Midnight Jewel (The Glittering Court #2)(33)

“I . . .” He watched my hands for a few seconds and then cleared his throat. “I count just fine.”

I stopped fixing the wrinkles but left my hands pressed against him, as though some unexpected thought had suddenly distracted me into forgetting they were there. “Look . . . seriously, I’m sure you really will be busy with all sorts of things once we’re in Cape Triumph, and I know what you said, but . . .”

He cocked his head. “But what?”

I sighed, gave his coat one last tug to straighten it, and then clasped my hands before me. In doing so, I leaned forward ever so slightly, exposing just a whisper more of what lay underneath the dress’s top. I could imagine Miss Garrison nodding in approval. My job is to make the most of what everyone’s got. You’ll thank me later.

“Are you sure you won’t have time to look into where my friend with the bond went?” I asked.

“Oh.” He didn’t immediately reject me, so that was promising. “Well, I meant what I said. It’s not as easy as it sounds.”

“I know, but—” I looked up and feigned shock. “Don’t you own a comb?”

“Wha—”

I stood on my tiptoes, bringing us closer, and tried to smooth down the flyaway pieces of his rebellious hair. It was softer and silkier than I expected. “Your hair’s actually manageable when it’s not out in the wind. You have no excuse.”

My fingers trailed idly through the strands of his hair, my face was only a couple of inches from his, and . . . was he breathing faster? Yes. Yes, he was. Against all odds, I’d sidetracked shrewd, no-nonsense Grant Elliott with feminine wiles. Maybe even flustered him?

I hadn’t known if my impulsive idea to make him the object of the flirting challenge would work. He wasn’t the type to get easily distracted. He lived and breathed his mission. He should’ve noticed my act right away, especially since he was so good at spotting subterfuge.

Except it wasn’t subterfuge. Not exactly. Maybe I didn’t always like him, but his infuriating personality didn’t seem like such a deterrent just then, not when an unexpected thrill was slowly uncoiling and spreading throughout my body. I wanted to stand closer. I wanted to touch more than his hair. I wanted him to touch me back.

And maybe Grant didn’t always like me either, but I could tell, at least in this moment, he liked being close to me too. He liked looking at me. He liked me touching him. It turned out we had common ground after all.

“Now,” I said, forcing myself back to cool calculation, “about my friend.”

“Your . . . ? Right. Finding where he is.” Grant was having trouble deciding where to focus. Looking into my eyes seemed to unsettle him. So he’d let his eyes stray to my bodice and linger there until he remembered he wasn’t supposed to. “There should be a ship manifest on file with the port, and maybe a record of who he signed on with. But if they left Denham for some unknown colony, that gets a lot more complicated.”

“But it’s not impossible.”

“No. It just means sending out feelers to a lot of different places.”

“Don’t you have friends everywhere?”

“Silas does.”

I finished taming his hair—it really did look better, not that I minded the tousled look—and let my hands drop to my side. But I stayed where I was and looked up at him with wide-eyed pleading that wasn’t faked.

“Please, Grant? Can’t you just make a few inquiries?”

Silence hung between us. And more. The space between us smoldered.

He exhaled. “I . . . There are a couple of people I can check with.”

“Only a couple? After I went to all that work so that you’re fit to be seen in polite company?”

A little of his old sardonic smile came out, but his eyes still betrayed other thoughts in his mind. He reached toward the fallen sleeve and pushed it up. And just with that, his fingertips against my skin, I inhaled sharply and forgot all about my scheming.

“You have no reason to talk,” he said. “You’re just as negligent—”

The door to the upper deck suddenly opened, and we sprang apart as Sylvia and Rosamunde came scurrying down, faces frantic. “Are we late?” Sylvia exclaimed. “We almost forgot about dinner.”

I swallowed. Increasing the space between Grant and me made me realize just how little there’d been moments ago. “No, you’re fine. But we should get to dinner.”

Grant gestured toward our hall. “After you, ladies.”

Sylvia smiled as she passed him. “You look very nice tonight, Mister Elliott. Is there something different about your hair?”




At dinner, Grant and I sat at opposite ends of the table. He barely glanced in my direction and made his typically flawless conversation with those near him. That distance cleared my head. I relaxed. That craving to touch and be touched faded, and I felt more in control—and exultant. My plan had worked.

Now I had to wait and see how long it took him to notice.

The next morning, as I was watching the sunrise at the stern, I heard footsteps behind me. Then: “What you hear, what no one else ever seems to hear, isn’t some regional colonial accent. What you’re hearing is that I didn’t start speaking Osfridian until I was eight.”

I turned to find Grant standing with his arms crossed. “Of course!” I exclaimed. “It’s not your first language. I considered that, but I know how most Evarian speakers sound when they learn Osfridian.”