Garrett had laughed. “I’m sure he will when he’s able. However, he’s already warned me that he will be much occupied for the next few days.”

“Yes,” Havelock had said, sobering, “These are tumultuous times, with scandal and upheaval in both the Home Office and the Metropolitan Force. And your Mr. Ransom seems to be a key figure in all of it. He’s gained renown in a remarkably short period of time. I fear his days of wandering through London unrecognized are over.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Garrett had murmured, rather stunned by the notion. Ethan was so accustomed to absolute privacy and freedom—now he was coping with his altered circumstances.

She had no opportunity to ask him, however. During the next two weeks, Ethan didn’t come to see her even once. A note arrived almost daily, consisting of a few hasty sentences scrawled on a correspondence card. Sometimes the note was accompanied by a fresh flower posy or a basket of violets. Garrett was obliged to hunt through newspaper reports to track his daily whereabouts. The Times had shocked the nation with a series of articles concerning the illegal private detective force that had been operating out of the Home Office. Ethan was constantly on the move as his participation was required in multiple investigations and confidential meetings.

It was bad enough for Jenkyn to have been implicated in unauthorized intelligence gathering. But when it was reported that he had been cooking up entrapment plots and conspiring with violent radicals and known criminals—all to destroy the prospect of Home Rule for the Irish—it caused a public furor. Jenkyn and his secret operation was disbanded, and most of his active officers had been placed under arrest.

Soon the missing shipment of explosives from Le Havre was recovered, and its disappearance was conclusively linked to special agents employed by the Home Office. The resignation of Lord Tatham, the Home Secretary, soon followed. Both houses of Parliament appointed investigating committees and scheduled hearings to learn the extent of the corruption in the Home Office.

Heads were rolling. Fred Felbrigg was forced to resign and submit to investigation for alleged illegal actions and procedures. Meanwhile, the Metropolitan Police fell into disarray. It was recognized that a significant reorganization of the entire force was required, although no one seemed to have any good ideas on how to proceed.

All that mattered to Garrett was Ethan’s welfare. He’d been plunged into a whirlwind of activity ever since he had returned from Hampshire, when he should have been resting. Had it interfered with the healing process? Was he eating properly? Garrett had no choice but to bury herself in her work and wait patiently.

On the fourteenth day, after Garrett had seen her last patient of the day, she stood at the counter in her surgery and made notes, when there came an unexpected knock at the surgery door.

“Doctor,” came Eliza’s voice through the paneling. “There’s one more patient for you to see.”

Garrett frowned, setting down her pen. “I didn’t schedule anyone.”

After a pause, Eliza said, “It’s an emergency.”

“What kind of emergency?”

Silence.

Garrett’s nerves went hot and cold, and her pulse began to rampage. She forced herself to walk to the door, when every impulse screamed for her to sprint. With great care, she turned the handle of the door and opened it.

There was Ethan, bigger than life, leaning a shoulder against the doorjamb and smiling down at her. A rush of elation made her dizzy. He was even more handsome than she remembered, more breathtaking, more everything.

“Garrett,” he said softly, as if her name were a word for a dozen different lovely things, and she had to stiffen her knees to keep from melting right in front of him.

Two weeks, and not even one short visit, she reminded herself sternly.

“I don’t have time for another patient,” she told him, her brows rushing down.

“’Tis a serious affliction I have,” he said somberly.

“Oh?”

“The old tiblin bone is actin’ up again.”

She had to gnaw furiously on the insides of her cheeks and clear her throat to keep from laughing. “I’m afraid you’ll have to take care of that yourself,” she managed to say.

“It needs professional attention.”

Folding her arms across her chest, she regarded him with narrowed eyes. “I’ve waited and worried for two weeks, and then you appear without a word of warning, wanting me to—”

“No, no, acushla,” Ethan said softly, his blue eyes drinking her in. “All I want is to be near you. I’ve missed you so, darlin’. I’m fair ravished in love for you.” One of his big hands gripped the side of the door frame. “Let me in,” he whispered.

Yearning caught inside her like fire to tinder. She opened the door more widely, and stepped back on ramshackle legs.

Ethan crossed the threshold, closed the door with his foot, and pinned her against the paneling. Before she could draw breath, his mouth closed over hers, and he kissed her with the craving of years and dark, aching dreams. She moaned softly, arching against him, lost in the feel of his strength all around her. He cupped the side of her face in his hand, stroking her gently.

“I’ve wanted you every minute,” he whispered, brushing his lips over hers in satiny touches. He drew back to stare down at her with a smile glowing in his eyes. “But I’ve been helping to disassemble the Metropolitan Police, fix the broken parts, and put it all back together again. And testifying before two committees, and discussing new job prospects . . .” He bent to kiss an exposed part of her throat, his mouth hot and searching.

“I suppose those are good excuses,” Garrett said grudgingly, and sought his lips again. After another deep, exquisite kiss, she opened her eyes and asked hazily, “What job prospects?”

He touched his nose to hers. “They want to appoint me as assistant commissioner. I would organize a new investigation department with different sections, and the supervisor of each section would report directly to me.”

Garrett looked up at him in wonder.

“I would also have my own handpicked force of twelve detectives, to train and supervise as I see fit.” He paused and laughed unsteadily. “I don’t know if I’ll be any damned good at it. They only offered it to me because half of Felbrigg’s supervisors have resigned, and the rest are in jail.”

“You’ll be exceptional at it,” Garrett said. “The question is, do you want to?”

“I do,” he confessed with a slightly crooked grin, the dimple she adored appearing in his cheek. “I’d have to keep to more regular hours. And the offer comes with a fine house in Eaton Square and a direct telegraph line to Scotland Yard. After some negotiation, I made them throw in a phaeton and pair of matched horses for my wife.”

“For your wife,” Garrett repeated, her stomach filling with butterflies.

Ethan nodded, reaching into his pocket. “I’m not going to do this the conventional way,” he warned, and she laughed breathlessly.

“That’s perfect, then.”

He pressed something smooth and metallic into the palm of her hand. She looked down and saw a whistle cast in silver, strung on a glinting, glimmering silver chain. Noticing there was something engraved on it, she looked more closely.

Whenever you want me

“Garrett Gibson,” she heard him say, “you’ve a rare skill at healing—I’m living proof of that. But if you don’t marry me, you’ll have my broken heart to mend. Either way, I’m afraid you’re stuck with me, as I love you too much to be without you. Will you be my wife?”

Garrett looked up at him through bright, blurred eyes, too overwhelmed with joy to summon a single word.

She soon made the discovery that it was hard to blow a whistle when you were smiling.

But she managed it anyway.