Chapter Twenty-Eight
Felix helped Maisie down from the landau, their hands still joined. Neither seemed ready to let go, as if the air between their palms might fracture if broken too soon.
“You’ll like it,” he said, nodding toward the narrow townhouse. “Treatment rooms in the back, waiting room in front. Just me here now—except Lilly.”
Maisie’s mouth curved, though her eyes thinned. “Lilly.”
He gave a quiet laugh. “She’s just learned how to howl. Come on.”
Before she could press further, he turned the key. The door swung open, filling the air with the scent of antiseptic and beeswax, sharp and clean. From somewhere inside came a faint whimper.
And then—
Crash!
A door slammed upstairs. Heavy boots pounded down.
Felix spun. “Alfie?”
Maisie froze where she stood.
A man appeared, papers clutched in one hand, a golden puppy trembling in the other. Not Alfie. Not anyone she knew.
Felix went taut, the change in him instant. “Who let you in?”
The intruder smiled, thin and deliberate. His accent curled around the words. “That’s who let you in, milord?”
The notorious Baron Wolfgang von List? Dangerous.
Felix’s body angled, a barrier without touching her. Maisie felt the shield of him, though her arm remained free at her side.
List’s gaze skimmed the room, noting details, storing them, before catching on her. A flicker. The barest pause. Then his mouth curved with a mockery that cut. “Well. You’ve been busy.”
Felix stepped forward. “What are you doing here?”
List didn’t answer. He crouched and set the puppy down. Lilly yipped once and tore across the floor straight into Felix’s arms. List stayed where he was, eyes on the papers he carried—one page in particular.
Maisie Morgenschein.
Felix snatched it before he could blink. “Put that down.”
List’s gaze slid back to Maisie. Longer this time. Searching. “Who is she?”
Maisie’s spine straightened. She walked to a chair, sat, calm as if she’d done this before. “Doctor?” Her voice carried clearly, steady. “Are you ready for me? I don’t have much time.”
Felix’s heart lurched. A mix of fear. And awe. Her mask slipped on without a seam.
List’s smirk twitched, faltered. “Doctor,” he repeated, his distaste curling sharp. He let the rest of the papers spill from his hand. Turned toward the door. “You protect this woman from Vienna. I’ll find out why.”
Felix’s voice struck hard, edged like steel. “Get out.”
The door shut with a slam. The bolt shot home, its echo ricocheting through the hall—less a sound than a warning fired.
Maisie hadn’t moved. Not until Lilly nosed her way into her lap, warm fur pressing against her skirts. Maisie bent her head, whispering, “So you’re Lilly.” Her fingers clung to the pup as though touch itself could steady her.
Felix dropped to one knee beside her, eyes fixed on the door. “That man—Baron Wolfgang von List. Prussian. A hound for the Kaiser. Suspicion alone is enough for him to ruin a man.”
Maisie tightened her hold around Lilly’s trembling body. “If he knows who I am—if he questions John’s guardianship—John could lose everything.”
Felix’s tone turned grimmer still. “And your protection. He stole my papers, my search for your name. He’ll use it against you.”
Maisie drew herself upright, voice steady though her hands shook. “Then let him believe the story. I’m your patient. Nothing else.”
Felix shook his head sharply. “Maisie—no. I’ve only just found you.”
“You’re not shielding me,” she said quietly. “You’re shielding the boy. And I will too.”
His jaw clenched, muscle taut beneath the skin, rage banked but burning. “Then every record of you here, every trace—gone.”
She reached for his hand, fingers light on his. “That won’t be enough. If they uncover the truth, they’ll strip John’s name away simply to blot me out.”
The silence closed in, heavy as stone.
At last, Felix broke it. His vow cut through like a blade. “Whatever mask we wear, I’ll protect you. But I will never pretend I don’t love you.”
Lilly sneezed—tiny, indignant, the sound startling in the thick hush.
Maisie looked up, met Felix’s eyes across the small weight in her arms. “Then we fight,” she said. “Quietly. Together.”
*
“That’s not right,” Felix said, his voice low, roughened. “I can’t even take you home. Not without painting a target on you.”
Maisie didn’t answer.
He stepped toward her, then stilled, as though closing the last inch between them might undo everything. “If anyone sees us—really sees us—they’ll know you’re not his aunt. They’ll ask questions. About you. About us.”
Still, silence.
Felix looked at her. The woman who once counted his pulse after kissing him breathless. The girl who lived within earshot of Vienna’s white horses yet never dared to climb astride one.
“I just found you,” he said, quieter now, ragged around the edges. “And already I’m told to pretend I haven’t. What kind of freedom is that?”
Maisie crossed the room—three quick steps—and caught his hand. Her grip was firm, familiar, too much and not enough.
“We can’t be seen,” she whispered. “Not yet. If List even suspects the truth about John, he’ll tear it all down. The marquisate, the boy’s future—it’ll vanish overnight.”
The name List burned through Felix’s chest. Always prowling and circling. He felt the old instinct rise: fight, shield, strike first. Not this time. Not with her in reach. He would take the blow himself before letting it fall on Maisie or John.
“But I want to be with you,” he said, raw.
“And I want you.” Her voice dropped, trembling but sure. “Every second. In daylight, not in shadows. But not if it costs the boy.”
His throat tightened. “I thought you were mine.”
Maisie’s eyes shone. She leaned close enough that he felt her breath. “Then prove it. Protect me like I’m yours. Hide me because I matter.”
His jaw locked. “So that’s what we are now? First lost… now hidden?”
Her smile was small, aching. “No. We’re a promise.”
He drew her closer—slow, deliberate—his lips brushing the crown of her head as if sealing a vow.
“Then I promise this,” he murmured against her hair. “When the boy is safe—when no one can twist our love into a weapon—I won’t just take you home. I’ll walk beside you in daylight. Every day. For the rest of my life.”
Her face pressed against his chest, hidden in the damp wool. Her arms cinched tighter, as though she could anchor herself in the rhythm of his breath. “Until then,” she whispered, steady but aching, “we endure the shadows.”
After Felix kissed her one last time, he opened the door and she left Maisie behind but became Lady Spencer as soon as she crossed the threshold. The coach had been waiting, and Maisie got in. Felix raised his hand in a signal, and the door creaked open to the lamplight.
She gathered herself, shoulders straightening, her expression calm as porcelain. One careful step, then another—down into the gaslit street with the grace of a woman who belonged everywhere.
But Felix knew. Knew how her fingers had clutched, how her voice had trembled when only he could hear. They were already acting a part. Pretending strength neither of them felt.
And somewhere out there—in the dark beyond the circle of lamplight—List was listening. Lurking and waiting for their missteps.