“You said you didn’t want to talk about what happened when we got home,” he reminded her. “I couldn’t face you when that was all I wanted to talk about.”
“I was wrong,” Charlotte admitted. “I was stupid. I want the other Dexter back, the one who fixes my ears, and cares whether I come back when I’m expected, and holds me in the dark and makes me want to feel things for the first time in years.” Saying it aloud took a weight from her heart.
He grinned and brushed his lips against hers. “It really was also that I was just so busy. The whole team was. It was quite an undertaking, getting the whole system installed in such a short time. I’ll probably have to return within the next year or so to make adjustments and take some readings. Particularly if I want to duplicate it elsewhere.”
“I’ll try harder to remember the name. Hardison’s Multi-hypercordal Photophosphorescent—no, I’ve got it wrong again, I can tell by the look on your face.”
Dexter bit his lip, then said the name again for her. “Multi-hyalchordate Phototransphorinating Seismograph.”
“I do know the seismograph part,” she assured him. “If I can ever get that far.”
“You won’t need to. The men have already given it another name, and I suspect that’s the one that will stick.” He sounded resigned, but not too upset about it.
“What do they call it?”
Dexter sighed. “The Glass Octopus.” She snickered before she could help it, and he shook his head with a mock frown. “For shame, Charlotte. If people could only be bothered to remember their Greek and Latin roots . . .”
“You are like a balm to my soul,” she murmured at him, stroking a hand up his cheek then feathering her fingers through his forelock. Dexter closed his eyes for a moment, leaning into the caress. Free from his gaze, Charlotte felt brave enough to take her final leap.
“I love you,” she whispered, “and I want to keep being your wife. I want to go home with you and clutter up your bedroom with negligees and dancing slippers and frivolous hats.”
Dexter opened his eyes and Charlotte quickly pressed two fingers over his lips before he could interrupt. Then she closed her eyes, because the look on his face was too much to take without bursting into tears, and if she did that she’d never finish.
“I want to plant an outrageous rose garden, since you said you didn’t have one. With benches for trysting. I also want to have your children, but no more than three at the most. I want you to make me a new dirigible, in pretty colors, because I want people to see it this time, I intend to start a new craze for them. I want to do something useful, but not this anymore. Not being a spy. I’m not sure what, exactly. And as a shorter-term goal, I’d like to spend the trip home in this bunk with you, making love day and night until the crew becomes concerned for our safety and we’re both sore in places we didn’t know existed.”
She punctuated the end of her speech with a huff of air, expelling the rest of her nervous energy, then dared a peek up at Dexter. He was propped on his elbows, looking down at her, blinking in amazement.
She blinked back at him. The silence grew until she couldn’t take it anymore.
“Well?” she risked.
“I prefer to keep my bedroom tidy,” Dexter said solemnly. Charlotte’s heart soared.
“The frivolous hats are not negotiable,” she insisted, ignoring the break in her tear-stricken voice. “I shall require them if I’m to be a fashionable young matron.”
“Oh. Then perhaps I could design a special revolving hat stand. Or better still,” he posited, warming to the idea, “outfit an entire room as a wardrobe, with cranks and levers to move the shelves about, and—”
“Dexter.”
“I love you, Charlotte.”
“I love you,” she said again. “What a lucky thing we happened to marry one another.”
Kissing ensued, but after a few seconds Dexter lifted his head and nuzzled the tip of her nose with his own, looking delighted.
“Mrs. Hardison.”
Charlotte grinned. “Lady Hardison, if you please.”
“Good heavens. I’ve created a baroness.”
“You have indeed. Now whatever shall you do with her?”
Charlotte hardly needed to ask. She already knew Dexter had a limitless supply of ideas.