The area was relatively safe. Many GIM lived here, mainly because Adam had purchased the bulk of the surrounding property and given them refuge. He had similar hamlets established around the world. And while Adam and Eliza were still being hunted, they’d likely have some warning before a strike.

Mellan had some honor. Now that Adam had the greater claim on Eliza through handfasting, the fae prince would likely bide his time, looking for other ways to entice her to his side.

Not bloody likely. Adam would be damned if the bastard got near her again. He merely needed something to trade. He understood Eliza’s ire in being treated as a commodity. Nor did he want to treat her as such. But facts were facts. The fae would not leave her be until they were satisfactorily appeased.

Problem was, Adam had no idea where to find this bloody golden horn. Or if it even existed, for he had a suspicion that Mellan was toying with Mab and using the myth of the horn as his bait.

Despite Adam’s worries, a sense of peace filled him as he walked along the cobbled walkway, their stones worn smooth from centuries of use, and without thinking much about it, he caught Eliza’s slim hand up with his once more.

He felt the shock of his action run down her arm and into her fingers, turning them stiff. For a moment, he thought she might pull away. But then she relaxed, inexplicably, wonderfully. She moved closer to him, walking at his side, and let him lace his fingers with hers. “Remember,” he said out of the side of his mouth, “we are man and wife here.”

“What a lovely town this is, darling,” she said in a voice that carried.

His contentment burst like a soap bubble. Right. She was merely acting the dutiful wife. He let her hand go.

“The shop is just ahead.” He gestured with his chin to the black shop sign that had a clockwork cog and the words Gimsire’s Clocks painted in gold.

“Gimsire?” Eliza murmured in amusement, her breath warm and soft against his collar.

Adam shrugged, as much as to relieve himself of the prickling heat that her nearness caused. “What can I tell you? I’m abysmal at coming up with names.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” a smile played about her full lips. “It’s quite clever to me. Very tongue-in-cheek.”

They stopped before the shop window, the faint outlines of clocks visible in the darkened store.

“So you lived as a man here?” She shook her head. “I confess, I expected you to live as a lord, taking up residence in Knightsbridge or some such place.”

It amused him to picture that. How very boring it would have been. “As king of the GIM, there were those who would see me topple, and I had no means to defend myself. Do you know, I was forbidden to raise a hand to any but my GIM?”

“So you had to hide?” Eliza said.

“When I came to London, yes. But I took the risk now and then, when the isolation of not living amongst others grew too great. And after all, few would think that a simple clockmaker was really the reviled and feared Adam of the GIM.”

“I suppose they wouldn’t.”

Slowly Adam trailed a finger over the cold glass, leaving a path in the condensation. Inside, his old worktable sat, still covered with cogs and springs, as if waiting for him to return. “I was sorry to leave this place.”

She spoke quietly, her body close to his, as though they were in their own world. “Then why did you?”

And there it was, the one thing he never thought about when he was with Eliza: the loneliness he’d felt for so many years. His voice came out in a rasp. “Time, Eliza, has never been my friend.” His reflection in the window was pale and watery. “Certain rules regarding my powers made it that I could not remain in this world for more than a few months at a time. It became tedious, keeping this shop and constantly leaving it.” Not to mention that it made him soul sick.

He turned and faced Eliza. “I paid a local to maintain the shop, keep it clean, and watch for vandals.”

Adam might have closed the shop altogether, but something inside of him could not fully let it go; he’d been happy playing the part of a respectable clockmaker, happy spending countless hours bent over his worktable, devoted to the creation of fine timepieces.

Eliza’s brown eyes deepened to purple – something that had been happening with greater frequency.

“What are you thinking?” he murmured, for she looked at him as though she’d seen into his soul.

“That you are surprisingly sentimental.” She touched his forearm, the contact sending a bolt of pleasure into his heart. “That you wear many hats. And I wonder how many have seen all of them.”

A lump rose in his throat. And he touched her with fingertips that were not quite steady. “Only you, Eliza.” And she was the only one who would, the only one he wanted to show his whole self to.

He bent his head, needing to kiss her, but just then Mrs. Wilson stepped out of her tea emporium, her back stooped and her face wizened. Though it ought not be, it was a shock, seeing her now. The woman he’d known as Mrs. Wilson had been a pretty, pink-cheeked widow with an easy smile and generous curves. Adam knew that she’d been perfectly willing to warm his bed. Had he been capable back then, he might have asked. Many a dark cold night, he’d longed for a soft body to help warm him, for a pair of willing arms to ground him to this world. He’d settled for paying her a generous stipend to clean his clock shop when he’d left town.

Through the delicate wrinkles that webbed Mrs. Wilson’s face, a pair of bright blue eyes locked onto him. Her thin mouth fell open and remained before she had the presence to close it. “Mr. Gimsire?” Then she shook her head. “Lord above, but you couldn’t be, you’re a young man.”