Page 105 of Thrones We Steal

“I heard you playing,” I say as nonchalantly as possible under the circumstances, which are: I am anything but nonchalant right now. “It was beautiful.”

He crosses his arms and leans against the door jamb. The movement causes the muscles in his arms and shoulders to ripple. I drag my reluctant eyes away.

“I thought you had a date tonight,” he says.

“I did. It was gorgeous.” I take a few steps closer. “Thank you.”

His broad forehead crinkles. “For what?”

“For all of it. It was perfect. The red velvet was exceptional.”

He studies me for a few moments, then drops his gaze to the floor, rubbing his bare toe back and forth on the carpet. “How did you know it was me?”

“My first clue was Beck greeting me with a dozen roses.”

“He doesn’t know you hate roses?”

“I’ve never had the heart to tell him.” I shrug. “He loves to give them. And they’re easier to find, I suppose.”

“Hydrangeas suit you better.”

“The boat was covered in them.” I smirk, then whisper, “You may have shown your hand a little.” I should be sad, but all I can think is this must be what it feels like to be on cocaine.

He shoves his hands into the pockets of his blue pajama pants. “Hey, how was I supposed to know he thought you liked roses? Hydrangeas have always been your favorite. I thought this was common knowledge.”

“I thought it was you at the beginning, when they brought them to my office with the card. But then he texted me, and I assumed …” I bite my lip. “Or maybe I just hoped.”

“I just wanted you to have a good time.”

“It was incredible.” I should tell him about Beck, but the words lodge in my throat like peanut butter. If I tell him, he might think it had something to do with him, and I can’t let him know it did. “I should’ve known as soon as you made that comment in the hall about my dress.”

“You look like a goddess in that dress,” he murmurs, his eyes darkening.

His voice, his look, his nearness … We’re heading into the danger zone.

He must sense it too, because he clears his throat and glances away. “You were welcome to one of the state rooms. The boat was yours for the whole night.”

I cough in surprise. “I—I didn’t feel like sleeping on the water.”

He nods as though it’s the most reasonable thing in the world. “Well, I’m glad you were happy. That’s all I wanted. It’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

I inhale sharply. His dark eyes are piercing mine again, stealing all coherent thoughts from my mind. How does he do that? I swallow and nod like an idiot.

“Hey, now that you’re here, there’s something I want to show you.” He leaves me at the door and comes back a minute later with a big black book in his hands.

“Is that what I think it is?” I say.

“If you think it’s the employment records from 1837, then yes.” A starburst of wrinkles spreads from the corners of his eyes as he smiles. He flips the book open and moves so I can see over his arm. He points to an entry dated 18 May, 1837.

Mary Hopkins, kitchen maid

Walter McManus, footman

Regina Campbell, housemaid

“What am I looking at?” I say.

“I took pictures of the logbook back at the Historical Society. Walter McManus was one of the passengers on board The Caledonia with Philip Anderson.”

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