“Needles can be dangerous.”
“So can couriers.” Anna wished she could take the words back the instant they left her mouth.
Silence settled between them.
Anna stared at the cloak, mortified. She shouldn’t have said it. Not because it was untrue, but because his expression changed just enough for her to know she’d struck a nerve.
Mr. Reed’s voice remained calm. “Yes. They can.”
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
He stood with his hat in his hands, his shoulders relaxed, his expression nothing but courteous. Mr. Reed looked exactly like the sort of man Captain Whitby trusted. Reliable, useful, and harmless to those who believed him on their side.
Anna didn’t believe he was harmless. On the contrary, something in his eyes unsettled her more than suspicion did.
“You should be careful,” he said quietly.
Her heart gave an uncomfortable beat. “Of what?” she asked.
He leaned toward her. “Of rooms where people speak freely because they believe no one important is near enough to hear.”
Anna froze.
“Houses are full of thin walls, Miss Turner.”
She swallowed hard. “Is that a warning?”
He straightened. “That depends on whether you need one.”
She stared at him. Every instinct told her to deny everything. She was only a maid. She knew nothing of officers, ships, cargo, or warnings hidden inside threats about hangings.
Unfortunately, Nathaniel Reed watched her as though he already knew she was not nearly as invisible as she pretended to be.
She tried to take on an innocent air. “I don’t know what you mean.”
His gaze lowered to the cloak. “I am relieved to hear it.”
That wasn’t much of an answer.
Footsteps sounded from the main staircase. Mr. Reed turned his head. Male voices drifted upward, followed by Captain Whitby’s laugh. He took another step back. “It seems my misplaced coat stand services are required below.”
Anna said nothing.
He inclined his head. “Miss Turner.”
She nodded back. “Mr. Reed.”
He started down the hall, then paused to look back. “Your stitches are very neat.”
Anna’s hand moved over the hidden pocket. “You cannot see them from there.”
“No,” he agreed, “but you seem the sort of woman who does careful work.”
With that, he was gone.
Anna stood in the sewing room doorway until his footsteps faded down the stairs. Only then did she close the door and lean against it.
“So can couriers,” she muttered, rolling her eyes. “Why did I say that?” Worse yet, why had he answered as though he knew it was true?
