The thought stopped her cold. She swallowed, her eyes fixed on the fire grate and definitely not on him. She had fallen in love with her nemesis, her greatest enemy. She frowned deeply and chewed the inside of her lip. She tried repeating to herself all the excuses she’d manufactured over the last week regarding her growing attraction to him but could not make any of them stick.
She sighed. “This is a disaster.”
“Which part?”
“I ought to have insisted you replace yourself with someone else.”
He was quiet, and she finally braved looking at his face. He was guarded. She’d not seen that expression for some time, and that she’d put it there filled her with regret.
“I do not mean to offend, I only . . .” She twisted her fingers together. “Do you understand? I—please understand—Oliver, I could not bear it if you are harmed in defense of me.” She shook her head. “I do not want to see you harmed at all, under any circumstances, but were it to happen while protecting me would be the cruelest of all things. Especially since I really did detest you only a short time ago, and—”
He laughed, then, and leaned close to her. Just when she thought he might kiss her again, he took her hand in his and patted it, which made her scowl. Perhaps he was only feeling maternal now. He’d kissed her twice and had every opportunity to make it a nice, round three. They were quite alone, she was not a young debutante in danger of ruination, and she doubted Gus would return within the next few minutes, or however long it would take for Oliver to indulge her with one more kiss.
Men were amorous, or so she’d been told; what man wouldn’t take advantage of the moment and claim one more kiss? Maybe he found her lacking or had simply indulged her because she’d had a traumatic forty-eight hours and he knew she desired the closeness. He had tried to step back. She had pressed the advantage.
“You, Miss O’Shea, are enchanting.” He smiled and squeezed her hand, giving it one last friendly pat.
She looked at him flatly. “I am going to read now. Excuse me.”
Still smiling and trying to stifle a laugh but clearly failing, he helped her rise, and she hopped with as much dignity as she could manage back to her own room.
Emme did manage to read for a time, reviewing some passages in Miles Blake’s old family journals, about people who, to their horror, had begun shifting into predatory animals three nights per month. The pain, the fear, the humanity of the stories never failed to move her, and she planned to share some of them at the end of the week. She wanted to hold up one of the journals, show the physical proof of living, breathing people who were unjustly terrorized because the majority didn’t understand them.
The day dragged on interminably, until finally Josephine presented her with a lovely dark-green dress and helped her get ready for dinner with her friends. The young woman had also procured a black stocking that she stretched over Emme’s casted foot, and while they laughed at the silliness of it, Emme decided it was much better than staring at the ugly white plaster.
She had sent a note inviting Madeline to join them for dinner and a visit but hadn’t heard anything in return. She worried, remembering Madeline had said she was going to try to do some snooping around Lysette’s room.
She had discussed the next day’s activities with Oliver, Gus, and Carlo, and they had agreed to wait to see what news came from local law enforcement before deciding whether she would remain sequestered for another day. Gus had thought of a few other associates who might have knowledge of Bryce Randolph’s whereabouts, and had promised to speak with them later that evening. The thought of remaining alone with Oliver after she’d all but thrown herself at him that afternoon was not something she wanted to contemplate. She would insist Josephine remain with her and save herself the embarrassment of dwelling on the fact that Oliver Reed had probably just been placating her. It was just as well. Distance from him was safe. He was doing her a kindness, really.
Finally, a knock on the door signaled it was time for what Oliver had described as “a secret gathering.” She grabbed one of the crutches and made her way into the corridor with Oliver.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“Not far.” He grinned and led her to the room adjacent his. “This room was unexpectedly vacated this morning, and Lucy snapped it up. It is now fit for a queen’s celebration.”
Emme laughed as they entered the hotel room, which had been rearranged to hold a large dining table. Lucy directed the guests to their seats and made use of two hotel staff, who served the meal according to her instructions.
“Lucy, this is lovely!” Emme smiled as Oliver took her crutch and held out the chair for her. “And you’ve brought souvenirs!” Flags, scarves, and bits and pieces of the countries represented at the festival were placed all around the room. “You’ve gone to so much trouble.”
Miles shook his head. “My wife could do this in her sleep. You’ve made her most happy by providing a reason for a gathering.” Lucy eyed her husband askance but nodded in agreement as she gave a final instruction to one of the servers. Miles waited for her to finish and then held out her seat. She
