Clara nodded, and her friend quietly walked away.
“Roman?” she said quietly.
He looked up, letting his hands fall to the table. His eyes were dull, and his hair stood up at odd angles. Dark shadows ringed his eyes, and stubble dotted his chin. He looked as if he hadn’t slept in days. “What are you doing here?” he asked, the life gone from his voice.
Clara stepped toward the desk, stopping beside it. “I came with a friend. I heard what happened.”
He nodded, stretching a hand out along the desk and fidgeting with the edges of one of the ledgers.
“Tartan?” she asked.
“Along with another.”
“I’m so sorry.” Clara wanted to comfort him, to take him into her arms, to promise him the marshal would find out who’d done this and that they would pay dearly. She settled instead for resting a hand on top of his. He stopped fidgeting and looked at her hand for a second. Then, abruptly, he pulled it away and stood.
“They knocked Jeremiah out,” he said, his back to her.
Clara put a hand over her mouth. “Is he all right?”
“He’s fine,” Roman said in a flat voice.
“How did they . . . Were you . . .” Clara wasn’t certain how to ask how the men had gotten by Roman.
“I wasn’t here.” He turned back to face her, his face as dull as his words. “It happened before I returned last night.”
“While you were walking me home,” she said, the realization dawning that the men she’d seen had acted swiftly. Perhaps she hadn’t fooled them after all.
“Or while I was speaking to the marshal at the hotel.” Roman rubbed his face.
It was too much. The fact that those men had robbed him while he’d gone to the marshal about them was so terrible. It was the last thing he deserved, and Clara thought her heart might break in two. She rushed forward and threw her arms about him.
He stood still for a moment, as if he were frozen in place. And Clara froze too. The old fears tickled the edges of her mind.He didn’t want her. If she hadn’t gone out and seen those men, he would’ve been here. She was driving him away the same way she drove Gideon away.
Then, slowly, he lifted his arms and placed them around her, and Clara melted in relief. She would do anything for him, anything to keep this from happening again.
He held her close, his breath warm against her head. “I’m so sorry,” he said.
“You have nothing to apologize for.” She tilted her face up to see him.
He said nothing, but he held her gaze for a moment, just long enough for Clara to see the anguish there. Then, as if the scene had changed in a play and they were simply actors giving life to roles, he stiffened and stepped away.
“You need to go now,” he said, not looking at her.
“Go?”
“Back to the Darbys’. Take your friend and stay there.”
“But Roman, I’d rather stay with you. I can’t help you if I’m not here. The thieves have proven they only come at night.”
He looked at her then, his face cut like stone. “The only way you can help me is to stay at the boardinghouse. Out of the way.”
Out of the way?Clara recoiled at his words.
“I wouldn’t be in the way,” she said, her voice smaller than she would have liked. “I can help with the customers while you and Mr. Wiley handle everything that’s happened. You even said how useful I was here.”I could comfort you, she thought.
“I was wrong. I don’t have time for this nonsense. This is no place for you, Clara. I insist you return.” He paced across the dirt and straw-covered floor and opened the front door. “Do you need me to escort you?”
“I do not,” she said, as coolly as possible despite the emotions brewing inside of her. “However, Deirdre is in the back, and I must fetch her. We’ll leave from there.”
