Oh, Raymond, I do love you.

Her words echoed in his head, even as he lay, sated, head on her breast. Triumph surged through him, closely followed by sheer joy. She loved him. She wouldn't be marrying him out of obligation or fear; not from necessity or at her aunt's behest. She would marry him because she loved him.

His heart beat against hers; he was flush with happiness. He honestly couldn't remember the last time he felt so good, so replete. He pressed his lips to her soft skin, tracing the path of her collarbone. She sighed beneath him, her hand stroking his back.

This time was immeasurably precious; he felt he could lie here forever with her. He couldn't stop kissing her, letting himself taste her, keeping them as close as possible. He wanted to tell her everything he felt, give voice to the euphoria that fizzled in his veins, but…he couldn't. Couldn't let himself go, somehow, even in this flush of happiness.

He hoped that she knew, as he held her in his arms, that she had become everything to him.

"Raymond?" Her voice was quiet, a little shy, reticent. He suddenly thought that he might have hurt her, that while he was laying here, basking in peaceful afterglow, she might be in pain and afraid.

He propped himself up over her, looking intently into her face. "Lizzy, my sweet, are you…quite well?"

She smiled up at him, a touch tremulously. "Quite fit, thank you, Raymond. I was just wondering…I mean…is it always like this? Between two people?"

"I think I can say with some surety, Elizabeth, that it has never been like this, ever before," he said fervently. "I have never been like this, felt this way, before."

Her smile became a sunbeam. "Oh," she breathed happily. "How wonderful it all is. I never could have imagined…well…"

He grinned and leaned in to kiss the tip of her nose. "Have you spent a lot of time, my sweet, imagining this sort of thing?"

She flushed an appealing bright pink. "Don't tease me, Red," she chastised. "It isn't fair."

"I apologize," he offered gravely. "You're just…so lovely."

And she was, all cream and rose, rich dark curls clustering around her face, soft and silky beneath him. He kissed her sweet lips again, just because he wanted to. Then, with a sigh, he pushed away, disentangling them until he was seated beside her.

"We must get you home," he said regretfully. "Before your aunt begins to worry."

She brought her arms up hastily, and he smiled down at her warmly. "Don't hide yourself from me, my sweet," he said. "There's no need."

"I still have my stockings on," she said, in shocked realization.

His smile turned to a grin. "And you look very fetching, Lizzy."

She flushed and looked away. He touched her cheek and when she looked back at him, kissed her softly.

"You're absolutely beautiful, Elizabeth. I don't want you to ever feel otherwise, especially when you're with me."

"Oh Raymond," she said, relaxing again. "You're beautiful, too." She grinned. "Handsome, I mean, of course."

"I'm pleased that you think so," he said. He reached down and snagged her chemise from the pile of her clothing on the floor. "Here, love," he said absently, missing the glow on her face at the words. "You'd better get dressed — no matter how lovely you are."

He stood, buttoning his flies and rearranging his trousers. He took Elizabeth's hand and helped her up off the sofa. She'd pulled the chemise over her head, and smoothed it over her hips as she stood. Her every move was mesmerizingly sensual; he'd never really thought about the appeal of watching someone dress.

He helped her with the tapes of her gown when she asked, a little shyly; fluffed out the back of her skirts with his own sleek feel of her hips. She smacked his hand away with a little laugh.

"I thought I was leaving." she chided.

"I wish that you didn't have to," he admitted, wrapping his arms around her.

She sighed and rested her head on his shoulder. "I feel the same way," she said softly.

"Soon enough," he said, withdrawing reluctantly. "Soon, you'll live here, with me."

Her smile was bright. "Soon enough," she agreed.

She felt…incandescent. This feeling that coursed through her was…beyond anything she could have imagined. The beauty of the passion between herself and Raymond had astonished her, left her warm and floaty and happy. Perhaps a little sore and achy in strange new ways, but that discomfort paled in comparison to her joy.

They were linked, now, the two of them, in a way that exceeded the strictures of society. She felt so close to Raymond, so aware of the world around her. His scent intoxicated, the late afternoon sunlight was golden and lovely. Colours were bright and pretty; the very air seemed to sparkle. She loved him so very ardently that she was surprised it wasn't visible there, in the room between them.

She saw him wince slightly as he adjusted his trousers and frowned, remembering that he was in danger, now. That someone had tried to harm him, kill him. Take him from her.

That simply would not do; it was…unbearable.

"Raymond," she said seriously. "You must be very careful until I can locate Tom."

He raised an eyebrow and gripped her shoulders. "I don't know what you're thinking, Elizabeth," he answered. "But I suggest that you think again. I'm not going to hide at home while you go traipsing through town hunting for a killer."

"I can't have you hurt," she insisted, "not on my account. You're too important to me, Raymond."

"You are no less important to me, Lizzy," he pointed out gently. "I'm not about to let you loose into the clutches of this dastardly criminal."

"He won't hurt me," she said. "Isn't that obvious? If all this is because he imagines himself in love with me…"

"Anyone ruled by their emotions in such a way is unpredictable," Raymond insisted. "There's no guarantee he won't become violent."

"I will be perfectly safe," she insisted, panic rising in her chest. "You need do nothing at all — I will settle this matter. I will find Tom, and I will report him to Scotland Yard."

"It's not so simple," he replied sternly. "You have no proof, only our suppositions. I will find this young upstart and get a confession from him."

"That's a job for the constables, not for you," she said. She worried for him, worried so much. "They'll take him up on my word, I'm sure."

"Elizabeth," he said, his voice dangerously quiet. "You will do nothing on your own, is that understood? As your fiancé, I am afraid I must insist. We will get you home safely and there you will stay until I can decide what we should do."

"Oh, but Raymond…" She trailed off, quietened by the look on his face. She had no doubt he was capable of reporting all to Aunt June and setting a guard on her, if necessary.

She would drop it, for now — and see what she decided they should do, when she'd had a chance to think about it. She smiled at him ruefully. Between the two of them, they'd quite ruined the delicate mood that lay between them.

"Home, then?" she asked. "I fear it's growing late."

"Home," he agreed.

It had been a quiet enough night, although Elizabeth had found herself caught up in dreams. Scandalous dreams, of she and Raymond, and kisses and passion and love. She wondered, over her morning tea, staring out the window, if this was normal. If every married person carried these thoughts within them all the time, as they went about their days.

It was mystifying.

"Elizabeth!" A sharp snap from her Aunt and she jumped guiltily.

"I'm sorry, Aunt," she murmured politely, turning to face the older woman with a smile.

"Not brooding about your engagement, I hope," June said. "It's all for the best you know, and really, you seem quite fond of his lordship."

"I am…content with my lot," Elizabeth admitted. "If I must marry at all, this seems a reasonably good outcome."

"I am glad you've decided to be sensible," her aunt said approvingly. "As your guardian, I am quite pleased with how things have turned out, and I know your papa would be thrilled."

"Oh," Elizabeth said earnestly. "Do you think so, Aunt? I have wished he were here, to talk things over with, so often in recent days."

Aunt June smiled and patted her hand. "I believe he would be most content, Eliza. His dear friend and his dearest daughter, making a match of it? Nothing would have made him happier."

Elizabeth's eyes grew damp, and she smiled back tremulously. It was her fervent hope that her aunt was correct, and that her papa would be happy. Once his murderer was brought to justice.

A gentle cough announced the morning's mail; Aunt June sighed and turned to collect the tray to look through the cards and invitations.

"I have no doubt there will be a flood of interested visitors over the next few days." Aunt June began to flip through the envelopes. "Ah, here's one for you, Eliza. From your friend Meera, no doubt, eager for the story."

Elizabeth took the folded sheet with a smile and looked down. That wasn't Meera's hand, but it was familiar, she thought, then her breath caught as she broke the seal and saw the contents of the missive.

Dearest Elizabeth,

I know what you must be thinking; what your Lord Blackwood must have told you. Please believe me — it is all a grave misunderstanding. The last thing in the world I would do is hurt you or your dear father. You must give me a chance to explain.

Please, meet me at your father's storehouse this morning at 11 o'clock and I will tell you all that I know. I would not have lies come between us; would not have you shackled to a villain such as Blackwood.

If you care for me at all, please come.

Yours,

Thomas Keen

Her heart quivered in her chest. This earnest letter was just what she needed to be certain of the truth at last. She could get the truth from Tom, she knew she could. She could be quick and clever…and maybe, one tiny corner of her mind whispered, maybe he was innocent, after all.

"Meera has invited me to visit Lackington's bookshop with her this morning, Aunt," she said, keeping her countenance clear and even. "May I go?"

"Certainly," her aunt replied with a smile. "An outing with a friend will do you good, dear. I don't think I'll accompany you — you must take Sally with you, instead."

"Of course, Aunt," Elizabeth murmured, intending to do no such thing at all. It wasn't particularly likely the two would come across each other in the house while she was gone.

It was all too easy to slip out and hail a hansom. She thought to herself that she could make her way in the world, despite what everyone seemed to think. She was, after all, a woman of the world now.

It seemed to take no time at all to arrive at the storehouse where Papa's relics and antiquities, collected from their travels, were kept. She paid the driver and disembarked, forgetting to ask him to wait in her eagerness.

She slipped inside the building; all was dim, even in the daylight, and dust hung thick in the air. No one was immediately apparent, and she walked further inside, calling out.

"Tom? Are you here?"

He appeared before her suddenly, popping out from behind a crate to grasp her hands urgently. His face lay in shadow, and she could not ascertain what he was thinking.

"Elizabeth," he said, relief clear in his voice. "I knew you'd come."

"Tom," she said, hesitant now, in the face of things. "You must tell me what is going on. Tell me what happened between you and my father."

"You're here," he answered instead. "I knew that you trusted me, that you believed in me."

"I want answers," she said firmly. "Tell me what happened."

"Elizabeth…you must understand." He stepped even closer to her, and she could see his face now, earnest and pleading. "I never wanted to hurt anyone, I just…Oh, Elizabeth, I love you, don't you see? Don't you love me?"

Sorrow welled inside her. "Tom, I–"

"You see," he continued in a rush. "Your papa, he didn't understand. He thought I wasn't good enough for you, but Elizabeth he was wrong, so wrong. For who could love you better than I?"

"You did do it, after all," she said, tears brewing despite her best efforts. "You murdered my father."