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She eyed his bandages with a kind expression. “You know something of courage. This was the least we could do. And it was Clara’s idea.”
His lips cracked and stretched painfully, but he smiled anyway. “She’s resourceful.”
“She is. And strong. But be careful. Clara is not as remote and detached as she thinks—and neither, I wager, are you, Mr. Robertson.”
James was riveted by the shrewd observations about him and Clara, and the quiet grace with which they were delivered. Trepidation and elation warred within him as he weighed the implications of her warning.
He owed Miss Stone nothing but felt some urge to reassure her that he and Clara knew what they were about, down to an explicit agreement.
Clara’s friend, however, had to be a veritable expert in human—especially male—behavior. Were he foolish enough to voice the explanation, her cool, alert blue eyes would see right through him.
Ultimately, James nodded after a moment, acknowledging her warning—or reassurance?—and after wishing each other well in their tasks, they parted ways.
