“I wanted to pound down the door at the Department of the Interior and ask where you were.”
That sounded familiar. “I sometimes walked past the boardinghouse, looking for you,” she admitted.
Luke preened. “Did you ever see me?”
“Twice. I hid behind the wall at the end of the street because I’m a coward.”
“Nonsense,” Luke teased. “You are probably the bravest girl I’ve ever met. I’m the coward. I didn’t have the guts to publish theDon Quixotetranslation until your article came to me. Thanks for sending it.”
Her spirit lit. “Is it published?”
“It went to the printers on Monday.”
Her heart swelled with pride at his accomplishment. “Congratulations. I can’t wait to read it.”
“You might hate it,” he cautioned. “It’s different. Even my editor suggested it was a little overblown.”
“And Don Quixote isn’t? He might be the most overblowncharacter in the history of literature. No matter what the critics say, good or bad, you would have regretted it for the rest of your life if you didn’t publish it. I’m so glad you did.”
He touched the side of her face, affection and a hint of gratitude in his eyes. The idea that she could inspire this bold, audacious man to finish his book filled her with pride. She wasn’t nearly as brave as Luke, but in this one area he was painfully vulnerable.
This was moving too fast. It felt as if they’d never been apart, and she wanted to reach out to him with both hands. She took a breath and stepped back to admire his musketeer outfit.
“I saw your sister at the entrance wearing a similar costume. She seems very daring. Is your brother dressed as the third musketeer?”
Luke grinned. “We tried, but Gray refused to wear anything other than a formal black suit. But that’s Gray for you. Come, let me introduce you to him.”
She tensed. “I think this is the part where I remind you I’m not very brave. I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Why not?”
“We don’t need to revisit how much he hates my family, do we? Please say no.”
It was dark now, and the crickets were chirping. Flickering torchlight illuminated the planes of Luke’s face, and once again she wished his name were anything besides Delacroix.
“All right,” Luke conceded. “Let’s revisit how morally wrong it is to waste even a moment of the sheer perfection of this night. There’s a bench overlooking the river. We can spy on the barges and poke fun at the costumes.”
“Let’s!” she readily agreed.
In the end they barely gave the partygoers on the barge a second thought as they held hands and recounted the past four months. He spoke about his work traveling all over the city to help his sister gather support for the McMillan Plan. She toldhim about Bandit and the new camera she’d bought. Never had time flown so quickly, but it couldn’t last forever.
“I need to check on my mother,” she said reluctantly. “She’s wearing the world’s most impractical gown and needs help if she’s going to do anything more strenuous than blink.”
Luke grabbed her arm before she could rise from the bench. “When can I see you again?”
She ought to say never. She ought to wish him a fond farewell. The memory of her father’s scorching anger back in February had diminished, but it would be awful if he caught her out a second time.
A few yards behind them, a pair of waiters left the service tent carrying platters of crab cakes and roasted lamb. It all smelled divine, but Luke looked away. He couldn’t eat a single morsel that wasn’t prepared in a boardinghouse kitchen where scientists adulterated his food with overdoses of chemical preservatives.
No matter what her father said, Luke Delacroix was a man of selfless valor. What other man in his position would endure months of restrictive food trials in the name of science?
She bit the side of her lip as indecision clawed at her. Never had she felt so accepted by another human being as she did when she was with Luke, and she couldn’t walk away from that feeling quite yet.
“I still go to the Gunderson studio every Friday morning to develop my photographs,” she whispered.
“I can’t wait until Friday. Where are you taking pictures next?”
On Monday she was slated to photograph the navy’s shipyard at low tide, which meant six o’clock in the evening. She would be alone. There would be no fear of discovery if they met at the isolated dry dock.
