Capturing the Devil (Stalking Jack the Ripper #4)(35)
sawdust clinging to my hems, scalpel in hand. In fact, the rogue might prefer it.
He truly loved me for me.
There was none of that “he loved me in spite of” nonsense. Thomas saw who I was—flaws and all—and I was more than enough for him, as he was for me.
We needn’t complete each other; we complemented each other. He and I were whole on our own, which made us so much stronger when combined than two symbolic halves coming together to create one. Our bond had double the strength. Nothing could tear it apart. And after tomorrow, nothing would.
I allowed my focus to fall upon my new dressing gown, or lack thereof. The moment my family had left, I’d unwrapped the present, immediately understanding why Liza had warned me to wait. She’d gifted me with a sheer cream-colored robe embroidered with strategically placed wildflowers to hide certain parts of my anatomy. It came with a matching nightgown made entirely of sheer lace. Worn together, the garments hinted at nakedness, but worn separately they unabashedly flaunted my form.
Instead of feeling as if I were a walking scandal, I felt confident when I tried them on. My silhouette was visible as firelight flickered behind me. I tied the ribbons at my low neckline, then ran my hands down the sides of my soft curves, staring at my reflection. In less than a day, I’d wear it to my marital bed. The clock chimed off twelve bells, promptly derailing thoughts of tomorrow’s sleeping arrangements. I went back to my task. It was getting late and I needed to attempt to sleep before dawn.
Halfway through undoing my hair, I leaned forward, inspecting this pre-wedding version of myself in the looking glass, searching for any trace of panic or urge to flee. The only emotion I saw staring back was excitement. Pure and radiant. My cheeks were flushed, and there was an undeniable sparkle in my green eyes. I’d finally become the rose with soft petals and sharp thorns Mother always said I could be. The constant pang of nerves that plagued me at the thought of marriage was replaced with a serene calmness. An absolute void of worry or doubt.
I was ready to become Lady Audrey Rose Cresswell.
The name gave me power—perhaps because I’d chosen it for myself, it was no longer something I’d been born into, or something expected of me by my husband. Thomas had made it infinitely clear that I was free to be whoever I wanted to be, and the world could simply swallow an egg if it didn’t like it. My father didn’t seem particularly keen about the idea but deferred to my future husband, who refused to force his will upon anyone but himself. There was
power in choice. And I’d choose Thomas in each and every lifetime, if such things were possible.
I smiled to myself. “You’ve truly bewitched me, Cresswell.”
“Always nice to hear, though not entirely surprising, Wadsworth.” I startled back and dropped my last hairpin, meeting Thomas’s mischievous expression in the looking glass as he slipped into my room and quickly shut the door behind him. “Have you seen how handsome I look in this suit?”
I held a hand to my pounding heart as I recovered from the shock of him answering a sentiment he wasn’t meant to hear.
“Audrey Rose.” He bowed deeply, then stood, his gaze snagging on my robe.
Whatever quip he’d been about to say abandoned him as I swiveled on the bench, allowing the firelight to illuminate the outline of my body. I tried not to laugh at the slight flush creeping past his collar, or the way his throat bobbed as he quickly swallowed. “I—” He exhaled slowly, as if collecting his thoughts.
“You—”
“Yes?” I prompted when nothing else seemed forthcoming. I never thought I’d see the day when Thomas Cresswell was without words, and I relished this clumsy version of him.
“I realized I won’t be able to call you Wadsworth anymore.”
“Oh? And you decided sneaking into my sleeping chamber at midnight to tell me was the best course of action?” I patted the space next to me on the vanity’s bench. After the slightest hesitation, he crossed the room and joined me. I watched the fire crackle in the hearth across from us. “Are you the one whose feet are getting a bit chilly now?”
A smug look replaced whatever nerves he’d shown.
“Apologies for any disappointment, my love, but my toes are exceptionally warm this evening.” Thomas lifted his legs up, wiggling his shiny shoes around.
He pulled back his trousers, exposing a thick pair of knitted socks. “It’s simply going to be an adjustment, calling you Cresswell. I’m going to believe I’m talking to myself, not that I’m a bad conversationalist. I rather enjoy having heated debates with myself most days.”
He paused, fidgeting. I realized he was avoiding looking in my direction for too long. Of all the times he’d brashly flirted with me, I couldn’t believe how shy he was when confronted with a nightgown. He wasn’t nearly as flustered during our bath. Maybe it was the bed, looming silently beside us, that made him nervous.
“I tried calling Sir Isaac ‘Wadsworth’ earlier.” He flashed a quick smile. “He
wasn’t very agreeable to it, I’m afraid.”
I huffed a laugh. “Why does that not surprise me?”
Thomas took my hand and gently turned it over, tracing the lines of my palm, his expression suddenly serious. His jaw tightened. “There’s still time, you know
—if you’ve changed your mind. About… all this. I know this has all gone much faster than you’d have liked. Most engagements are at least six months; then there’s the matter of age. If you’d prefer to wait…”