Disappointment tugged at her as she and Vera headed farther into the park. She both feared and longed for a chance to see Luke again. They’d only had a few weeks together, but knowing him had left a mark. He had changed her for the better. He inspired her to be less complacent and braver about taking risks.
Vera had insisted that they eat nothing before the gala. Her mother’s nineteen-inch waist didn’t allow room for anything so inconsequential as food, but Marianne was hungry, and the gala’s refreshments smelled divine. A table filled with miniature quiches was tempting, and she helped herself to a plate. She stood on the edge of the dance floor to eat, wondering if she knew anyone here. The clerical people she worked with at Interior weren’t the sort to attend a charity gala, and her parents’ friends weren’t her friends. She probably had more in common with the waiters and the musicians than the guests.
Her gaze trailed to the string quartet, and her heart nearly stopped.
There he was.
Luke sat with the musicians and plucked a lute held loosely in his arms. His face was gripped with concentration as he studied the sheet music on the stand before him. How intent he looked! She hadn’t known he played an instrument, and somehow that made him even more appealing. The longing for him she’d been trying to suppress for months came roaring back to life.
Then she noticed his costume and smiled so wide it made her face hurt. He was dressed exactly like his sister in a musketeer uniform, complete with a tunic, white puffy sleeves, and a hat at a rakish angle.
As if sensing her presence, Luke glanced up and caught her gaze. His fingers froze as he gaped at her. The other musicians kept playing, but Luke had stopped. It felt like electricity flared between them, filling her with light and buoyancy. After a moment he simply set the lute on the ground, stood, and crossed over to her.
“I can’t believe you’re here,” he said, his face suffused with happiness.
“Me either,” she said, barely able to draw a full breath. “Aren’t you needed with the musicians?”
He shook his head. “I was just filling in for a guy who got hungry. They’re probably better off without me.”
“I doubt that.” He made everything better just by being there. His optimism, his excitement.
They stood in the middle of the dance floor. The evening was young, and no one had started dancing yet, but plenty of people carried platters of food and glasses brimming with punch.
“Do you still have your job? The poison job?” she asked.
He nodded. “Do you still have yours?”
“Yes. They decided not to fire us after all. They said they need our pictures.”
“Good!” Then he stilled, his eyes taking on a hint of caution. “Is your father here?”
“No, he had a committee meeting he couldn’t miss.”
“Even better!” He took the plate of quiche from her and set it aside. “Let’s get out of here. There’s a place behind the service tent where we can be alone.”
“Yes.”
She ought to resist the temptation, but she couldn’t. Luke was already headed that way, and she followed. Why had they forced themselves to stay apart all this time? Everything about this felt right, and the grudge between their families was antiquated and foolish.
A few torches lit the way to the tent, where waiters hastily refilled trays of hors d’oeuvres. A tall hedge bordered the back, and Luke led her behind it, then turned to face her, grabbing her hands. He was trembling.
“I thought about you every day,” he said quietly.
“I thought of you too.” There was no point in denying it. No matter how hard she’d tried to corral her wayward thoughts, they inevitably drifted to Luke and what he was doing.
“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 the Don Quixote translation 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 overblown character 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 told him 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.