“I would enjoy hearing more about this magnificent Württemberg.” Harry smiles his trademark befuddled grin. “You can play field guide again for me, if you like.”
She nestles another inch closer. “I assure you, it is one of the most beautiful places on earth. As well as one of the most blessed. Rolling hills, sparkling emeralds, as far as the eye can see—”
“Arabella, too, is always keen to mention the minerals.” He bites his lip. “This is, perhaps, humorous... When we were children, she and I had once envisioned a made-up land of sparkling jewels, one you could only find using a very detailed and specific code of coordinates. We would travel there all the time, on these ill-advised adventures—from our chosen spot in the park and straight into a land of our own creation.” He shakes his head at the memory. “How silly we were.”
“How silly, indeed.”
The “simmering” Cora had detected at Delmonico’s between the Ames girl and Harry most certainly would have built into something more serious given time. Bit of a pity, as the two odd ducks might have made quite the flock in another life—given, say, the absence of a fictional emerald heiress.
Speaking of, maybe it’s time to change tack. Move things forward with a time-tested appeal to other, morebiologicalinstincts to seal the deal...
“Mr. Peyton,” Cora murmurs demurely, spinning to look at him. “I do hope this is the correct phrasing in English... You’ll have to forgive me, I wish to impart the right sentiment. I appreciate your past... adventures, but I have many,manythrilling exploits to offer you myself.”
Harry swallows, his Adam’s apple jumping. “Thrilling, ah, exploits?”
“Mm.” She leans closer, smiling, batting her eyes—quite a difficult feat in the midst of a windstorm. But she must be achieving the desired effect, because a distinct red is now creeping up his narrow throat.
She drops her voice another octave, spoon-feeding the sensual overtones so there is no confusion: “And please know that I would always be delighted to play your field guide, Mr. Peyton.”
Harry has turned red as a tomato.
“Why... I believe I should like that.” He swallows. “I should like that very, very—”
“My, what a coincidence, Miss Ritter!”
Cora freezes. That distinctly brazen tone.
Cal Archer steps toward them in long strides, that cocksure, determined gait ever so strangely familiar. He’s sporting a top hat and a thick, black overcoat in this weather, but the bulk does nothing to hide his athletic physique. He appears taller than the last time she saw him, which is obviously impossible. He’s not taller, is he? He sidles up beside them, towering over Harry.
Cora straightens. “I am beginning to get the sense you’re following me, Mr. Archer.”
His blue eyes glimmer, his words visible puffs against the cold. “I do cover other beats, Miss Ritter. Believe it or not.”
“Ah,” she says primly, surprised to find herself game, evenexcited, to volley with him once more. “Tell me then, what is today’s top story? Park pigeons, perhaps? The perils of winter picnics?”
He smirks. “Don’t believe we’ve met.” Cal turns to Harry, extending his hand. “Cal Archer.”
“Very good to meet you, sir. I’m Harold Peyton.”
“The Peytons, ah,” Cal says. “Of course. I’m familiar with your father’s work.”
“Is that right?” Harry waits for Cal to elaborate. He doesn’t.
Cora starts, “Mr. Archer—”
“Now that we’re all acquainted, I’m hoping I might take advantage of this serendipitous encounter.” Cal pulls his notebook from his pocket. “Your sob story went over well with my editor, Miss Ritter, so he’s hoping for a follow-up. A humanitarian story this time, perhaps,” he muses, flipping pages. “Something on the everyman of Württemberg. How the plight of your country is affecting the homestead. Make people really sympathize. You don’t mind, do you, Harold?”
“Only insomuch as Miss Ritter minds.”
Cora opens her mouth, priming to share a litany of facts about Württemberg’s people, before she promptly closes it. She has yet to garner Alice’s reaction to her first published improvisation, after all. Until she does, perhaps it’s best not to pull the same trick twice.
“Mr. Archer, I believe this conversation is best suited for another time. Or another person altogether,” Cora says. “Perhaps the Württembergian Embassy can help you.”
Cal’s eyes brighten. “Embassy? Where’s that, now?”
She bites her lip. Goodness, she lacks focus today. Does the embassy even exist? She tries to recollect what Alice last told her. Comes up blank.
In fact, maybe it’s best to stop talking altogether.
