“The footmen are serving Riesling wines from Bavaria in honor of the visiting German dignitaries. We always serve something in tribute to the highest-ranking guests.”
He nodded toward a cluster of American military officers. “It looks like only the navy is represented here tonight. Why?”
Maybe it was his imagination, but it seemed Caroline stiffened when she spotted the trio of officers. “That’s Captain Holland,” she said. “He’s very high up in the navy. I’m not sureabout the others. There has been an effort to improve relations between the American and German navies.”
She continued answering all his questions, and he loved the way she was so confident but not the least bit condescending as she huddled beside him on the step. She probably took part in this sort of pageantry often. It underscored the huge gulf between them, and yet he’d always felt comfortable with her.
No,comfortablewasn’t the right word. The tug of attraction, the unwelcome desire ... none of it was comfortable, but he savored it all the same.
In the room below, the president entered with Mrs. McKinley on his arm, both looking hale and stately.
“They’re breaking protocol,” Caroline whispered. “Normally the president should escort the wife of the highest-ranking diplomat, but he always sticks close to Mrs. McKinley. She will sit beside him at the dinner table too.”
“Because of her epilepsy?”
She nodded. “He’s very attuned to the signs, and if she is going to be indisposed, he makes sure she has privacy. The spells usually don’t last long, but if it’s a bad one, he gets her out.”
Nathaniel gazed down at the gilded world below as the guests socialized. Over time, it was almost like a dance. Couples slowly rotated though the room as they jockeyed for position near the president. Mrs. McKinley rarely spoke, usually just watching her husband and nodding at whatever he said. Waiters in formal attire offered tiny delicacies on silver platters.
“Do those hors d’oeuvres taste as good as they smell?” he asked.
“Wait here,” Caroline whispered, then gathered her skirts and scurried down the staircase before he could call her back. Long after she disappeared, the clicking of her heels echoed in the stairwell as she descended to the basement.
Five minutes later she was back with a fully loaded platter.
“Apparently they don’t like the stuffed mushrooms,” she saidas she rejoined him on the step. “There were plenty left, and they’re all ours.”
“They just gave them to you?” he asked, helping himself to a mushroom cap brimming with spinach, herbs, and a hint of sherry.
“The kitchen staff likes me,” she said. “Maybe because I never pretend I’m not staff too.”
He couldn’t afford to warm up to anyone. Even this clandestine huddle on the stairs probably wasn’t a good idea, but sometimes the need for simple human contact got the better of him. She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, and his weakness for pretty things went all the way back to his early years when he saved every dime to attend art school. Whether it was a flower in full bloom, a spectacular sunrise, or a gorgeous woman huddled on the staircase beside him, he liked beauty.
His gaze kept trailing to her. “I like that thing in your hair.”
“A snood,” she said.
“What an awful word for such a delicate thing,” he replied. Tiny golden strands were held together by crystals, a piece of art in and of itself. “It makes you look like a princess. Like Juliet or Guinevere.” He wished he could sketch her at this exact moment. He memorized her features. He would draw her later tonight so he could remember this stolen interlude forever.
The reception lasted an hour, during which he and Caroline never stopped talking. Her insight was surprisingly helpful. He wasn’t well-versed in the subtle language of protocol, but she explained how the order of the people engaging with the president was determined by rank, and how the flowers in the arrangements were selected to celebrate the nations of tonight’s guests.
When the mushrooms were gone, Caroline set the empty plate on a higher step and slid a few inches closer to him in the dimly lit stairwell. “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to eat another mushroom and not remember this night,” she whispered.
Her face was inches from his, and he couldn’t look away. There was a quiet magnetism humming between them. It was exhilarating and perfectly comfortable at the same time. He leaned forward a fraction of an inch, and she closed the distance between them.
Never had a kiss felt so easy and natural. She smiled against his lips, and he deepened the kiss.
“I hope I’m not breaking some sort of Secret Service rules,” she said as she pulled back a little, excitement glinting in her eyes.
“I never break the rules.”
“Never?”
“I’m tedious that way. So no, we aren’t breaking the rules.”
“Good. Then kiss me again.”
He did, and it felt like the most perfect thing in the world. In his entire life he’d only courted two women. One was the daughter of his minister, which involved nothing more than some awkward holding of hands, and the relationship ended quickly when she fell in love with an accountant. His other relationship was more heartfelt, but the dressmaker from Chicago threw him over because she found him too serious.
