An Unexpected Peril (Veronica Speedwell, #6)

by Deanna Raybourn

“Well, they did break into the Curiosity Club together,” he pointed out. “Clearly there is some trust if they are committing casual crimes with one another in a foreign country.”

Yeah like u two lmao

but it was just as possible that she had considered abdicating to begin a new life with the woman she loved.

This was my prediction

It occurred to me then that, were it not for an accident of birth, a peculiarity of the law, I might have rightfully worn such things.

but when he caught sight of me, he stopped, and for a moment we were the only two people in the room, perhaps even on earth.

“My dear madame, one cannot build an empire without paying for it, and the cost is always too high, as France learned to her sorrow. Ask them all—Alexander, Caesar, Napoléon—they were authors of empires and what did it profit them? They died as all men must. And their empires crumbled to dust.” He waved his hands. “No, madame. The game of empires is one that cannot be won. That is why I am here tonight.”

The general’s hand crept higher, caressing the heavy satin draped over my thigh. Casually, I reached for my saltcellar, heaping the tiny spoon full.

EWWW

I nodded towards his dinner companion, Madame de Letellier. “Your partner is very pretty.” His mouth twitched. “Enchantingly so. But she did not spend the meal leering into my gown. The general seems entirely taken with you.” “Oh, he is. We mean to marry in the spring. We shall name our first child after you if it is a boy. Or a girl. Revelstokia.” He gave a snort of suppressed laughter behind his gloved hand. There was something utterly delicious about sharing a jest with him, a secret laugh that no one else in that company could understand.

AWWWW they’re so cute

I gripped the pen in my hand so tightly I heard it crack. A footman stepped forward, blushing for his tardiness at not announcing the newcomer as soon as he arrived. “His Royal Highness,” the footman proclaimed. “The Prince of Wales.”

Have you met him?” She did not say my father’s name. She did not have to. “Never.” “Would you like to? Properly, I mean. And privately. It could be arranged. After all, I suppose I owe you something for what you have done tonight.” I thought of that sharp twist of longing I had felt when I looked at him. Was it the call of blood to blood? Or was it simply the childish wish to be recognized, to be owned by one’s begetter? I imagined that brilliant winsome smile turned upon me as I basked in its warmth, the kindly eyes crinkling as he looked at me. “No,” I told her. The empress gave me a long look. “Are you certain?”

She gave me a last look over her shoulder. “Thank you, Veronica.” “You are welcome, Your Imperial Majesty.” Her smile was gentle. “My nieces and nephews all call me Aunt Vicky.”

awww

“You look like something the cat sicked up,” she told me cheerfully. “What an enchanting person you are,” I replied.

Durand was clearly as big a romantic as Stoker. “You read poetry, don’t you?” I asked. He blinked at me. “Yes. I write it also.” “Of course you do,” I murmured. Stoker shot me a villainous look. “Veronica, contain your worse impulses. The captain is clearly distraught.”

LMAO

“Miss Speedwell, I told you not to attempt it. I will not shoot you. I will shoot Mr. Templeton-Vane instead.” She had, unerringly, found my Achilles’ heel. The fact that Stoker had very recently been shot weighed on my conscience. It was the latest in a long line of such misadventures, but it had been the most serious—far too serious to permit a repeat performance. I would take chances with my life, but not his.

<333

“I certainly hope you do not mean to suggest this is my fault,” I began. “Suggest? No, I am stating it outright,” he told me. “I am saying it plainly. If you like, I will have it printed on the front page of the Daily Harbinger or spelt out in electric lights in Piccadilly Circus or tattooed on my backside—which, I would like to remind you, is in fact naked at this moment.”

HAHAHAHAH

rara avis,

equanimity?”

This was no mere momentary gloom, I realized. He was, for perhaps the first time in our acquaintance, well and truly in despair. I was silent a long moment. He had been angry with me before. When his dark moods were upon him, anger was his frequent companion. I bore the vagaries of his temper with composure. His flashes of irritation were no source of bother to me; in fact, if I am honest—as I have sworn within these pages to be—I will admit that when his ire rose, it more often than not roused some rather different emotion in me. Because I knew his rage, even in a burst of white-hot passion, would never cause him to inflict harm, I could view it from a position of detachment, appreciation even. It would have been a rare woman not to enjoy the sight of his muscles taut with emotion, his eyes flashing sapphirine fury, his hair tumbled as he thrust his hands through it. I had even, upon occasion, deliberately prodded his patience to the snapping point in order to turn that hectic emotion to some more personally enjoyable activity. But this reaction was calculated in its coldness. This was no sound and fury that signified nothing. This was a withdrawal, a pulling back within himself like a wounded thing, guarding and protecting himself. From me.

“I am sorry,” I said softly. “You are quite right. I did fling myself headlong into this endeavor without ever believing the consequences would come to this. And I did so knowing that you would follow. As you always do.”

“Ennui.”

“But most of all, I think you are afraid of becoming bored with me.” “With you?” My laugh emerged on a sob. “How, I implore you, could any woman be bored with you? You are changeable as the weather, Revelstoke Templeton-Vane. I could no more predict your moods than I could those of a volcano. I wake each day never knowing if I will find you wreathed in smiles or taking out your grievances on a stuffed walrus. You are the least boring man ever fashioned by Nature.” “Perhaps you will not become bored with me,” he amended. “But you could well become bored of who you are when you are with me.” “Who am I when I am with you?” I whispered into his shoulder. “A domesticated creature,” he replied. “One who fears her wings have been clipped. You’ve no liking for cages, Veronica. And I think you fear that in allowing yourself to love freely, you will find one of your own making.”

“Veronica, I know you said you would never marry, but—” “Do not dare,” I hissed, thrusting a pointed finger between his ribs. “Do not even think of proposing marriage to me under these circumstances.” “Then under which?” he asked, his voice lit with sudden hopefulness. “None! I thought you understood me,” I blazed back at him. “Did you think I spoke in jest when I said I would never marry you?” “No, but I thought—” “You thought I would change my mind,” I jibed, thoroughly enraged. “You thought I was a woman, inconstant as the moon, and I would be persuaded by pretty speeches or spirited lovemaking or some other romantic nonsense. But I will not be swayed,” I warned him, poking again hard. “I will not be swayed.” “Very well,” he said. “But it does not always have to be settled domesticity or murderous pursuits. We might travel a little, you know. Find a meeting place in between dull routine and homicidal peril.” “I suppose,” I said.

dishabille.

I wrote to the princess and told her that one must befriend grief. It is a companion that never leaves.”

“Friend?” I asked gently. She caught her breath but did not look at me. “I understand,” I told her. She canted her head, giving me a thoughtful smile. “I think that you do. Our relationship was not one I could ever acknowledge openly, you understand. Such a thing is not possible here in England. In the Alpenwald, it would be utterly unthinkable. But she was the love of my life.” “That is why you could not bring yourself to agree to marry Maximilian,” I murmured. “Because your heart lay elsewhere.” “How did you know?” “I found the sketch—tucked under the endpaper of Alice’s ledger. The sketch was illuminating and clearly drawn by someone who loved you intimately.”

Aw:'(

“Will you be happy with such a choice?” She regarded me in obvious surprise. “Happy? I am a princess. It is not my place to be happy. It is my place to govern. And I will do so as Alice and I discussed. I will bring my country into the new century with new ideas. There will be resistance to our progress, and I am prepared for that,” she added, her gaze steely. “My own personal happiness matters nothing when weighed against the well-being of my people.”

“You are grown sentimental,” I said lightly. “It must be the romantic in you. Next minute you will be quoting Keats at me.” His mouth, warm and supple and infinitely skilled, curved into a smile. “‘You are always new; The last of your kisses was ever the sweetest.’”

“I am sorry, Stoker.” “For what?” His gaze searched my face. “That I cannot give you this—what Gisela and Maximilian have done today. If you need this, this proper and legal thing in the eyes of the world, I understand. I will release you,” I told him even as I clutched him fiercely. He covered my hands with his own. “Will you change your mind about marriage?” “Never,” I told him. I paused, wondering if I would have to give voice to my feelings, if I could give voice to them. But it seemed he understood much of what was in my heart. “Neither will I,” he replied. “And even if I did, I would not do that to you. Veronica, I have no need to pin those wings of yours to a card and put a label to you—Mrs. Revelstoke Templeton-Vane. You are, and always will be, Veronica Speedwell. And I could never wish you different than you are. Now, let us go back to London where we belong.”

I love them

“Oh, really? Tell me,” I urged. “Better yet. I will show you.” He leant near to my ear, his lips brushing my lobe. “‘I will imagine you Venus tonight and pray, pray, pray to your star like a heathen,’” he murmured. “God bless John Keats,” I replied fervently.