A hansom delivered them, none too soon to suit Quincannon, to his rooms on Leavenworth. The one time Sabina had been there previously she had commented on his seductive — her word — taste in furnishings, especially the large gilt parlor mirror adorned with mostly nude naiads that he’d purchased on a whim. This time she said nothing, simply perched on the velveteen settee after allowing him to take her wrap.
“You needn’t bother with coffee, John.”
“Brandy instead? Sherry?” He kept bottles of both on hand for his lady visitors, when he’d had lady visitors other than Sabina.
“Nothing, thank you. Just tell me what’s on your mind. You’re as nervous as a cat tonight.”
He sat down beside her. His collar felt tight; he resisted the urge to loosen it, fingered his ear instead. His mouth was very dry. “I have been doing quite a lot of thinking,” he said. “You and I...”
“Yes?”
“You and I... well, we’ve been together, partners, for six years now—”
“Almost seven.”
“Yes, almost seven. And we have been keeping company outside the office for nearly a year now—”
“Eight months, to be exact.”
She was not making this any easier for him. He coughed to clear his throat, started over. “Life is short, and we’ve reached a point when... ah... when neither of us is getting any younger—”
“So good of you to remind me!”
“I didn’t mean that the way it sounded,” he said hastily. “I only meant...” What had he meant? His mind seemed to have gone temporarily blank. He shook his head. “Sabina...”
“Yes?”
“Sabina...”
“Yes, John?”
“Sabina...”
“For heaven’s sake, what is it?”
Now his collar felt very tight. “I’ve given this a great deal of thought and I... have something to ask you.”
“Go ahead, then.”
“Will you...” The words seemed to clog in the vicinity of his esophagus. Say it, you blasted dolt! Say it before you choke on it!
And say it he did, after another harrumph to clear his voice box. “My dear Sabina, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
She stared at him for several seconds and then burst out laughing.
He was taken aback. “You find the proposal amusing?” he said with wounded dignity.
“No, no. I’m sorry, my dear, I couldn’t help it. The expression on your face, like a little boy with a bad tummy ache... oh, my.”
“Faugh. Does that mean your answer is no?”
“On the contrary,” she said. “I accept your proposal, John Frederick. Of course I’ll make an honest man of you.”
She kissed him soundly, passionately. And then she stood, and to his utter astonishment, she took his hand and led him into his own bedroom.