“You’re being irrational,” he said, clipped formality woven through every speck of his posture, voice, and expression. “I’ll be there for you when times get tough, but for the day to day, I need to keep my distance.”
A knock on the door interrupted them, but it was only Mr. Medina peeking through the window, so she gestured for him to leave and turned her attention back to Nathaniel.
“Can’t you at least look at me? Smile at me like a normal human who has blood in his veins and an actual beating heart?”
“I take my duties seriously.”
“To the president. To the train porters. To fake Vermeers and rigid schedules and the lobster dinner.”
“It was fresh lobster,” he defended.
“I should matter to you more than lobster!” she shouted.
The door handle wiggled and the pounding continued, but she didn’t care.
“You need to restrain yourself,” he said. “I can’t do my duty when you’re flinging yourself at me.”
“You didn’t mind last night,” she said. The memory of the blazing sunset while they clung together on the roof still made her heart pound.
The banging on the door became incessant, and Nathaniel used it as an excuse to leave her and yank it open.
“What?” he demanded.
Mr. Medina twisted his cap in his hands. “The intercom line is open. Everyone in the dining car can hear what you’re saying.”
Caroline gasped. She’d been pouring her heart out in front of the McKinleys and the staff and that horrible congressman’s wife?
Nathaniel went stock still, and the color drained from his face, the pallor in sharp contrast with his puritanical dark suit. He shook himself and crossed to the open communication line, leaning down to speak directly into it. “You all can go back to your dinner now,” he choked out. “Show’s over.”
He tugged on some levers to close the connection, and a dull roar of applause sounded from the neighboring car. This was embarrassing, but there was only one thing to do.
Caroline squared her shoulders and smoothed the tension from her face. “Shall we rejoin them?” she said, striving to project the epitome of unruffled poise.
Nathaniel looked ready to combust. “We’ve just made fools of ourselves.”
“No, we showed ourselves to be normal people with beating hearts and human emotions. I know sometimes you’d prefer if we were boring, cold-blooded husks, but I’m afraid we have both been exposed.”
And frankly, she wasn’t sorry. Life was short, and she didn’t want to go through it half-alive by denying her feelings. She headed toward the dining car without looking back.
Nathaniel straightened his collar as he watched Caroline sashay through the connecting corridor with the poise of a queen. A smattering of laughter greeted her arrival. She smiled and performed a little curtsy before gliding back to her seat. He couldn’t mimic her aplomb. He’d worked hard for his reputation of unfailing restraint, and the last five minutes had blown it to smithereens. He tightened the knot of his tie and adjusted his jacket before following Caroline into the dining car.
More clapping sounded as he stepped inside. Caroline took her seat beside the congressmen’s wives, who looked at him with appalled curiosity.
Rembrandt stood to whisper in his ear. “You’re an idiot. A stick-in-the-mud shouldn’t toss a catch like Caroline Delacroix back in the sea.”
Nathaniel would like to toss her a lot farther than that. They were going to be trapped with most of these people for months, and now they all knew his private business. The ribbing continued as he took his seat, but Sullivan regarded him with new respect. True, Caroline was a looker, but this sort of public exposure was nothing to be proud about, and his mortification lasted all through the rest of the meal.
Things got worse in the smoking car after dinner. The president was relaxing with George Cortelyou and the visiting congressmen but flagged Nathaniel down as he tried to pass through to the men’s sleeper car.
“A word, Mr. Trask,” the president said, rising from his velvet chair. Nathaniel braced himself, having a pretty good suspicion what was on Mr. McKinley’s mind. He followed the presidentto a tall potted palm at the back of the car and forced himself to meet the president’s gaze like a man.
President McKinley used his cigar to emphasize his demand. “I’d like your assurance that there will be no attempt to take advantage of Miss Delacroix’s affection for you.”
Nathaniel cleared his throat. “Of course not, sir.”
“Mrs. McKinley considers the young lady tantamount to a daughter. As such, we have a paternal interest in her well-being.”
“Of course, sir.” To brave the wrath of any father figure was bad enough, but to have it come from the president of the United States was an altogether different magnitude of mortification.
