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Quint’s jaw tenses. “Of course. Not a face I’m ever likely to forget.” His gaze flicks to me, bringing back the memory of how he’d scooped me from the floor after Gibbons shot me, how his voice had been filled with panic, how he’d called me love the way he used to—the way he always did. He turns from me and hands the picture back to Ben.

“Right.” Ben nods. “He traveled through the passage here this morning around ten a.m. Any of your servants say anything?”

“No. I sprang this dinner on Mrs. Barrow because Kitty wanted to meet some of my pals here in the States—Frank, of course. Not Edward. Kitty and Florence know him. Mrs. Barrow was busy lining things up to pull that off since I arrived a few days ago.”

“Anyone else who might have seen him?” Ben has an edge in his voice, but I’m not sure if it’s from his role as time-traveling detective settling in or the situation between the three of us.

“Maybe.” Quint folds his arms and stares at his shoes while he speaks. He’s not paying any attention to me, so it’s the perfect time to stare and regret that I ever left this man. “Mrs. Barrow and Coles, the man who keeps the grounds up, are usually the only ones around here, and she had to hire some staff for this visit.”

“So he might have looked like one of the new servants.” Ben tilts his head down and frowns, disappointed in the answer.

“He could have easily slipped in amidst the chaos and no one would have been the wiser,” Quint agrees.

Ben straightens and stands. “Well, we ought to get started. Having a talk with people, establishing some kind of trail. You know the drill.”

Quint shakes his head. “You’re better off to wait until morning. I know you don’t want to get behind him, but it will raise a lot of suspicion if you head off, asking around at motels and such so late. It’s bound to tip Gibbons off that you’re on to him.” He must have caught Ben’s scowl because he holds up his arms in mock surrender. “But I am no expert here, Ben.”

Ben nods. “No, you’re right. I’d rather get answers than scare him off into being a ghost again.”

Quint finally looks up, but his eyes slide too quickly over me before he makes eye contact with Ben again. “Can I help? I’ve got another few weeks of leave before I have to report back to London.”

Leave. I wring my hands in my lap. The U.S. is three years away from entering the conflict that will soon engulf Europe. “You’ve joined in England, then?” I ask.

“RAF.”

“How dashing.” I force myself to make the statement teasing and not sound half fearful, half admiring.

“Thank you.” Quint almost smiles, but then he stands and moves away toward one of the bookshelves, leaning against it instead of the table. “Why do you think he’s here?” he asks.

Ben shrugs. “Taking over the world? It would be much easier to do from the past with knowledge from the future.” He laughs at how absurd it sounds.

Quint laughs with him. I let both sounds calm the tightness in my chest. It sends a smile budding on my lips. Quint turns, catching my eyes, his expression changing. For a brief moment, his smile widens before it disappears. He looks away and straightens.

“It’s getting late, and we have a lot of work to do in the morning. We should call it a night.” As he passes Ben, he pats him on the shoulder, and then he slips from the room with alarming rapidity.

Ben watches him go before turning his attention back to me. “I’m surprised you’re still up. We’ve had a long day.”

I flinch at the sharpness in his tone. He’s made every interaction with Quint so far appear easy, as though nothing about the situation bothers him. “I’m no wilting flower, Ben. You know that.”

He sighs, coming toward me to hold out his hand. “Can I walk you up to your room?”

I stand and take it, gripping it tighter than I mean to. More than ever, I want his friendship to get us through however long we have to be here. “Yes, please.”

He nods, looking away and leading the way out of the room. Perhaps I’ve reached the end of his patience and understanding where it comes to my feelings for Quint. Who can blame him?

At breakfast the next morning, wearing the same clothes I wore yesterday, I discover that Ben’s plan of action is much the same as it was the last time we came back in time in search of Simon Gibbons: he’ll hit the streets and I’ll stay home.

Only Quint won’t be staying with me this time.

“It makes more sense if you talk to the servants while we get a jump start by seeing if he stayed at any of the nearby hotels and such or ate around here sometime yesterday,” Ben explains.

I grind my teeth together, fighting for calm. We’re back at square one on my capabilities, but the last thing the already tense situation needs is Ben and me arguing over that. “You two are going to look like a couple of policemen and no one’s going to talk to you,” I argue evenly.

“And what would your plan be?” Ben asks with a touch of exasperation.

“Let me show around the picture—I’ll be a much more sympathetic figure. Maybe I could even say he’s my brother or something, and people would be falling over themselves to help me.” I eye Ben with a challenge in my raised eyebrow.

“It’s not a bad plan,” Quint says. “She’s right about people thinking we’re the police.” This morning, he’s dressed in a plain suit, like Ben’s. Drat, if he doesn’t look just as handsome.