lending her a semblance of normalcy. The housekeeper smiled sadly at her and
left the room, scrubbing her cheeks and muttering under her breath.
Kind woman. I pray she receives a blessing.
Then Katerina continued her preparations on her own. There didn't seem to
be a hairbrush anywhere in the apartment, so she borrowed her husband's comb
and smoothed out the tangles. She gathered up as many of the scattered hairpins
as she could find and simply pulled her hair back away from her face, twisting it
into a bun.
She struggled into her boots, groaning as she bent forward, and the scabs stretched.
“Do you need any help, love?” Christopher asked, hurrying towards her.
She waved him away. “The scabs feel solid today, and I didn't want to risk the new scars on my back becoming too rigid as they form,” she informed him.
"This discomfort is necessary, I'm afraid.”
A strange blend of understanding and anger crossed Christopher's face. “I
see,” he said.
She sent him a rueful smile and returned to tugging her boot laces. Then she
tried to rise, but a jolt of pain locked her into a bent-over position, like a crone.
This time she did reach out to her husband, and he helped her to rise without
complaint, taking advantage of her proximity to lay his hands gently on her hips
and kiss her forehead. Katerina regarded his face for a long moment.
Christopher shook his head. “I can't resist you, love.” His lips claimed hers.
Pleasurable heat flared in Katerina's core, radiating outward to her extremities. If their stomachs hadn't growled in tandem, who knew what kind of shenanigans they might have committed.
Christopher smiled ruefully with one side of his mouth, and Katerina
compressed her lips in a similar expression. Then he took her arm and led her from the room. They stepped into the growing darkness as a brilliant orange sunset broke over London.
A hansom waited in the street, and Christopher escorted her to it, handing her
up into the seat. She groaned and bit her lip at the uncomfortable movement but
reminded herself of the importance of remaining flexible. When her husband joined her, she slipped her hand into his. The driver snapped the reins over the
back of his bay gelding, and they began their journey across town.
Less than twenty-four hours ago I defied my father to attend a poetry party
with my secret suitor of only a couple of weeks. Now we're married. My whole
life has changed in the blink of an eye, so fast I still feel dizzy with it. Thankfully, it was dizziness of the mind, not the body. Without a corset cutting off her breath, no longer bleeding, and knowing, objectively at least, that she was safe,
her hands and feet had never felt so steady.
On the other hand, the temperature had dropped with the approaching night.
Her shawl had been forgotten in the parlor of the Wilders' home and her warm
winter coat remained in the Valentino house, abandoned for good. She shivered.
While they traveled, Christopher engaged her in conversation, asking, “Now
then, love, clearly we can't stay in my cramped lodgings for long. How would you like to live? Do you prefer rooms in a hotel or a house?”
Katerina blinked at yet another new and unfamiliar thought. “I scarcely
know. I've never lived in 'rooms.' My father rented a house when he and Mother came to England, and we've lived in that very house ever since. It's the only living quarters I know.”
“Is it very large?” he asked.
“Yes.” She swallowed at the memory of the cavernous space. Sounds echoed
