An ache bloomed in his chest as he looked at the letters, the only tangible memento of the bond he’d shared with Nicholas Delacroix. Maybe because the two of them had survived the crucible of war and then years of struggling back to stability, they were closer than a typical father and son. He was proud of what they’d built together, and those letters documented every risk, plan, triumph, and failure.
“We were very lucky.”
“The world you paint in these letters is fascinating,” she said. “I could never be brave enough to sail to Java or Madagascar, but I love that you did. And these letters... I can see how hard it was for you. The distance, the heat, the illness. But also the people, the spices, and the adventure. A piece of my heart has always longed to do something big. Epic. I love that you were brave enough to do it.”
He stared at her, mesmerized. She understood. They couldn’t be more different in background or temperament, but she understood what drove him out into the world and the compulsion to work. His sense of unity with her grew stronger. He hadnever met anyone like her, and once again his attraction to her was spiraling out of control.
This was dangerous. Why would a girl this young and naïve want a stodgy, serious man like him? He was letting his emotions run amok, when in all likelihood she was only here to find something to impress her masters at the Smithsonian.
From the moment they’d met, they’d been completely honest with each other, and he didn’t want to stray from that now. No matter how mortifying, he needed to be frank with her. He wanted their friendship to be something more but feared she didn’t feel the same. After decades of loneliness, a harbor was in sight, but if it was nothing more than a mirage, he needed to know.
“Annabelle, I find myself starting to care very deeply for you,” he began, tension making it hard to speak in a steady voice. “I’ve tried to help you by opening my home and greenhouses and library to you, but perhaps that was a mistake. I’d like a proper courtship with you, but if my feelings are not reciprocated, I don’t see how we can continue this rather unconventional friendship.”
She blanched, her eyes widening as she sat back a few inches. Everything he’d just said was obviously offensive to her.
He looked away, unable to witness the distress on her face. “I’m sorry—”
“Don’t apologize,” she interrupted. “Please don’t apologize.”
“But I owe you one. I’m sorry to be so blunt, but this is new and untried territory for me. I am sorry I misread—”
“You didn’t misread anything.”
His gaze whipped back to hers. Still sitting on the floor, gazing up at him, she looked insecure and painfully young.
“I want to be here. Please don’t send me away.”
The note of desperation in her voice was odd. It was the voice of a woman anxious to secure her position at the Smithsonian, not a hopeful woman who returned his affection.
“Annabelle, I can still help you. If you need a steady job, I can open doors for you.”
“Are you throwing me out?” The desperation was gone, and the challenge was back.
“No! I meant to say, in my hopelessly clumsy, fever-addled brain, that I care for you. I can’t keep seeing you here every day if your only interest is in exotic spices or vanilla orchids. If that’s the case, for my own survival ... I must bring this to an end.”
If he lived to be a thousand, there would never be a more awkward conversation than this one. He stared out the window and wished this day was already over.
“It’s you, Gray. I’m interested inyou.”
What little strength he had in his body drained away, and he sagged against the back of his chair. She put a hand on his knee, and he covered it with his own. He was too exhausted to even smile, but inside, a hundred suns were rising. He’d never thought of himself as an overly romantic man, but suddenly everything felt right. Was it possible that God had guided Annabelle all the way from a wheat field in Kansas to his front door? It felt that way.
“I’m very glad you’re here,” he said, wishing he was more eloquent. “I’m sorry for the circumstances of your sister’s blindness, but perhaps I can help. Whatever you need from me, Annabelle, you have only to ask.”
Had he been too forward? She flinched for a moment, but then the stress on her face eased. “Thank you for that,” she said.
He leaned down and kissed her, and nothing had ever felt so right.
Thirteen
Gray sat at his townhouse office reviewing the latest papers from his lawyers about thePelican. The sale of a two-million-dollar steamship was a complicated deal requiring several rounds of negotiations, but a buyer had been found and a price settled on. Now that Gray had committed to the sale, he wanted it finalized as soon as possible. ThePelicanwas the past, and he was anxious to dive with both feet into a new life here in Washington.
Hopefully with Annabelle. It had been a week since that morning in his study, and with each passing day, he grew more confident that she was the right woman for him. She made him want to be a better man. A kinder, more optimistic man who looked for the good in life instead of fixating on the bad.
He signed the contract with a flourish, authorizing the buyer’s agents to begin a series of necessary inspections. Running footsteps down the hall snagged his attention, and his door banged open.
“Gray!” Caroline said as she burst into his office. “I need your help. This is a disaster.”
“What’s wrong?” He stood, for her honey-blond hair was sliding from her coif, and a sheen of perspiration covered her skin.
