for now, in this liminal space between crisis and normalcy, Sarah allowed herself to simply be present in the moment. To feel Victor's warmth against her side, to listen to his uneven breathing, to ponder the unexpected turn their simple boat ride had taken.
As the taxi neared Westminster Pier, Sarah gently squeezed Victor's shoulder. "We're almost there," she murmured, not sure if he could hear or understand her.
Victor stirred slightly at her words, lifting his head from her shoulder. For a moment, his eyes met hers, and Sarah's breath caught in her throat. There was a flicker of something in those hazel depths - not recognition, exactly, but a hint of awareness that had been missing before.
But before Sarah could say anything more, Victor's gaze slid away again, focusing on some point beyond her shoulder. He shivered once, violently, then pressed closer to her side.
"Cold," he mumbled. "So cold. Why won't it stop?"
Sarah's heart clenched. Even as they approached familiar territory, Victor remained lost in his own world of fear and confusion. Whatever had been triggered by their accident in the Thames, it wasn't something that would be easily shaken off.
The taxi slowed to a stop, and reality reasserted itself with jarring abruptness. Sarah knew that their ordeal was far from over. Victor was still not himself, and they were both in a state of significant disarray. But as she prepared to face whatever came next, Sarah knew one thing with absolute certainty: her relationship with Victor Mallory would never be quite the same again.
She had seen him at his most vulnerable and had held him as he shook with terror. And in doing so, she had glimpsed a depth of Victor that both intrigued and frightened her. As she helped him out of the taxi, his body still trembling against hers, Sarah realized that she was no longer content with the surface-level charm that Victor usually presented to the world.
She wanted to know the man behind the mask, to understand what had shaped him into the complex individual she had glimpsed today. And as they stood there on the sidewalk, Victor still clinging to her like a lifeline, Sarah made a silent vow. Whatever it took, she would help Victor through this. And in doing so, perhaps she would finally unravel the mystery that was Victor Mallory.
The chill of their wet clothes was becoming unbearable, and Sarah realized they needed to get somewhere warm and private as soon as possible.
With a deep breath, Sarah steeled herself for what she knew would be an awkward task. "I'm sorry, Victor," she murmured, though she wasn't sure he could hear or understand her. "I need to find your keys."
Gently, she began to pat down Victor's soaked jacket, trying to ignore the way the wet fabric clung to his body. Her fingers brushed against his chest, and she felt a jolt of electricity that had nothing to do with their sodden state. Victor whimpered softly at her touch, pressing closer to her as if seeking warmth.
Sarah's cheeks burned as she continued her search, all too aware of the intimacy of the situation. Finally, her fingers closed around a set of keys in Victor's inside pocket. She pulled them out with a sigh of relief.
Turning to the taxi driver, she paid the fare, adding a generous tip for his discretion and assistance.
Thank you," she said quietly. "We appreciate your help."
The driver nodded, his eyes full of concern. "Are you sure you'll be alright, miss? The gentleman doesn't look well."
Sarah managed a small smile. "We'll be fine. I'll take care of him."
With that, she helped Victor out of the taxi and towards his car, which was thankfully still parked where they had left it earlier that day. It felt like a lifetime ago now.
As she settled Victor into the passenger seat, he whimpered softly, his hand clutching at her arm. "Don't go," he mumbled, his voice barely audible. "Please don't leave me."
"I'm not going anywhere, Victor," Sarah assured him, her heart aching at his vulnerability. "I'm just going to the driver's side. I'll be right back."
True to her word, Sarah quickly made her way around the car and slid into the driver's seat. As soon as she was settled, Victor's hand found hers, gripping it tightly. Sarah squeezed back, hoping to offer some comfort through the simple gesture.
As she started the car, Sarah's mind raced. What should she do now? Taking Victor back to his home or to her family's residence seemed out of the question. In his current state, he was utterly exposed, all his carefully constructed walls torn down. Would he want anyone else to see him like this?
A deeper question nagged at her: Did she want anyone else to see Victor like this? This vulnerable, broken version of the usually composed man was something intensely private.
There was something strangely intimate about being the only one to witness Victor Mallory at his most unguarded. Sarah felt a strange possessiveness wash over her. She wanted to protect Victor, not just from the cold and his own demons, but from the prying eyes of the world.
An idea struck her suddenly. There was a place they could go, somewhere private and secluded. Without hesitation, Sarah turned the car away from the city centre and headed out towards the countryside.
As they drove, Victor remained curled in on himself, occasionally muttering words too low for Sarah to make out. His hand never left hers, and Sarah found herself driving one-handed, unwilling to break that tenuous connection.
After about a 10-15 minute drive, they turned onto a narrow country lane. In the distance, Sarah could make out the silhouette of a large farmhouse, its white walls gleaming faintly in the moonlight. A sign by the gate read "Whitmore," confirming that they had reached their destination.
This was one of the Whitmore family's lesser-known properties, a farmhouse that had once been used for family vacations. As more luxurious properties had been acquired over the years, this place had fallen into relative disuse. But Sarah knew it was still maintained, and more importantly, it would offer the privacy they desperately needed.
As they approached the gate, Sarah honked the horn, hoping to alert any staff that might be present. When no one appeared, she tried again, the sound echoing in the quiet countryside. Still, there was no response.
Sarah sighed, realizing she would have to open the gate herself. She turned to Victor, who was still clinging to her hand. "Victor," she said softly, "I need to open the gate. I'll be right back, I promise."
Victor's only response was to grip her hand tighter. Sarah's heart clenched at his desperation. Gently, she brought his hand to her cheek, pressing it there for a moment.
"Feel that? I'm right here. I'm not leaving you. I just need to open the gate so we can get inside where it's warm. Can you let go for just a moment?"
Slowly, reluctantly, Victor's grip loosened. Sarah quickly slipped out of the car, hurrying to the gate. The old iron creaked as she pushed it open, and she winced at the noise. Back in the car, she could see Victor curling in on himself again, his eyes squeezed shut against some invisible terror.
As quickly as she could, Sarah drove through the gate and parked in front of the farmhouse. She honked the horn again, hoping that the noise would alert any staff inside. But as the echoes faded away, the house remained dark and silent.
With a sigh, Sarah realized they were on their own. She got out of the car and made her way to the passenger side, opening the door for Victor. "We're here," she said gently. "Let's get you inside where it's warm."
As she helped Victor out of the car, Sarah couldn't help but notice the mess their wet clothes had made of the leather seats. Water dripped onto the gravel drive as they made their way towards the house, leaving a trail behind them. She winced, knowing Victor would be horrified if he were in his right mind.
Just as they reached the front steps, a sudden noise made Sarah turn. A young woman had appeared from around the side of the house, her eyes wide as she took in the sight before her.
"Oh my!" the woman exclaimed, her voice oddly pitched. "A wet king and queen have come to meet me! How wonderful!"The wet clothes just make it more romantic, like something out of a fairytale!"
Sarah blinked in confusion. The woman's reaction was bizarre, to say the least. "Excuse me," she called out, "why didn't you open the gate when I honked? And where are the other servants?"
But the young woman seemed not to hear, continuing to exclaim over their appearance. "You look so beautiful together! Like you were made for each other!"
Despite the seriousness of the situation, Sarah felt a blush creep up her cheeks. Victor, still trembling beside her, showed no sign of having heard the woman's words.
Frustrated, Sarah raised her voice. "Please, we need help! Can you open the door for us?"
Finally, the woman seemed to notice Sarah was speaking to her. She approached, still smiling widely. As she drew closer, Sarah repeated her questions. "Where is everyone else? Why didn't anyone come when I honked the horn?"