“Shhh, I’m sorry,” murmured Thomas, his arms coming around her. “I thought you heard me coming. I knew I’d find you here.”

She snuggled back against him. Above them, thunder pealed. “I was thinking.”

“Thinking about what?”

She licked her lips and decided she didn’t want to lie to him. “Death.”

“Cheery.”

“Do you think it’s a blessing or a curse to know that death is coming for you?”

He took a moment to answer. “I would say it’s neither, just a fact of life. Death is coming for all of us eventually.”

“I mean, what if you were given a certain amount of time to live. If someone told you, ‘Get your affairs in order because you’ll be dead within the week.’ Would that be a blessing or a curse?”

“Where is this coming from, Isabelle?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know.”

Thomas turned her to face him. She stared up into his face and studied the shadows that shifted on it. Even in the darkness she could see concern in his expression. With Thomas she never needed her talent for empathy. His emotions were almost always clear to her. “Is there something you want to talk about?”

“Did you mean what you said in the alley? You know, when you said you loved me?”

Lady, why had she mentioned that? The words had just tumbled from her lips like she’d been asking him the time. It proved how badly she needed to know, even though this was a place she shouldn’t want to go, not now.

He stilled and stared down at her. No sound but the storm crashing through the heavens reached their ears. Finally, he moved, brushing the hair away from her face and hooking it behind her ear. “I don’t say things I don’t mean.”

“Say it again, then.”

A long, heavy moment passed in which Isabelle kicked herself a thousand times. Finally, Thomas drew her close, wrapping his arms around her and enveloping her in his warmth, driving the chill of death from her bones.

“I love you, Isabelle.” He whispered it near her ear. A hot rush of emotion flowed over her. “Don’t leave when this is over, Isabelle.” Whisper. “I want to keep you forever…Isabelle.”

Tears pricked her eyes. She leaned into him, burying her face in his shoulder and inhaling the scent of him—the light woody note of his cologne, the clean aroma of his soap, the essential scent of Thomas.

Isabelle wanted to tell him that she loved him back, but her throat had closed up. Anyway, all her words were gone. They’d all been stolen by Boyle who was coming to steal her life soon as well.

They stood wrapped together in the Conservatory with the storm battering the glass ceiling and walls until Thomas tipped her chin up and stared into her face.