A Perilous Undertaking (Veronica Speedwell, #2)

by Deanna Raybourn

You are too stubborn to die.”

Men, I had often observed, were never happier than when they believed they were imparting wisdom.

“I do not shoot things for my own pleasure,” he had argued indignantly. “I only collect specimens for the purposes of scientific study.” “That must be some consolation to the corpses,” I returned sweetly. “You do not hold the moral high ground there, my little assassin. I have watched you kill butterflies by the hundreds with just a pinch of your fingers.” “Well, I could pin them first, but I am not an enthusiast of torture.” “You might have fooled me,” he muttered.

These two are killing me. Plus, my little assassin? Id take that over babe or sweetheart or any other pet name any day of the week

“Weak,” he agreed. “No doubt the reason for his muttonchops.” He stroked his own jaw, looking quite satisfied, as well he might. I had seldom seen a more firmly set bone on any man.

That was the true measure of his character; even at the height of his irritation he would never let me fall.

“That is a siège d’amour.” “A seat of love? It is a chair designed to facilitate coitus?” I murmured. “Most ingenious and very comfortable, I should think.” I settled myself onto the siège, gripping the arms. “Oh, there are stirrups. How clever.” I raised one booted leg, but Stoker made a strangled noise somewhere between a growl and a groan. “Veronica. For the love of all that is holy and good, get down,” he said, in a low, tight voice unlike any I had ever heard from him before.

I think it is hilarious that Stoker is such a prude yet he knows what all of this stuff is

“Yes, but you usually aren’t . . .” He trailed off, his gaze resting upon the exposed flesh of my décolletage. “Well, I have to keep them covered or else you lose the power of speech,” I said blandly.

“Will you talk about it?” “Someday,” he told me. “I have never spoken of it. But someday I might, and if I do, you may be certain it will be with you.”

“Behind you,” Stoker put in coolly. Mornaday nearly leapt from his skin but managed to recover his sangfroid enough to greet him casually.

Idk what's better: stoker's obvious jealousy of mornaday or mornaday being outright terrified of stoker

“I can dictate these terms,” he said in a voice that was little more than a growl. “He has taken something of mine for the last time.”

“Revelstoke Templeton-Vane!” I cried. “God strike me down if ever again I question your intelligence. That is a stroke of brilliance.” He preened. “It is, isn’t it? I think I shall bask in this for a little while. I do like being right.”

I shrugged. “She is arrogant and difficult and, my God, but she always thinks she is right.” Stoker gave me a measured look from hatpin to hem and then smiled. “I cannot imagine what you mean.” He was still smiling when I pushed him off the curb.

He stopped walking and gave me a look that turned my bones to water. “Seeing how Louise treated you. If we don’t finish this, you will always regret it, not just because your family have let you down, but because we will have failed to save Ramsforth. I know what that sort of weight can do to a person. It crushes the soul, grinds it into the dirt until you no longer know where the gutter stops and you begin. I don’t want that for you. I won’t have that for you.”

I put my face to his neck, feeling the pulse there as I hid my eyes. “It is not the first time, Stoker. I have taken a life before. And I would take a thousand more if it meant I could save you.

“When I most had need of you, you did not leave me. Whatever this thing is that makes us different, this thing that makes quicksilver of us when the rest of the world is mud, it binds us. To break that would be to fly in the face of nature.”