The softness fled, and her green eyes narrowed. “It’s well after ten at night, Mr. Flynn, as it was at our previous encounter. This is a rather odd hour to pay a call.”
“True. However, I…I work past sunset frequently. The only time I have to visit with friends is late at night.” He sensed a spark of curiosity before she spoke.
“What kind of work do you do that forces you to labor at such hours? Are you a vampire?”
Luc gave a genuine chuckle. She’d caught him off guard, and he liked it. “No, I’m no vampire, but there are similarities.”
“Fascinating, what do you do?”
“My work is, ah, confidential and requires near constant attention.” Now was not the time to confess he was a century old, cursed privateer. “I apologize for not being able to say more.”
“Oh, you work for the government.” Grace waved a dismissive hand. “To my knowledge, my aunt hadn’t returned toSweet Dreamsin decades. How did the two of you meet?”
“We met quite by accident,” he hedged, letting her think he meant Boston. “We were so surprised to discover another back bayou Louisianan that we spent an entire afternoon together. Later,” many years later than their first meeting, “she invited me to dinner, where I met her husband, Henry. Your aunt and I found we had a great deal in common, beginning with a love of travel.”
As he spoke, Grace nodded, and cocked her head to one side, as if she was really interested and listening. Good, she was relaxing as he distracted her from the emotional trauma that seethed below the surface of her curiosity. His comments about her aunt were mostly true. “Aunt Sarah did have itchy feet.” Grace’s narrowed gaze opened, and she stared out at the bayou. “I beg your pardon?”
“Itchy feet. You know, the need to be somewhere else, somewhere new.” She sounded almost absent, and she was smiling again.
“Ah, wanderlust. I’d never heard it put that way before.”
Grace looked down; her brows furrowed. “No, I don’t suppose you would have. It’s not a common phrase.” She met his gaze, still smiling.
That smile dazzled. How long had it been since he’d seen that treasured smile looking back at him?
Nine decades, and more. The last time Luc had seen such an expression had been just before he was cursed. He fisted his hands to keep from clutching at his chest to ease the pain memory roused. The woman who’d smiled like that was long dead and lost to history. No one, save himself remembered her. He wished he didn’t.
Grace’s voice snagged him from his agony.
“Aunt Sarah and I used ‘itchy feet’ because it fit how we felt if we stayed too long in one place. Uncle Henry understood.”
“He was a good man, your uncle.” Much better to think about more recent people and events.
“Gone much too soon,” she said, her tone thicker than before.
“Yes, Sarah was heartbroken when he died in that omnibus accident.” Hopefully Grace would trust him more easily if he revealed what he knew of her aunt.
Why do I want Grace to trust me?
Because she was in danger and needed help—whether she knew it or not. That had to be the only reason. “Aunt Sarah did not let it keep her down. She began a fight for regulation of omnibuses in Boston.” Grace straightened. Her face shone with pride for her aunt’s quest. “I remember. She wrote me when she won. Said the streets of Boston would be safer,” he confided. “They are now, mostly.”
“Good to know.”
Grace glanced left then right then back at him. “This is awkward, Mr. Flynn.”
“Luc, please, Miss Thibodeaux.”
She did not invite him to call her Grace.
Somehow it made him sad but proud of her at the same time.
“Perhaps it is time for you to leave,” she said.
“As you wish.”
“I do.”
He left the dock and receded from her view. There would be another time to learn more about Grace and the painful secrets she kept. Luc could empathize. He was a master of keeping painful secrets.
