Page 36

When William stops playing to take a request from his wife, Ben makes excuses for us both so that I can go up to bed. I don’t have to turn as I leave the room to know that Quint’s gaze burns into me. I feel it as though it has sparked a fire inside me, so intense that when I undress in my room and change into a borrowed nightgown from Mrs. Allen, I check to make sure my dress isn’t singed.

Chapter Thirteen

It never ceases to amaze me what Ben’s money can do—or actually, for the time being, William’s money. By lunchtime the next day, Ben and I have enough clothes to get us through our stay.

Quint comes into the city with us, sitting so close to me in the back seat of the Allens’ car that all I can think about is how I want to slip my hand into his or have him put his arm around me over the top of the seat. It’s a constant battle inside me to be fair to Ben. We’ve started something. But the feeling that I’ve known Quint far longer is almost oppressive. He took my heart long ago and kept it all my life. It makes no sense, but it’s the truth, even if I can’t explain it.

Everything that’s happened between me and Ben has been a whirlwind of emotions, starting strong thanks to the instant connection our being trapped in the past together presented. And it hasn’t slowed down since. His family dotes on me, calls our relationship perfect. How could I even begin to decipher what’s real with him either?

Our next stop after shopping is Prospect Park Plaza, where the picture Gibbons was captured in was taken the day before in front of the Pulitzer Fountain.

“You think he’s staying at the Plaza?” William asks as the driver drops us in front of the fountain.

“Seems most likely if he got caught in a picture here. We’ll check it out.” Ben strides toward the hotel with William beside him, and I hurry to catch up, trying to convince myself Ben isn’t ignoring me just because William’s in on the secret now. It’s habit to lean on William. They were best friends, and he’s the person Ben trusted when he was at his most vulnerable.

Quint catches my elbow and then holds out his arm to escort me up the sidewalk. I tense and fight the natural reaction to slip my arm through like I always do … in that other life or something.

“I can walk by myself,” I say, more because of Ben’s slight than for any anger at Quint for offering.

“Yes, I believe you can, and it was quite an argument I had with myself whether to keep my distance in order to admire you or give you my arm in order to be nearer.” He reaches over and takes my hand, placing it under his elbow, providing support I realize I do need, considering my heels, as he hurries our pace to catch up with the other two.

I blush and laugh. “Do you ever stop flirting?”

He tilts his head and says in a low voice, “I hope there’s never cause to.”

Your entire life, that little voice reminds me. I tamp down the giddy butterflies and can’t answer. Once we catch up with Ben and William at the doors of the hotel, I disengage my arm—I do have Ben to think about.

Ben leads us to the check-in desk, pulling out the photo of Gibbons as he does. “Have you seen him?” he asks when the clerk asks how he can help.

The man laughs. “Sir, the Plaza is a very large hotel, and I have no way of knowing if that man is staying here.”

Ben still holds up the photo earnestly. “Can you look, at least?”

The man glances and shakes his head, and before Ben can utter another word, he indicates for the gentleman and lady behind Ben to step forward.

“And no security cameras,” Ben mutters under his breath. We walk away from the desk.

“Perhaps one of the smaller places nearby would remember him somehow,” I suggest.

Ben nods. “It’s the only lead I can think of to work on other than waiting around here to see if he shows up … but he may not even be staying here. It might be a coincidence the photo was taken around here.” He blows out a breath. “William and I will start canvassing businesses around here, see if we can spot him.”

“And me?” I ask with a raised eyebrow.

Ben glances at the watch he bought this morning. “It’s long past lunchtime. Perhaps you should get something to eat and have Quint take you home.”

This is going too far. I put my hands on my hips. “Home? I believe I trained for this as long as you did.”

Ben lets out a short sigh. “You spent three days in the past with me at your side the entire time. I’ve had two years of practice blending in. It’s safer this way.”

I clench my fingers into fists. “You assume I’ll mess up somehow and rewrite history?” I snap.

“You brought us here,” he says, reaching to take me by the waist. “That’s your area of expertise, and this is mine.”

I jerk away. “I see.”

“Clara, this could be dangerous.”

I take another step back, nearly running into Quint, who steadies me with a hand on my back before dropping it. “Yes, I see that not only has your body traveled back in time, but your brain has as well.” I whirl to Quint, who looks uncomfortable with the argument unfolding. “Remind me,” I say in a too-sweet voice, “are women deemed intelligent enough to vote yet?”