Victoria reached forward, grasping my hand.
The most remarkable feeling was blossoming in my chest—I couldn’t keep track of who I was. I was Delilah Barrett, not Delilah Thornhill. And this criminal sitting in front of me had almost certainly stolen a rare book I was being paid to get back.
But I squeezed her hand.
“The gossip columns love to trash me over my many engagements.” Her voice dripped with disdain. “They like to make me out to be some batty old lady that collects fiancés like baseball cards. But I love love.”
“Even though it makes you sad?”
Victoria turned away from me, jaw tightening. “Yes, well. It comes in waves sometimes. The yearning for love, the regret over the past. Seeing the two of you on that dance floor reminded me of a party, just like this one, years ago. I was with Bernard Allerton, actually.”
The hair raised on the back of my neck.
“I can’t believe your Henry never met him. Not at a conference, anything like that?”
“No.” My mouth was dry. “Although he’s certainly seen him give speeches before. He really looks up to Bernard, considers him to be a true scholar.”
Even now that he fully understood the landscape of Bernard’s betrayal, there was a part of Henry that still looked up to his mentor.
Weeks after Mark had fired me, I’d sat at the kitchen table with my dads, crying into a large mug of peppermint tea. Not because I’d been fired, but because we’d broken up. It took months before I felt my true self return to my body—and I welcomed the anger over the sadness.
“Bernard Allerton is a pioneer. A true revolutionary in his field.” Victoria was watching the fountain—but I was watching Victoria.
“When…when will you see him again?” I asked, tone light.
Her fingers fidgeted in her lap. “Unclear, really.” She avoided my eyes for the first time in the conversation. “Did you mean what you said back there, about the provenance of the Virginia?”
“We did. Did it make you nervous?” I asked. “I will gladly take it back.”
Her fingers stilled.
“No, it did not. Not everything on this earth belongs in a museum or a library, Delilah. I appreciate rarity on a deep level, deep in my soul. It brings me immense joy to own a piece of history.” She gave her watery eyes one last swipe. “Oh, you must think I’m an evil person.”
“Not at all,” I said. The words were only a partial lie. “You don’t think Henry is—”
“Don’t you say another word. Your husband is a scholar. And he knows rarity when he sees it. It was a lovely gift and I shall treasure it.”
The trickling water sounds washed over us—cloisters still seeped in silence. I twirled my fake wedding ring. “Was that man you were dancing with a new suitor?”
“That man is an idiot,” she said. “And that was only for show. Love, love like the kind you have with Henry, is as rare as Virginia’s signature on that book.”
You taste like ripe peaches on a summer’s day.
“Henry is certainly very…captivating.”
“That’s the perfect word for that husband of yours.”
I pulled the rings from my hand, let them shine in my palm.
“When you’re not looking, Henry stares at you like you’re the only star in his sky.”
Our eyes met—a fist was closing around my throat. After Mark, I’d promised myself I’d never break the rules again. Even though I was no longer on the police force, I knew where the lines of good and bad were drawn.
But I’d stepped right over that line with Henry—gladly. Because I was positive Abe wouldn’t approve of his undercover agents dating each other, and yet every cell in my body recognized that Henry was different.
Could that be possible? Could you make the same mistake again and have it be no mistake at all?
“How you blush when I mention him,” Victoria said, wrenching me back to the present moment.
A few other patrons were finally wandering back through the cloisters, speaking in soft whispers. The room demanded their awed respect; the act of devotion clung to the air like the green vines that wrapped around the stones.
“How often do you and Henry visit Reichenbach Falls?”
“Just when we see something that catches our eye.” Should I push her here? Or pull? I wanted Henry by my side—our partnership was starting to feel as familiar as what I had with Freya.
How was I going to get access to her collection?
From the corner of my eye, I saw Henry’s tall, broad form approaching with the guards. He moved through the cloisters with a masculine grace.
When I widened my eyes at him, he winked.
“Mr. Thornhill,” Victoria said, surprised. “I trust you’re not in trouble? These are my guests, you see.”
“Uh, yes, ma’am.” The guard coughed. “We were unaware until Mr. Thornhill told us.”
“What are you in trouble for?” she asked. “Did you steal something?” Her eyes glittered with teasing humor.
“The guards caught us in one of the utility closets,” I said, touching my hair shyly. “Indisposed, if you will.”
Victoria merely waved her hand and the guards lumbered away.
“You two keep getting more and more interesting, don’t you?”
29
Henry
“Thank you,” I said to Victoria, reaching out my hand to lift Delilah from the stone bench. “We were enjoying ourselves a little too much.”
“Young love,” she mused. A knowing look passed between her and my partner.
“I trust you and my lovely wife are enjoying the gala?”
Victoria fluffed her hair. “Girl talk. You are certainly the brains, Henry. But your wife has a fierce heart.”
That was certainly true.
“Although Delilah told me you were off enjoying the stained-glass windows. Not in trouble with the law.”
I slid my hands into my pockets, shrugged. “We were a little embarrassed,” I admitted, leaning in. “I do come and sit in front of those stained-glass windows, though.”
That wasn’t a lie—they were one of my favorite exhibits in the city. Watching the sun filter through each unique pane of glass brought me a quiet joy; the hands that had crafted that glass in the tenth century, still present through their artistry. It was enough to leave me speechless.
“Your penchant for rarity is to be admired, Henry.”
I intertwined my fingers with Delilah’s. “I’ve always been drawn to the singularly beautiful.”
“Is that why you became a rare book librarian?” Victoria asked.
I’d been asked this question hundreds of times in my career—but I couldn’t answer it the way I used to.
“For the same reason you collect antiques. The power.”
Her eyes flashed steel. “Power?”
“I feel powerful knowing I’m the only person allowed to care for a manuscript so old it has to be handled with extreme care. Sometimes I’m the first person to turn the pages of a book in hundreds of years. All that history, at my control, well, it makes me feel like a king.”