From The Ashes (The Ministry of Curiosities #6)(52)

"We'll go to the hospital now and warn him," I said.

He shook his head. "I'm taking you home first."

"That'll waste valuable time. No, Lincoln, we'll go to Barts. Besides," I said when he began to protest, "I'm safer with you. If the killer is someone on the committee, they'll be expecting me to return to Lichfield now while you continue to investigate. Won't they?"

I took his grunt as agreement. "Keep close to the buildings," he said. "Stay on my left away from the road, and stay alert."

A moment later, a man with his hat pulled low walked toward us. Lincoln steered me to the wall of the bank building. With my back pressed to the bricks and Lincoln's body so close that I could feel his warmth, we waited until the man passed.

Lincoln should have stepped back to release me but he did not. He moved even closer and I felt a small tremble ripple through him. It echoed through my body. I hadn't been this close to him in so long. Every night as I lay in my bed in the castle I'd been assaulted with memories of him kissing me. I'd wanted him near me with every fiber of my being, wanted his kisses, his touches, his heated looks.

Yet I'd shoved them away just as hard when I regained my wits. I'd told myself it would never happen again, and that if it did, I would not be swept up and sucked into his whirlwind again. I would resist.

Yet now…now I felt too confused to do anything but stand there and watch, looking for any small sign of how he truly felt.

He swallowed. His lips parted. He leaned in and the breath left my body, taking all common sense with it. Lincoln's lips skimmed lightly across mine. "Charlie," he whispered so softly that the breeze almost took it.

And then he clasped my face in both his hands and kissed me.





Chapter 13





I placed my palms against Lincoln's chest and shoved. He stopped kissing me. "Don't," I growled, punching him in the shoulder. "Don't do that. Don't, don't, don't." I punctuated each word with a punch and ended with another shove.

He stepped back. I strode past him and continued toward Barts.

He fell into step beside me. "Sorry. I…" He dragged his hand through his hair. "I'm sorry."

"I don't want your apology," I spat. "I want…" What did I want? I didn't have a clue so merely shook my head.

"I couldn't help myself." Oh, wonderful. He chose now to be talkative. "I was relieved to see you unscathed this morning and couldn't control the urge."

"Ha! You are the most disciplined, self-controlled person I know. You could have resisted."

"Perhaps I didn't want to." He stopped suddenly and caught my arm, pulling me to a halt. The hospital gate with the statue of Henry VIII above it loomed ahead.

I followed his gaze to see Gus sitting on the driver's seat of one of Lincoln's coach's. Lincoln scanned the vicinity then headed over.

"Charlie! Fitzroy!" Gus beamed upon seeing us. "Thank Christ you got out. But how?"

"The committee have spies everywhere," Lincoln said, eyeing the porter at the gate from beneath his thick lashes. "I believe the hospital is being watched. Whether our visit to Bell yesterday triggered the spy to alert their master or mistress, or whether last night's scuffle did, remains to be seen. Either way, Bell is being commissioned to find a way to bring the dead back to life. He admitted as much."

"Thought so," Gus said. "Found the papers you left behind. They don't say much, and there ain't no names or signatures we can read, but it's as clear as a bell that he's got a secret commission that he ain't allowed to talk about." He chuckled. "Clear as a Bell. Get it?"

I rolled my eyes. "So where's Seth?"

"Inside, tryin' to convince Bell to get out of the city. It ain't safe for him."

Lincoln took my hand and placed it on his arm. "Come with me. Hold onto your orb and keep watch. Gus, wait here."

"I was doin' that anyway," he muttered as we walked off.

"Clutch your stomach as if you're in pain," Lincoln muttered as we approached the porter.

I did and moaned for effect. The porter was a different fellow to the one from yesterday, fortunately. It didn't mean he hadn't been given our descriptions by Dr. Bell or the other porter. He could well be one of many spies watching the hospital.

Lincoln strode straight up to him. "My wife needs a doctor," he said. "Where do I go?"

The porter inspected me with a keen eye. He probably saw dozens of ill people a day, many of them ragged and poor, unable to afford a doctor to visit them at home. While we wouldn't look that desperate, perhaps having only one coat between us might convince him we needed to come to Barts. He was taking far too long, however, and scrutinizing us much too closely.

I moaned louder and doubled over.

"Hurry up, man!" Lincoln snapped. "She needs help now or she'll lose the baby."

"Through there, cross the courtyard," the porter said, pointing. "Follow the signs."

Lincoln circled his arm around my waist and I leaned against him. "Come, my dear. We'll be there soon."

"Is he still watching?" I asked once we'd gone several feet.