He was angry with her, she knew. Guilt in regards to Adam was a new sensation for Eliza. Before now, her anger or withdrawal from him felt justified. They’d had a horrible courtship, if one could call it that. But the truth of the matter could not be ignored; he was courting her, if only in his odd, managing way. Eliza supposed as a battle-hardened knight turned immortal demigod – and didn’t that fact make her head spin – he had much to learn about tender feelings and tact. He’d lived his life either taking or demanding. Not that she was inclined to let him off that particular hook. Adam had been a bastard.

But he was also trying. And he was charming. Charming the knickers right off of me, she thought wryly. One kiss had her so hot and bothered that thinking about it left her slick and wanting. If she let him into her body? She wouldn’t be able to think straight. In truth, she wanted him. Quite desperately.

She’d hurt him when she’d refused to answer his questions. He was a proud man. Just as she was a proud woman. Had the tables been turned, she’d be stomping about, wanting to brain him with her reticule.

But the proprietary way in which he’d questioned her had irked, and Eliza had not particularly cared to answer him. Even so, the stiff set of his shoulders and his utter silence left her feeling unsettled. She’d elevated silence to an art form in her dealings with him before. Was this how he felt? Shut out and aggravated and craving a mere word or nod of acknowledgment? She swallowed down a lump of ugly emotion, but it still poured out of her with a sharp tongue. “My grandfather was a slave.”

Ahead of her Adam halted. The wind pressed his coat against his back, outlining the leanness of it. “A slave,” he repeated in a dull voice. “In the States?”

“Yes. On my mother’s side. His master set him free upon his death. Later, Grandpa Joseph served as an army surgeon in our Civil War.” A distinction of honor, even if he’d only been allowed to operate on his own kind.

Adam ducked his head and pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose.

In the silence, Eliza took a breath. Did he think less of her now? She did not rightly care. Only that, if he did, she’d leave him where he stood, the world and its problems be damned. Typhoid had swept through Boston and wiped out her entire family, save Grandda Aiden and herself. But she still missed Grandpa Joseph, missed them all. And she would never be ashamed of them.

“Lucien recognized me as a quarteron. I am a woman of color.”

Adam’s entire body tensed, and it seemed he squeezed the bridge of his nose harder. Then with a sigh, he turned, Eliza opened her mouth – to say what – she did not know, but he hauled her close and pressed his lips against her temple. “I am a wee shite, Eliza. I know that. An utter shite, do you hear?”

She heard. But he gripped her arms as though he wanted to sink into her skin. “I chained you.”

He sounded so woebegone that she nearly smiled, but she stood stiffly in his arms, not wanting to yield to his comfort. “Adam, it ought not to matter. Chaining another is wrong, regardless of who their grandparents were.”

“I know,” he said in a small voice, his words muffled in her hair. “And yet I’m compelled to admit that I still feel worse for knowing.”

She laughed. “Your honesty is refreshing, at the very least.”

Slowly, he backed away. His expression was haunted and contrite. “Please, Eliza. Let us be friends.”

His gilded eyes looked at her as though she were everything he’d ever need, and her heart grew soft and warm. She touched his cheek with the tips of her fingers. “All right. Friends.”

A lock of dark hair fell over his brow as he gave a sharp nod. “Good.” He let out a breath and captured her hand in his. “Very good.”

Together they walked down the sidewalk, the sun shining bright upon them. His sword was wrapped in a large satchel that he had strapped across his back, making him look more highwayman than gentleman. “We rest here until my strength is fully restored, and then we shall return to London and set up house.”

Eliza halted, her skirts swaying. “Set up house?”

He glanced at her, and the corner of his mouth quirked. “Steady on, Eliza. We shall need a base of operations to wage our war. And then I shall take great pleasure in cleaving Mellan and Mab’s heads from their bodies.”

“You’re very certain of yourself.”

“I’ve never been more motivated, dove.” It was not a nice look that resided in his eyes.

“How can you strike against Mab? Does she not own you?” Eliza could not refrain from asking.

But he did not frown as expected. “While we are handfasted, the only one who owns me is you, Eliza.”

She ignored the way that made her shiver and followed him once more.

“Decades ago,” he said conversationally, “I lived for a time as a clockmaker.”

Eliza made a noise of amusement. And he smiled faintly. “Yes, I know. But I really do love clocks. My clockwork hearts are created by magic, but I’d always wanted to know how to do it by hand. And so I learned my trade.”

“You enjoyed it.”

“Had I my way, I’d have lived my life out doing just that.”

Eliza found herself wishing he’d be able to one day.

It felt strange to walk once more along the quaint streets where Adam had pretended to live as a mere man for a few years. Time stood still here, houses and shops being repaired instead of pulled down for newer structures. Even the flowerpots gracing the mullioned windows looked the same to Adam, as if there would always be red geraniums decorating the bookshop or purple pansies hanging in the bakery’s window.