Page 19 of Heir of Uncertain Magic

She hesitated. “Well, we wouldn’t be gonetoolong ...” Though the idea filled her with discomfort.

He nodded, peeking out the window again. A silence—not an uncomfortable one—fell between them. The length of a few heartbeats before his gaze drifted back to her, watching long enough for Hulda to feel self-conscious.

She ran her tongue over her teeth, fearing something from dinner had gotten trapped there.

“You’re beautiful,” he said.

Her tongue died in her mouth. Heat filled her cheeks again—if she could haveonewish, it would be to blush less! At least it made her match the draperies. She cleared her throat as quietly as she could manage. “A good attempt at changing the subject, but you’ll have to do better.”

He blinked. “Do better?”

She adjusted her glasses. “Something more believable, perhaps.”

Wryness pinched the corners of his eyes. “Are you calling me a liar, Mrs.Larkin? Though I suppose it’sMiss, now.”

Hulda averted her eyes. “I said no such thing.”

Merritt adjusted in his chair so his body faced hers. Leaning over, he planted his elbows on his knees. “I sense a challenge.”

She gave him what she hoped was a withering look.

“You,” he continued, unabashed, “are absolutely gorgeous when you flush.”

Her heart thudded hard against her ribs at the forward statement. And, of course, her cheeks heated, earning her a mischievous grin from Merritt. She was so unaccustomed to compliments. At least,thesekinds of compliments.

She swallowed to ready a retort, but Merritt pressed on.

“I’ve always wanted to run my fingers through your hair and see if it’s as soft as it looks.” He reached forward—Hulda had situated herself just close enough for him to do so—and plucked a single hairpin from her locks. Hulda froze, hot and cold at once, those gnats in her stomach multiplying a hundredfold, searching his face for ... forwhat?

“When you’re not monitoring yourself,” he went on, “you have a very delightsome way of walking.”

Her cheekbones were going to melt, her face was so hot. “M-Merritt—”

The expression on her face must have been something else, for Merritt chuckled and straightened. “I’m sorry, Hulda. You make it so easy.”

She huffed because she didn’t know what else to do. “Easy to tease?”

“Is it teasing if it’s true?”

She squared her shoulders. “You are a poor judge—”

“I am an excellent judge of all things,” he intercepted, hooking his foot around the leg of her chair and tugging her closer. He rose from his seat and put his hands on her armrests, his face hovering intimately close to hers. “And I’ll not have you challenging that. Not under my roof.”

He leaned forward and brushed his lips across hers, and in that heated moment, Hulda believed every word he’d said. The scents of ink,cloves, and petitgrain filled her senses, and a weak part of her—the part she had chained up and locked away because it hurt her otherwise—pulsed with jubilation andwant.

Despite his forwardness, his lips were chaste—a good thing, since Hulda wasn’t sure what she would have done if they were not. He pulled back and smiled at her.

“I’m going to see if Baptiste needs anything. Don’t stay up too late.” It was a joke, of course—Hulda kept pristine night hours. Still, as Merritt exited the room, not bothering to take his coat or vest with him, Hulda found herself comfortably rooted to her chair, so entranced by his words and his touch she could hardly remember the reason for approaching him in the first place.

Hulda passed the coin over to the postmaster’s assistant after writing down a short and vague message to be delivered to Jamestown. Myra had a niece in Jamestown, so perhaps she was holing up there. Hulda could only hope. If Myra were to reply, she might not send word directly to BIKER. Perhaps to Whimbrel House. The next time Hulda saw MissTaylor, she’d have to ask her to keep an eye out for it.

Stepping outside, Hulda pulled her navy mantle close and breathed in the crisp air. The sky was gray today, casting Boston in dreary light. She wondered if Myra was looking at the same skies, or if she’d traveled somewhere warm. Perhaps shehaddefected to Spain ... With some sleuthing, Hulda might be able to find an address. But anything she might find at BIKER, the foreign affairs department would also find. Had Myra known LIKER would come? That they would look for her?

Had she actually been embezzling? Perhaps all this nonsense was tied to money schemes, and the telegram had not referred to Mr.Hogwood at all. But if not him, who?

Hulda considered this as she made her way back to BIKER. Perhaps Myra wouldn’t answer anything so official as a letter or a telegram—something delivered by a person who could later identify her.

A windsource pigeon, maybe. They were expensive, but Hulda was getting antsy. What if Myra wasn’t simply lying low, but was hurt? Sick? Sickness was what had gotten her into this conundrum in the first place—it had been her motivation for reaching out to an infamous necromancer for a cure. What if Mr.Hogwood’s administrations hadn’t been complete?

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