Page 32 of Dalliances & Devotion (The Truitts 2)

“I realize that.” She yanked, but the strands tangled further. Her cheeks heated. Drat. Not what she was going for. A snared hand most certainly erased any and all of the striped-corset-induced confidence.

“Do you?” David stood, and, with a gentle touch that didn’t at all make her shiver, plucked the caught locks and reshaped the curl, the back of his hand grazing her cheeks.

And she almost moaned again, breathing in his nearness. Definitely mint. “Yes. I do, but it’s just so odd.” Though it was more of a dreamy, unconvincing sigh.

He frowned and retreated to his seat.

Fine, serious conversation. She straightened her shoulders. “Why would anyone want to hurt me?”

“That’s what the entire agency is trying to figure out, while I keep you safe.” David tapped a finger against his lips, his eyes on her. “There was something I noticed, the other day, in the dossier. I’m sure it’s nothing or the people in Indiana already know and it isn’t my job, but I might as well ask. Your accounts are a trifle low for the various amounts of money you receive every month.”

And now he thought her an incompetent. How did she explain. Her cheeks burned. “I—”

“I’m not accusing you of anything,” he continued. “The number didn’t really make sense. There’s also some accounting recordings in the files regarding a trust, not the main Truitt one. A lot of lawyers appear to withdraw from it. Are they doing work for you, or perhaps cheating you in some way?”

“Oh, I’d know if someone was cheating me.” She took another sip. I think, I hope. “No, that’s a charitable trust I created and control. My family has nothing to do with it. It has an odd name because, as a wealthy Jew, my contributions engender controversy. Thus, I prefer to remain anonymous. I do it fully, so neither the beneficiary nor the recipient knows the other. My mother takes a different route, splashes her name around because she thinks you can inspire, but I like my way. It won’t worry my parents, and it’s a higher degree and all.”

David blinked at her. “Where did you learn Maimonides?”

“Hebrew school.” Amalia slid in her chair. “I always liked it, found it interesting and it was one of the few things that stayed the same during the war. My mother’s cousin and her companion both teach and want me to join them when I return.”

“Do you want to?” he asked, his eyes intent on her through his spectacles.

“I don’t know.” Her stomach tightened. It was tempting. Because it would involve a touch more consistent income. And yet... “Something about it feels like giving up even if I might enjoy it.”

“Giving up what?” He cocked his head.

“I’m not sure.” She stared at her lap. How did she phrase it? How did she explain what it would be like, that would make him understand without sounding...shallow? “Because most of the women who teach are spinsters and people feel sorry for them.” And then they’d feel sorry for her as well.

“But if it interests you and you enjoy it, why would you let what other people might say about you make a difference? And what’s wrong with spinsters? Ones who teach are usually the most intelligent women anyway. You might like them.” He folded his hands in his lap. “Besides, I think you might be good at it.”

Maybe, probably, at least regarding the other women. After all she adored cousin Rachel and Lydia had her moments. But still, a voice in her head nagged, repeated “failure” over and over.

Before she could respond, he frowned. “So, that explains your financial state.” He tapped his fingers again, the wheels in his mind obviously grinding, and gazed into her eyes once more with that searching, judging gaze. “You’ve never...”

“No.” A stale, hard lump grew in her stomach, despite the rather lovely meal. And here it came, another criticism, another reminder of her failures, another proclamation that she was the author of her own doom.

“You don’t even know what I was going to ask.” David’s face softened a little and he leaned forward.

“I don’t need to. I’ve not had enough coffee to listen to a lecture on all the mistakes I’ve made in my life and what the consequences are. I’m sure I’ve already heard them multiple times from my parents.” Her muscles shook. “And if you’re suggesting I did something specific the agents haven’t discovered, there’s really nothing.”

Because there wasn’t. Her biggest secret was she once fell in love with someone who wouldn’t give her what she wanted. And told a few lies to cover it up. Which had no bearing on the situation whatsoever.

“I’m sorry.” David pursed his lips. “And I didn’t mean—I’d never suggest you deserve this or that anything you’ve done makes this fair or right. I mean, everyone makes mistakes. Even me.” He gave her a small wink.

Her innards relaxed and she almost took a full breath, corset and all. “Perish the thought.” He grinned and she clasped her hands tight. Pain shot through her cut, harkening her back to reality. She sighed again. “No, I’m sorry too. I’m frustrated. And scared.”

“You should be.” Any amusement in his voice and tone vanished.

“Thank you. That makes me feel so much better.” She swigged more coffee.

“My duty is to protect you.” David rubbed the back of his neck. “Besides, fear is good. It’ll make you more aware. It’ll make you pick up on little things, little clues. Keep you out of danger.”

“I thought my ‘safety’ was your job.” She shifted in her seat, re-crossing her ankles.

His face dropped and her gut twisted again. “I make mistakes.” He removed his spectacles and wiped them. “I’m sorry, Amalia. I should’ve helped you out of the cab instead of arguing with you. I should’ve been more aware of our surroundings.”

What? She wrinkled her nose. No one could’ve prevented that. “I wasn’t blaming you, David.”

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