“Your thaumagraph, miss!” the bespectacled thaumatographer declared, appearing suddenly at her table and offering a yellow envelope. “A lovely keepsake for the happy couple!”
She skittered away again, presumably to find another pairing to bother with her services, leaving Luna to stare at the envelope in her hands. She didn’t open it, but stared at it through narrowed eyes for some moments, chewing thoughtfully on her scone. Finally, with a little shrug and a muttered, “How bad can it possibly be?” she flicked it open and slipped out the black-and-white image contained therein.
Her pulse jumped. Then seemed to go very, very still.
The moment captured wasn’t exactly flattering of her. She was looking up and away, those foolish earrings swooshed in a glittery blur, and an absolutely enormous smile on her face, showing far too many teeth. She looked happy. A bit silly, and the way her head was tilted almost made her look like she had an extra chin. But so happy.
It wasn’t her own face which drew her eye, however.
It was his.
Mr. Grimm, caught in that moment, with his mouth partially opened to speak to her. But the thaumatic flash had captured something more in that split second of revelation.
It caught the look he gave her. A look of open, gut-wrenching, absolute adoration.
So painful. So vivid.
So undeniable.
Luna’s lips parted in a soft exhale.
She must be mistaken. She must be seeing things. Wishful thinking or something. Right?Right?They said the thaumatic camera never lied, but it lied all the time. It was like a tea-scried vision—one must take care how one interpreted the flash of isolated images taken out of context.
But Luna could not tear her gaze away. It was almost as bad as seeing him stripped suddenly naked in front of her. Intensely vulnerable and . . . and . . .
Catching another sharp breath, she hastily shoved the thaumagraph back into the envelope. For a moment, she sat there, hands trembling, heart pounding. Then she grabbed her purse and stuffed the envelope inside, out of sight.
Nigel returned to the Moat House Café approximately forty minutes later as promised, a carpet bag in hand. He spied Luna across the way, still seated at their table. She was drinking a fresh cup of tea and swinging her feet from the tall stool. The sun was beginning to set, and it cast a soft, golden glow through the very old, diamond-paned window. The light caught in her dark hair, teasing out delicate highlights. Lit up like that, she really did look angelic. And the way her lips shaped into that lovely little pucker when she went to sip her tea . . .
Gods. It was enough to make a man come all undone. Resolutions of gentlemanliness be damned.
Giving himself a quick shake, Nigel wove his way through the tables. Luna saw him coming, and her face lit up. The next moment, however, it changed oddly. He couldn’t explain it. Her spontaneous reaction at the sight of him was definitely delight, but what followed was such an immediate shuttering of her eyes, a closed-off uncertainty. Nigel paused, wondering if this was all a big mistake. If he shouldn’t have indulged himself, spending anentire afternoon with this woman. Perhaps it was time to call an end to their little holiday and part ways.
To hells with that.
“Success, Miss Talbot,” he said, holding up the carpet bag even as he slid back into his seat across from her.
Her brow knotted. “And what do you have there, Mr. Grimm?”
“The means to get you up to the top of that tower. But we’d better hurry—they’re closing down everything already. If we’re going to make this work, I need you to stand up and loudly declare that you simplymustget something from the gift shop, then hurry back that way. I’ll join you shortly. Go to the very back where those tacky stamped tapestries are hanging and wait for me there.”
Luna worried her lower lip, her face uncertain. Then, seeming to come to a decision of sorts, she took a last gulp from her teacup, set it down in the saucer, and stood.“Darling!”she proclaimed, loud enough that the scattered patrons across the café all heard her. “Darling,I simplymustget that shot glass for Uncle Howard’s birthday! You know it’sjustthe thing! I won’t be a minute.”
Snatching up her purse, she turned and flounced across the café, her ridiculous earrings swinging. Patrons idly watched her go, and no one spared a glance for Nigel, where he was left at his table, his heart throbbing oddly, his mouth gaping. Never in his wildest dreams had he thought he would hear the word “darling” spoken from her lips and directed at him.
Subterfuge or no subterfuge, this was possibly the single most glorious moment of his entire existence.
Blowing out a little breath, Nigel dropped his gaze to the table, where he discovered that she’d left him half of the raspberry scone. For want of something else to do, he swallowed it down, though he scarcely tasted anything. Still, somewhatfortified, he rose, picked up his carpet bag and, with a polite nod to the barista, made his way back through the Moat House.
“You know we’re closing in five,” the barista called to his back.
“I know, I know. Just . . . got to fetch the little missus,” Nigel replied. And those words were so singularly delightful, he couldn’t help the smile that burst across his lips. He probably looked like a grinning lunatic.
Ducking his head, he hastened out of the café and back toward the castle and the gift shop. It was dim and somewhat musty inside. The lady behind the counter looked up from her tasks and said sternly in echo of the barista, “We’re closing in five.”
“Won’t be two,” Nigel answered and plunged into the twisty depths of souvenir mugs, tasseled bookmarks, replica swords, and other various tchotchkes. The seriously ugly stamped wall hangings done in the style of medieval tapestries hung from the ceiling at the very back of the shop, as though embarrassed by their own existence.
“Miss Talbot?” Nigel whispered.
