Page 57 of The Trick of It

Rhys stood there, frowning at him, his eyes darting between Errol and the door that would lead to confined space with Seph in that clingy, brown dress.

“What?!” Errol exclaimed, barely hiding a laugh at the scene in front of him.

Rhys glanced over his shoulder, stepped slightly off to the side, and clicked the door shut. Overhearing could go both ways.

He climbed up onto the driver’s seat next to his brother and gave him a long, careful look. “How much,” he said as soft as he could manage, tilting his head forward in conspiratorial congress, “can you hear of what goes on back there … up here?”

Errol blinked. He swallowed. His cheeks colored. “Why do you ask?”

Rhys narrowed his eyes and then began to smile, sharp and mean. “Because I am planning to—”

“Never mind,” Errol decided quickly, snatching up the ear muffs and popping them onto his head. “Get away from me.”

“Cheers,” Rhys said, still smiling, and he leaned forward to check the fit of the muffs until he was batted away with a series of sharp slaps and then literally booted back onto the ground, where he landed with a self-satisfied giggle.

He dusted himself off and reminded Errol once more before retreating, “alert us when we’re twenty minutes out. And if you see a tiny woman blocking the road …”

“Yes, yes,” Errol shouted over his muffled hearing. “Go around her.”

Rhys gave him a nod and spun to wrench the carriage door open, leaping inside with a buoyant sensation of satisfaction and reassurance, finding Seph already curled in her corner, the blue puzzle box tilted diamond-wise in her hands as she fiddled with a protruding beam.

She glanced up and gave him a little smile, quick and somewhat shy. “All sorted?”

“’Course,” he answered, ignoring his own side of the chamber and plopping down directly next to her. “Did you figure out the next stage of the box?”

“I think so,” she said, shifting to show him where her finger was holding the little rectangle of new wood at an angle so it would not get sucked back inside the box. “I’m not certain if this comes all the way out or if it’s a mechanism trigger.”

“Well, did you give it a good tug?” he asked, wiggling his eyebrows and delighting at how she flushed.

“A gentle one,” she said. “Here, take it; I will only mess it up.”

He laughed, carefully transferring the puzzle into his own grasp and making plenty of show of brushing his fingers against hers in the process. As soon as he had it, he tossed it behind him onto the velvet cushion, winning a gasp of outrage.

“Sorry,” he said, smiling widely. “Slipped.”

“Yes,” she drawled skeptically. “Clumsiness is your defining feature, isn’t it, fast hands?”

That made him laugh, which then made her laugh, grudgingly and softly, her shoulders shaking as she turned her face toward the window, watching as they lurched into motion toward the road out of Brighton.

Truth be told, he had attempted several times in the night and this morning to plan exactly what was going to happen today, sequestered as they were going to be in this tiny, secluded, feasibly versatile little space, but he had gotten … erm, distracted. Each time.

He had addressed his distractions, of course, both out of necessity and because he thought it might give him a clearer head once he arrived here today.

He hadn’t accounted for her wearing that dress, though. It was one he hadn’t seen before, in a corded knit that clung to every intriguing curve of her body. She looked paler in it, glowing, almost, like a dollop of clotted cream encased in a honeycomb.

Errol had better be focusing on the bracing sounds of nature out there, by God, because Rhys was already struggling to keep his decidedly not-clumsy hands down at his sides.

“So,” he managed, falling to the side against the tufted backing of the seat as he beheld her, his fingers itching to discover the exact texture of her skirts. “Did you … erm … sleep well?”

Her head snapped around, a sputter escaping her lips. “Did you?!”

He cleared his throat and grinned, giving a shrug. “On and off.”

She narrowed those eyes of hers, the brown circles around her pupils glinting, almost golden opposite the sheen of her dress, and then she heaved a little sigh. “We ought to talk, I suppose. About … what … happened?”

“Oh?” he said, leaning closer, his grin still in place. “Which part?”

She hesitated, drawing her bottom lip between the shiny, round pearls of her teeth as her gaze fell to his mouth. “I …” she said thinly, then frowned. “You know already.”