Page 102 of Trade of a Lifetime (Trade Wind 1)

“I asked”—James scooted his head until the tips of their noses were an inch apart, and he stared into her green eyes—“what areyoudoing here?”

This time, her quiet voice dropped all artifice. “The same thing you’re doing here. Protecting what is mine.”

His hand tightened on hers even as his eyes closed. He was silent for a full minute. “If only we were alone, Clara.”

He brought his free hand up, placing two fingers against his split lips. Then he pressed those same fingers gently to her lips. After, he opened his bandaged hand to cup her cheek.

“Go home straight away tomorrow morning, Clara. As always, I’m a selfish ingrate, so I won’t say you shouldn’t have come. But in a few hours, when it’s light, you must go. Conditions will worsen. There’s fear of looting and violence as soon as the fire’s out. They say thirty thousand people have gathered to watch the fire. I want you home and safe. Do you understand?”

She nodded, then withdrew back to her blanket.

James left his hand outstretched on the ground between them. She closed her eyes to gird strength, lest she move back next to him. When she opened her eyes, he’d slipped back into sleep.

∞∞∞

The thieving began in earnest the next morning. James rejoined the firefighting crews and spent half his morning rescuing street urchins who ventured into burning areas searching for loot. Meanwhile, gangs attacked wagons as they tried to carry out the piles of goods that had been rescued from warehouses.

When he heard that thieves poured through hospital tents looking for laudanum and other supplies, James returned to the LLS tents, hoping to find Clara and her companions gone and thus safe.

What he found was Clara and a few others packing to leave.

His heart was in his throat when she exited the tent and nearly ran into him, carrying a stack of empty basins. “It’s not safe here anymore, lass!”

She set the load down and pressed a hand to her throat. “Certainly not with you giving me a fright!”

“I won’t lie, I didn’t like leaving this morning without saying goodbye. You know that ordinarily, I’ll take any chance to see you. But it’s time for you to go. All of you.”

She nodded. “I know. I promised. And we’ve run out of everything. Half of us have left for Violet House already. The rest are about to depart.”

When he’d woken, Clara’s blanket was empty. He found her in the other tent, tending new arrivals using their last supplies. One side of his mouth quirked up, remembering his last sight of Clara this morning working alongside her “girls,” most of whom were older than she.

Working side-by-side with the Violet House tenants, a cap pinned over her hair, she shattered everything he thought he knew of someone of her class.

He had no doubt this was the same woman he happened upon in her brother’s library. He had the privilege of knowing her various dimensions, whether she wore silk, this filthy apron—or nothing at all.

“I don’t know when I’ll return home, but when I do, I’ll send word,” said James.

“Please take care. The injuries we’ve seen—they’re…”

He nodded.

“Miss Clara!” called a voice from the tent.

“Go,” James urged, “so that you can leave without further delay.”

“Farewell, James,” she whispered, then disappeared into the tent.

He turned and came face-to-face with a woman that—though they’d never met before—he recognized immediately.

“You are Clara’s acquaintance.” Her quiet voice was clear and beautiful, and she raised a regal eyebrow.

“James Robertson, at your service.” He inclined his head politely, then raised his chin. “You’re Clara’s best friend.”

He couldn’t have said how he knew that she was surprised by his knowledge, as there wasn’t a single outward sign, but as she watched him without reaction, he knew it in his bones.

She nodded once. “Stella Stone.”

“You’re courageous to have come here. I thank you.”

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