoroughly consistent in always choosing the most outlandish, outrageous, unimaginable options in any given situation.

There are few activities more fatiguing than watching other people’s quarrels.”

“Of losing that which I have come to realise I cannot live without. But I do not want a small and stifled version of you. I want you—in all your intrepid and audacious glory. I want you just as you are, the entirety of your chaos and your wildness. You are the whirlwind I did not know I needed, but now that you are here, I will not be the one to ask you to be anything different than exactly as you are. More than anyone, I ought to understand that nature cannot be denied. And your nature is tumult.”