trunk. âPerhaps Rachel seemed only garrulous and silly to you, but she wrote me a long letter all about it. A letter full of joy andâ¦and triumph! Did she in fact make so little impression on you?â
âIt would certainly seem so.â A shadow cloaked his expression, though his gaze remained fixed on her face. âBut none of this explains why you think I will help you now.â
âRachel said you were ineffably kind.â Sarah choked back her rush of anxiety and rage, and glanced down at the pile of books on the trunk. âShe said you made her laugh.â
âDid I? I had forgotten. But our situations are not quite equivalent in this, are they, Mrs. Callaway? You are the suppliant. I am the one being importuned.â
âYes.â Feeling stiff and awkward, she picked up a volume at random. The prospect of help was sifting away like dry sand through clenched fingers. âI didnât mean to harangue you, Mr. Devoran. Iâm sorry.â
âNot at all!â He smiled with a kind of remote courtesy. âYouâre understandably distressed about your cousinâs disappearance. But arenât you at all concerned about the impropriety of approaching a stranger like this?â
âIâm a widow, sir, not a young girl. With Rachelâs happiness and possibly her safety at stake, I have very little choice.â
He remained silent for a moment, his expression closed, contained, as if he ruthlessly reined in his natural male restlessness.
âSo the choices, it would seem, are all mine,â he said at last.
The leather cover in her hand was embossed in gilt. The gold outline of a bullheaded monster glowered up at her from one corner.
âTheseus chose to enter the Labyrinth to face down the Minotaur,â she said. âHe didnât have to do so. He volunteered.â
âI beg your pardon?â
Embarrassment burned up her neck. She set down the book and stood up. âIâm sorry. But you mentioned the Furies, sir.â
Guy Devoran laughed. âAnd so invited a deluge of random Greek associations?â He stepped closer to glance down at the cover. âWhere are you staying, maâam?â
âBrocktonâs Hotel. Itâs not far from here.â
âYes, I know it.â
She almost grasped his arm. âThen you will help me?â
His eyes met hers. Sarah gazed back into a heart of black flame.
A hot disturbance eddied through her veins, a quickening, like an onrushing ocean wave. She felt suddenly light-headed, as if he had mesmerized her, as if loose strands of her hair sang faraway songs of enchantment.
A bell rang.
Voices echoed from the outer shop.
The spun-sugar threads of the spell snapped in two. Though her heart still danced a frenzied fandango, Sarah dropped her hand and stepped back.
He had already looked away toward the sound. âIf secrecy is so essential, you must leave right now,â he said quietly. âWhich room?â
âRoom?â
Guy Devoran glanced back at her and smiled. âAt Brocktonâs: a modest but decent establishment, as recommended by your cousin, suitable for young ladies traveling alone.â
âThe last one in the north hallway at the top.â
He turned away to pull down a thick tome. He began to study it, almost as if he were no longer aware of her.
âThen I suggest that you return there,â he said, âwhile I think about it.â
She was dismissed. The loss of that vibrant attention stabbed like a knife.
With her blood on fire, Sarah slipped into the main part of the bookstore. An elderly couple was talking to the man at the counter. Using the bookshelves as a shield, she hurried to the other entrance and stepped out into the street.
It was raining. She had left her umbrella at the hotel. For no reason she could fathom, hot tears began to burn down her cheeks.
G UY closed the book with a thud. He thrust it back on the shelf, then