Heat licked her lips. Fingers of fire slipped under her skin. She was boneless suddenly, melting like candle wax before the flame, and it was his mouth that shaped her, his hands that gave her form.

One of his palms cradled the back of her head. The other lay flat against her abdomen. Each one of his fingertips was a point of heat. There was no weight, no pressure. It was as if his touch had no substance, and the proof that it existed at all was the raised flesh that it left in its wake.

Her fingers folded around the front of his jacket. She didn’t hold it as much as clutch it. It was something substantial, something quite real in the face of everything else that seemed otherworldly.

This kiss, his kiss, was far and away exceeding her expectations.

His tongue flicked her upper lip and touched the underside. She slid her tongue forward, touched his. She’d been tentative, but his response made her bold, and she sucked on his tongue, deepening the kiss, opening her mouth and his to the current of liquid fire.

She heard a sound, one she didn’t recognize as coming from herself until she felt the vibration deep at the back of her throat. She realized she was purring as contentedly as her cat. Or almost as contentedly, she thought, because what she wanted was something more than being scratched between her ears.

Restless, she arched her back. Her heels dug into the upholstered bench. He pressed her back with the flat of his hand before she could turn on her side. She loosened her fingers where they gripped his jacket so they could climb his chest. She slipped them around his neck, lacing them together. She held his head, held it there, afraid he would end the kiss too soon.

His mouth hummed against hers. Her lips trembled. Her tongue quivered. She tasted a hint of coffee in the kiss. Like his tea, he took it without cream or sugar. She didn’t shy from the faint bitterness. It had the opposite effect. She wondered if they could make it sweet.

They did.

He drew in a sharp breath. She moaned. The sounds mingled. Overhead, a gull tapped at the skylight, its tattoo identical to the one that her heart beat against her chest. She felt the thrum of the pulse in his neck. It had the same cadence. The very same.

His hand moved from her abdomen to just below her breast. The heat was almost intolerable, yet she couldn’t move away. She stroked his neck and wound dark copper threads of hair around her fingertips. She wished she had not plaited her hair. She wished she had combs and pins and ribbons for him to remove. He would take them out one at a time, as slowly as he liked. She wouldn’t shake her head; she’d let him sift her hair between his fingers and tug so gently that her scalp would tingle.

It tingled anyway. And then so did the rest of her. It was like the first shiver in the face of a fever; the one that slipped along every muscle. She seemed to contract all at once, folding in on herself so that her skin was no longer a comfortable fit.

She did not expect him to swear, but somehow it was appropriate, more reverent than blasphemous, and when he broke off the kiss and laid his forehead against hers, she knew she was right.

Bode was still on his knees. Raising his head, he sat back slowly, slipping one hand out from under Comfort’s head, and the other, the one that rested near her breast, he let fall to the edge of the bench. She had to surrender her hold on his neck, and her fingers trailed over his shoulders as he moved away. Her eyes remained closed a moment longer, and when they opened, their focus was the ceiling.

“Comfort?”

She held up one finger, cautioning him to be quiet.

He didn’t mind. He stayed where he was and watched her breathing ease. There was a like response in him, a settling in his chest that made him aware of his slowing pulse.

Comfort turned her head to the side and studied his face. None of his features had shifted from their symmetrical plane. There was no eyebrow arched with inquiry, no lift to one corner of his mouth. His jaw was relaxed so no muscle could jump in his cheek. He looked neither happy nor unhappy, nor any other emotion she could name. She thought she must be staring into a face of extraordinary tranquility, the face of a man at ease with himself, a man without regrets or misgivings.

She smiled then, because she knew he wasn’t sorry.

Sitting up, she inched her way down the bench until she could put her legs over the side. She smoothed her dress over her lap. She could still feel the warmth of his hand where it had come so close to cupping her breast. Her skin smoldered with the lingering heat until it ignited in a flush that spread from her chest to her face. She pressed her palms to her cheeks and was grateful when Bode didn’t comment.

Bode swept up the fallen tumbler of whiskey in his hand and stood. “Careful that you don’t drag your skirt through what spilled. Give me a moment.” His mouth twitched. “I’ll swab the deck.”

Comfort relaxed. It really would be all right. They would have a conversation that embraced what was usual, even mundane, and they would go on from there. There would be no regrets and no recriminations. Likewise, there would be no discussion.

“Well, it is very much like a ship,” she said.

He glanced over his shoulder on his way to the broom closet and asked, “Have you ever been on a ship?”

“No.” Her eyebrows knit, forming a neat vertical crease between them. “That is, not on one that was bound for anywhere.”

Bode retrieved a mop. “One at berth in the harbor, then.”

“Mmm, not precisely berthed.”

“Ah,” he said, understanding. “You were on one of the ships abandoned during the early days of the rush. My father said that until the hulks burned and sank, it was possible to walk across the bay and never touch water. Was that true?”

“I don’t know. I never tried. But it seems as if it might have been true. There was more wood on the water than there was on land. Men fled the ships as soon as they arrived—even the men who sailed them.”

“I know. My father and the other masters lost entire crews to gold fever. They had to pay exorbitant wages in excess of fifty or even a hundred dollars a month to keep enough men to make the return voyage.” He finished wiping the spill and set the mop in front of him, holding it in a two-fisted grip that turned his elbows out. “So if you weren’t using the hulks like lily pads to traverse the bay, did you live on one?”

“No. Some people did, of course, but not us. Newt and Tuck like terra firma, they would say.” She saw Bode’s ironic smile and appreciated it. “I know. They have long since recognized the contrariness of making San Francisco home, but they’re settled now, and will tell you they still prefer shifting land to shifting seas.”

“Then I don’t have another guess,” he said. “Why were you on one of the ships?”

She didn’t answer right away, considering whether this was something she wanted to tell. In the end, she decided it hardly mattered. The deed had been done so long ago that no one was in danger of being punished for it. At the time, no one thought of it as a crime.

“Uncle Newton heard there was a safe on one of the ships that could be had if it could be taken off. He told Uncle Tuck about it, and they decided it was worth looking into. They were preparing to open a lending store and had enough business that they needed a safe.”

“But not so much business they could buy one.”

She shook her head. “No, they were just being thrifty.”

Bode started to chuckle and then swallowed it whole when he realized she was serious.

“It also would have taken too long to order anything like it and have it transported west. Enterprising men looked closer at hand for the solutions to their problems. The most successful found them.”

“They always do,” he said. “You accompanied them, obviously.”

“I accompanied one or both of them almost everywhere. It wasn’t safe for me to be left alone, or at least they didn’t think so.”

“They were right.” He paused. “They still are.”

Comfort ignored him. “Uncle Tuck rigged some kind of contraption that enabled them to hoist the safe out of the hold. They came close to sinking the rowboat and the safe because that part of their plan was not well thought out, but eventually they managed to get it on board without drowning themselves. There was an old mule and a travois waiting for us onshore, and the poor animal earned its feed that night for pulling that safe through Sydney Town.”

“That’s a good story.”

“It’s true.”

“That’s what makes it good.” He let the handle of the mop sway back and forth. “What kind of safe was it?”

“A Hildesheim.”

“No, I meant what kind of locking device did it have? Padlock? A combination?”

“It had a pin and tumbler mechanism.”

“How was it opened?”

She smiled. “I did the job on the box.” Surprise made Bode lose his grip on the mop handle, but he caught it before it hit Comfort on the head. He was too stunned by what she’d told him to offer an apology. “You were only a child.”

Comfort clapped her hands together once, delighted with his reaction. “I made it a better story, didn’t I?”

He realized he’d been taken in. “All right,” he said. “I believed you. And yes, it made for a better story, but tell me what really happened. How did you get the safe open?”

“It was already open. The ship’s captain emptied it before he left his command. Tuck worked on it for a long time—weeks, not hours—before he was able to reset the pins and tumblers so they operated on a new combination of numbers. He and Newton got stumbling drunk the night he finally figured it out.”

“I imagine they did. What did you do?”

“Filled and refilled their glasses.”

He eyed her suspiciously. “Really?”

“Really. I liked to take care of them. I wanted to be useful.” As soon as the words were out, Comfort wished she could call them back. The slight tremor in her voice caught her off guard and somehow attached a deeper meaning to her words, one that she hadn’t meant to reveal or, having revealed it, one she didn’t intend to examine.

Bode considered asking her if wanting to be useful was the reason she worked in the bank. It wasn’t a fair question, he decided, because she was already looking away, obviously regretting that she’d let him see vulnerability. He also decided against asking her because it wouldn’t have been easy to stop with that single question. He’d want to know if being useful to her uncles, to the men who were in every way her saviors, was the reason she’d been so long in accepting a proposal.

He picked up the mop and carried it back to the closet. The last time he tried to ask her about proposals, she’d crippled him.

Comfort picked up her hat and ran her fingers back and forth along the straw brim. When Bode turned away from the closet, she said, “I’d like to leave now, Mr. DeLong.”

“Mr. DeLong? Is that truly how you want to address me?”

“It’s your name.”

“It was my father’s name, too. I prefer Bode.”

Comfort felt leveled by the stare he turned on her, and perhaps it was only her imagination, but she believed he was threatening her with a discussion of their kiss as well. “Bode,” she said, and butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth.

He looked her over, waiting. “Imagine that,” he said when nothing happened. “Lightning didn’t strike you.”

Comfort rolled her eyes. She fixed her bonnet on her head and picked up her shawl. After snapping it open, she cast it around her shoulders and stood. “You don’t have to accompany me home. As I said, it was a kind offer but unnecessary.”

He pretended she hadn’t spoken. Sometimes that was the smoother course, he was learning. Opening the hatch, he crooked his fingers to motion her over. The dilemma that presented itself was whether he should assist her through the hatch and follow her down or whether he should go in first and make certain she made the descent safely.

While he was being uncharacteristically indecisive, Comfort took the matter out of his hands and put her right foot on the first step. She held on to the open hatch for support and brought around her left foot. She made a graceful pivot, grabbed the ropes, and started down the stairs in the same position she’d made the climb.

Bode was impressed. After two years in his employ, his clerk still hadn’t mastered the steps, unwisely choosing to use them like stairs instead of ladder rungs. Bode watched Comfort until she was only a few feet from the bottom before he lowered himself through the hatch and followed.

“It was an accident.”

“I know that.” Her tone was crisp with a hint of impatience. “Even I can acquit you of doing something that is foolish and painful.”

“Painful is inadequate to describe what I’m feeling, Mother.”

“As foolish is often inadequate to describe so much else that you’ve done.”

Bram conceded the point. His head was supported by two large down pillows, but his splinted leg was supported by three. This morning he’d been visited by Alexandra’s choice of physicians. There was a frightening discussion about weights and pulleys that went on around him and that he tried not to hear. The laudanum made that easier. He did learn that whatever Dr. Harrison intended to do to him, it wasn’t going to happen today.

Gritting his teeth, Bram pushed himself up to his elbows. He carefully supported himself on one and reached for the bottle of laudanum at his bedside. He was aware of Alexandra’s eyes following him. She would only give him the drops as the doctor prescribed, but if he could manage to get them for himself, she didn’t try to stop him.

He unscrewed the stopper, raised it, and allowed three drops to fall on his tongue. When he’d closed the bottle, he returned it to the nightstand. His elbows slid out from under him, and he collapsed back onto the pillows. The movement jostled his leg. He groaned.

“I don’t see that it’s worth the trouble you take to get it,” Alexandra said.

“It will be,” he told her. “In a few minutes, it will be.”

She sipped her tea and said nothing.

His mother’s silence was sometimes her hardest censure, and Bram didn’t bear it well. “Did I hear Dr. Harrison mention Rigoletto when he was here?” he asked.

“He did. He attended the performance we missed.”

“And? Was it the success Newland Jefferson predicted it would be?”

“It’s Harrison’s opinion that it was. I haven’t looked in the papers yet.” She set her teacup aside. “I don’t think you heard the more important part of my conversation with the doctor.”

“The weights and pulleys. I heard.”

“Not that. It seems your brother attended the play.”

“Bode?”

“Do you have another brother?”

Her tone, as dry as dust, made him chuckle. “A brother that you bore? No. But I can’t speak for father’s bastards.”

“I should have had Dr. Harrison put a splint on your tongue.”

He grinned, unabashed. “Why do you suppose Bode went? I know he enjoys opera, but he doesn’t enjoy opening nights. I don’t think he’s been at one for years. Probably not since he moved out.”

“If I have to hazard a guess, and it seems that I do, Bode was there because Miss Kennedy was there.”

“She was? She went without me?”

“Apparently, yes.”

“She didn’t sit with Bode, did she? That would be odd. I’m not sure she even likes him.”

“She was escorted by her uncles and sat with them.”

“Good. I’m glad she didn’t forget herself. She’s my fiancée.”

“Hmm. The doctor says she left in Bode’s arms.”

“You mean, on Bode’s arm.”

“I said what I meant.” Alexandra absently fingered the cameo brooch at her throat. “Harrison didn’t see what happened, otherwise he would have lent assistance, but he had it from someone who was present that Comfort fainted during the break between the second and third acts.”

Bram shook his head. “I don’t believe it. That someone got his story wrong.”

“She might have been ill, Bram. Fevered. It can happen, you know.”

“If she was ill, then it came on her suddenly. She wouldn’t have left the house if she didn’t feel well, not even for the opera, not when she knows how much her uncles dislike it.”

“I wondered about that.” She shrugged. “I don’t suppose we’ll know until we ask. She’d tell you the truth, wouldn’t she?”

“Yes. What reason would she have to lie?”

Alexandra’s steady glance fell on her son. “Perhaps she would if she’s pregnant.”

Bram reared back slightly, pressing his head more deeply against the pillows. “Comfort is not pregnant. Who would the father be?”

“I thought it might be you,” Alexandra said, arching an eyebrow at him.

“Well, it’s not.” Reaching behind his head, he plumped the pillows. “It’s not anyone. She’s not pregnant. If she fainted, and I still have my doubts that Harrison or the person he listened to got it right, it’s not because she’s carrying a child.”

“I believe you’re offended on her behalf.”

“I’d like it if you weren’t so surprised. Comfort is my friend, Mother.”

“How easily you forget yourself, Bram, and I find that I’m offended on her behalf. She’s your fiancée. It’s natural that you should offer a stout defense of her character, but I think you should base it on this new development in your relationship, not the friendship that came before.”

“Very well,” he said, closing his eyes. He could feel the laudanum beginning to work. “I expect she’ll come by today, or send someone around to ask about me. I’ll inquire about the opera then.”

“I was thinking you should send a note inquiring after her. That’s the proper response given what the doctor said.”

“All right. I will. Later, though. I’ll do it later.”

Alexandra frowned. “This is precisely why I have no liking for those drops.”

“I know, Mother.”

She sighed and leaned over to brush away the hair that had fallen so predictably across his brow. “I cannot stay out of patience with you,” she said. “Your brother either. I admit I’ve been unhappy with him, but I’m going to invite him to dinner this evening.”

Bram gave her a wan smile. “You’re curious.”

Alexandra didn’t deny it. “You’d be just as curious if your brain wasn’t a potato.”

He supposed she was referring to the soporific effects of the laudanum. “You’ll let me know what he says, won’t you?”

“Yes.” Standing, she drew up the covers so they fell over Bram’s shoulders, then she stroked his head again. “I know you care about Comfort’s welfare. I do, too. That’s what makes it difficult to know how to think about Bode’s involvement, whether it’s blessing or curse.”

When Bram offered no opinion, she realized he’d fallen asleep. It was probably just as well. She knew which side he’d take in the blessing versus curse debate. Outside of his brother’s hearing, Bram did not often miss an opportunity to pronounce Bode the devil incarnate.

He was shown to the second floor, where the partners shared an office, and was announced with deference that he didn’t require or believe he’d earned. He supposed the head teller’s behavior had something to do with Bram’s accident. Perhaps he believed there were still repercussions to come.

“Mr. Tweedy, is it?” asked Bode.

“Yes, sir.”

“Thank you. My mother also wishes for me to thank you for your assistance when Bram fell.” His mother had no idea who Mr. Tweedy was or that he’d been of any particular help, but Bode was grateful, and he knew Alexandra’s thanks would send the other man along quickly, if for no other reason than to tell his coworkers. As expected, Tweedy hurried off.

Newton and Tucker were getting to their feet as Bode approached. He shook their hands and waved them back in their chairs. “I apologize for arriving unannounced. I appreciate that you’re busy.”

Tuck folded his rangy frame back into his leather chair and stretched his legs under the desk. “Take a chair,” he said. “I had a feeling you’d come by today.”

Newt frowned. “You did? You didn’t say anything. How many times do I have to remind you that you gotta start telling me when you get one of those feelings?”

“You’ve been sayin’ it since we fought at Monterrey, so I guess if I was counting, that’d be quite a few plus a bunch.”

Bode had never been privy to the sparring between these men. They were well known from San Francisco to Sacramento for being careful but canny investors. There had been a time when their reputation for turning a profit led to undisciplined speculation among less scrupulous financiers, but after watching the opportunists drive share prices to heights that had nothing to do with their real value, Tucker Jones and Newton Prescott changed the way they conducted business. To protect their depositors’ savings—and their own—secrecy was their holy grail.

Bode wondered if perhaps their best-kept secret was that they were still foot soldiers at heart.

“Newt and I were going to pay you a visit later, so I guess you saved us the trouble of getting there.” Tuck rubbed the back of his neck when Bode remained standing. “About that chair . . .”

Bode glanced around and chose one that straddled the invisible line dividing the partners’ office.

“It’s always telling where a person sits,” said Newt. “That’s why we insist on it. You want to hear what your choice tells us about you?”

“Actually, no.”

Tucker gave a shout of laughter. “Good for you. I believe that’s the first time someone’s declined. People generally like hearing that sort of nonsense. Newt says pretty much the same thing no matter where someone sits, but it makes most folks think he knows them real well.”

Newt’s mouth curled in disgust. “Now, you didn’t have to tell him all that.”

“Think I did,” Tuck said. “You started it.” He gave Bode his full attention. “Are you here about our niece or some other matter?”

“It’s Miss Kennedy,” said Bode. “She visited Black Crowne Shipping this morning. I came here to let you know that I delivered her home safely. It is impossible to know whether she’ll remain there, although I believe Suey Tsin will take extraordinary measures to see that she does.”

Bode had not given much thought to how Comfort’s uncles would react except to hope that they would not throw him out. Given an eternity to contemplate what they might do, he still couldn’t have predicted that Newton would stand and reach across the desks to Tucker with his palm out.

“Didn’t I say she would?” asked Newt. “That’ll be twenty.”

Tuck opened a drawer on his left and counted out the bills. He laid them in Newt’s hand. “Best use of that would be to hire a keeper for her.”

Newt nodded as his fingers closed over his winnings. He darted a significant look in Bode’s direction, one eyebrow arched in a dramatic fashion, his mouth curled in a half smile.

Bode held up his hands, palms out. “No, sir. Not for twenty dollars.” In the event they misunderstood and thought he had a price, he added, “Not for all the tea in China.”

Disappointed, Newt sat back down and put the money away.

Bode’s glance darted between the two men. “I don’t understand. If you suspected she would make the trip to my office, why didn’t you make some effort to stop her?”

Tuck tugged lightly on his earlobe, his narrow features thoughtful. “Frankly, we didn’t discuss it until we were here, and you saw for yourself that I lost a bet because I depended on her to show more sense. Newt gauged her worry better than I did.”

Newt slid his hands along the arms of his chair. His fingers curved around the ends. “We both figured that if I was right, we could count on you to look after her. Seems we could.”

Tuck nodded. “I don’t know that we would have felt that way if we hadn’t seen you with Comfort last night, but you were gentle with her, and a gentleman.”

Bode was certain he didn’t deserve their unconditional trust, but he wasn’t going tell them about kissing their niece to illustrate the point.

“And we noticed you didn’t annoy her,” Newt said. “Least-ways not so much that she put you on your backside again.”

Bode couldn’t have imagined that he’d be grateful for that reminder, but it was helpful in pushing the kiss from the forefront of his thoughts. Evenly, he said, “So you saw what she did while we were dancing?”

“I didn’t,” Newt told him. “Tuck did. He told me. Comfort said she had cause. Did she?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Well, now you know. She does all right looking after herself, although we’ve never known her to do what she did to you outside of a lesson with Chin Fong.” He tapped his fingers lightly against the chair. “We’d appreciate it, though, if you didn’t let that become fodder for a good story.”

Bode’s smile was faintly ironic. “It’s only a good story if she tells it. I wasn’t the one left standing.”

“True.” Sitting back, Newton crossed his legs. His slight smile faded as he set his arms across his chest. “Tuck and I want to know what you caught and returned to that fellow last night.”

“It was a tin. Red and white. I told Miss Kennedy the same thing.”

“How did she accept it?” asked Tuck.

“With difficulty. She believed me . . . believed what you told her . . . but she can’t remember it any differently than she does. She still sees a glove.”

Both men sighed audibly. Neither spoke.

Bode breached the silence. “It’s confusing to her.”

Newt nodded. “It’s confusing to us.”

“I understand. I can’t explain it, and neither can she.”

Tucker pushed back his chair, rose, and went to the door to close it. He didn’t return immediately to his desk. He crossed the room to the safe. Bending in front of it, he carefully turned the dial, and then twisted the handle. He withdrew a bottle of whiskey and three glasses. He held them up so Bode could see. “You’ll join us?”

Bode nodded. “That’s a Hildesheim safe, isn’t it?”

“Yes? You’re familiar with them?”

“Not them,” he said. “That one specifically, I think.”

“Huh.” Tucker used the heel of his shoe to shut the safe’s door. “Comfort told you about it, did she?”

“Yes.”

Tuck set the glasses on his desk and poured a couple of fingers in each. “I don’t know that she’s ever told anyone how we came by that safe. Surprises me some that she told you.” He distributed the drinks and sat down again. “What else did she say?”

Bode understood that they needed to hear it from him. They would be naturally cautious about telling him anything that Comfort didn’t want him to know. He wasn’t confident they’d answer questions that she hadn’t. “I think you will agree that she was extraordinarily candid,” he said, and then proceeded to recount what Comfort had shared.

Tuck and Newt listened without comment. When Bode finished, their glasses were empty and his was hardly touched. He sipped his whiskey while they continued to think about what they’d heard. It was Newt who finally stepped into the silence.

“It seems she was candid,” he said in a manner that indicated he accepted it. “Do you know, last night was the first time in years that the three of us—Comfort, Tuck, and me, I mean—talked about anything connected to the night we found her. Seemed to Tuck and me that she went east to college and came back with it all settled in her mind.”

“You’re aware she still has nightmares, though.” Bode was uncertain what the look that passed between them meant. He thought they might have been surprised that he knew about her dreams, but then Tuck reached for the whiskey bottle and tipped it ever so slightly over his glass. Bode watched him add a splash to his tumbler and then pass the bottle to Newt to do the same. “You didn’t know,” he said. “Neither of you.”

Tuck shook his head. “Not a word from her. Best of my recollection is that she was quiet about them for a couple of years before she went to Oberlin.” He lifted his glass and used it to point to Newt. “She was, what? Sixteen? Seventeen?”

“Sixteen. Just before the coming-out party, remember?”

“That’s right. Sixteen, then.” He addressed Bode again. “That’s the last time she said anything.”

Newt continued the explanation. “She was a real Nervous Nellie about the party. Didn’t want any part of it and told us so, but my sisters said it was the proper thing to do to bring a young lady out in society, and Tuck and I made up our minds we would do it. As the day got closer, we began to notice that her sleep was more troubled. The night before her come-out, she had such a spell that we decided that no introduction to society was worth putting her through so much hurt.” He shrugged. “She talked us out of canceling the party, didn’t she, Tuck?”

Contemplating the drink he poured, Tuck nodded slowly. “She sure did. And naturally, we thought we’d done right all around because we never heard anything after that.”

“We didn’t just accept her silence,” said Newt. “We’d ask her about it from time to time. She led us to believe the nightmares were gone. Of course, growing up, she never remembered what they were about. Tuck and I always figured we knew, but she couldn’t tell us. After her come-out, she didn’t say another word. Maybe we should have been more suspicious.” He rolled his glass between his palms. “It’s the damndest thing to think about it now, but back then we thought it had something to do with Bram.”

“Bram?” asked Bode. “Why would you think that?”

“She met him at the party,” Tuck explained. “And he showed a particular interest in her. You must have seen it. You were there, remember?”

Bode gave no indication that he did.

Tuck went on, watching Bode closely. “Of course, Bram danced with her; you didn’t. If recollection serves, he asked her more than once. We both remarked that the only time she seemed to genuinely enjoy herself was when he was close by. He could make her laugh, and that counted for something.”

Newt nodded. “Bram, being Bram and all, well, we didn’t figure that he’d remember Comfort the next day, let alone pay a call. He was just a boy full of wildness then, so we—” Newt abruptly stopped as he realized that he was talking to the wild boy’s older brother. “No disrespect meant, Bode, but that’s how it was.”

“I understand,” Bode said. Bram was not significantly changed from that boy, and they all knew it. Newton Prescott was showing restraint by not pointing that out.

Newt went on. “So we paid as much attention to him as he was paying to Comfort, but best as we could reckon, he was good company for her. We knew her feelings were attached, but—” He broke off again, this time in response to Tuck shaking his head. “Well, I don’t suppose she’d want me to be saying anything about that.” He shrugged. “What’s more important is that they became friends. Stayed that way, too.”

Tuck rested his chin on his fist. “I don’t know what to make of what you’re telling us now. Seems we credited Bram with more influence than was rightly his due, but that’s because we wanted to believe our girl was doing better. She just got real quiet about all the bad that was still going on inside her. That’s something she chose to do on her own. We probably should be careful about thinking Bram’s responsible for that.”

Bode wanted to knock back what remained of his drink. Instead he set it on his knee and turned the tumbler slowly, hoping the gesture appeared more absent or thoughtful than it was. “No, you’re right. Bram’s not responsible.” Bode decided he’d let them put whatever construction they liked on his statement. “And Miss Kennedy’s not entirely honest. That makes for a fragile friendship, I think, and for an even more fragile marriage.”

Tuck and Newt were careful not to exchange glances. It was now clear to them that while Comfort had revealed a great deal to Bode in relation to the red-and-white tin, she’d told him nothing about the engagement being false. Her omission made it awkward to defend her against Bode’s charge that she was not entirely honest, and pointing out that no person was entirely honest was inadequate justification for her behavior.

Tuck shifted all six feet of his rangy frame as he settled back in his chair. “This is the first I’m getting wind of any concerns about the engagement from a DeLong. Does Alexandra feel the same?”

“I have no plans to discuss this with her. I also won’t be sharing any part of my conversation with Miss Kennedy with my brother. It’s her place to do that. More than that, her acceptance of his proposal makes it her responsibility. I hope you will persuade her to be forthright with Bram.”

“You can be confident that Newt and I will be having a conversation with her,” said Tuck. “Whether she is persuaded by anything we have to say is something else again.” He tilted his head to the side, his expression more considering than it had been. “Of course, you’re welcome to tell Comfort yourself that she has a responsibility to Bram. It would be interesting to see how that turns out.”

Bode knew when he was being baited. He left what Tuck was dangling on the hook and sipped his drink instead.

Newt clasped his hands and rested them on his chest. He tapped his thumbs. “What makes you so certain Comfort’s still having nightmares? Did she tell you she was?”

“I observed it.”

“You probably should explain that, ’cause from where I’m sitting, it doesn’t sound quite right.”

Bode told them about Comfort falling asleep in the parlor the evening of Bram’s accident. “She denied she remembered anything about the dream.”

Newt nodded. “That’s true. She’s never been able to recall what they’re about.”

Tuck caught the fractional lift of Bode’s brow. “Wait a minute, Newt. I think Bode has a different idea about that. Is that right, Bode?”

Bode’s gaze encompassed both men. “She remembers. She admitted as much. Talking about what she remembers doesn’t seem possible for her. And I wouldn’t suppose that she remembers all of what she dreams or even that what she dreams is an accurate account of anything that happened before you found her. It’s tempting to say her nightmares are about the robbery and murders, but do you really know that?”

In unison, Tucker and Newt shook their heads.

“I don’t know it either. What she told me was that she wakes up thirsty. She described it as having swallowed a mouthful of sand. It struck me that it might have something to do with the lozenges, but I couldn’t walk softly enough on those eggshells to keep Miss Kennedy from hearing me.”

“We know the feeling,” said Tuck.

“There’s one last thing,” Bode said, and he told them the circumstances around Comfort fainting a second time.

Newton’s cheeks puffed as he blew out a long breath. “I can’t make any sense of it. You say it happened when you were telling her about that gentleman thanking you?”

“That’s right. I don’t know how you recall what happened last night, but I don’t think she fainted until he turned to thank me.”

“So she recognized him?”

Bode shook his head. “I don’t know. Maybe. She couldn’t explain it.”

“Or wouldn’t,” said Tuck. “I’m entertaining doubts about which it is.”

“What did he say?” Newt asked Bode. “Exactly.”

“I don’t remember exactly. I recall the gist.” He repeated it as best he could, but no one, including him, was enlightened by his recitation. He removed the tumbler from his knee and set it on the corner of Tuck’s desk. “If it’s agreeable to you, I’d like to make some inquiries and discover what I can about the gentleman who dropped the tin. It shouldn’t be difficult to find out who he is, but I’m not confident that it will come to anything when I do.”

“Every stone needs turning over.” Tuck looked at Newt. “You agree with that?”

“I do. Comfort won’t.”

“I’m not asking her permission,” said Bode, getting to his feet. “I’m asking yours.”

Newt pushed back his chair and stood. He held out a hand to Bode. “You have it.”

Bode clasped his hand. They shook. Tuck rose a moment later, and the ritual was repeated. “Gentlemen.” He nodded to each in turn. “Good day.”

Announcing their intention to give her a coming-out party was significant. Acceptance to Oberlin was significant. Learning that she would have a position of responsibility at Jones Prescott was significant. Comfort had often wondered if the rows and rows of heavy leather-bound tomes contributed to the solemnity of the room, because when they were inside it, her uncles spoke as if every word had weight.

Lifting her chin, Comfort braced herself for what she suspected was waiting for her on the other side of the door, that most dreaded combination of punishing lecture and grave pronouncement: the significant scold.

“Good,” Tuck said as she stepped into the room. “You’re here.”

What he meant, Comfort knew from experience, was “Good. You didn’t keep us waiting.” The hint of annoyance in his tone confirmed her suspicions of why they wanted to see her. Tucker was only ever impatient when he was facing a task he found distasteful, and whatever he had to say to her clearly fell into that category.

Her uncles were sitting like bookends on either side of the cold fireplace. Without being told, Comfort took her usual seat in the middle of the dark green velvet sofa facing them. Folding her hands in her lap, she regarded them expectantly and tried to remember she was no longer five, but twenty-five. The need not to disappoint them, though, was still the same.

“We spoke to Beau DeLong today,” Newt said. “I imagine you knew we would.” When Comfort nodded, he went on. “He came to us before we got around to paying a call on him.”

Comfort wasn’t successful at concealing her small start.

“Yes, well, we were surprised also. He gave you up, Comfort.”

She swallowed. “Gave me up?”

Newt nodded. “Told us everything.”

Everything? she wondered. What did that mean?

“I didn’t threaten him,” said Tuck. “In case you’re wondering.”

“I wasn’t,” she said. “Did he do something that made you think you would have to?”

“Not at all, but I wanted you to know. If there was a bargain struck between you, he went back on his word.”

Comfort realized that Tuck was simply trying to protect her. “He didn’t betray my confidences, Uncle Tuck. I didn’t ask him not to speak to you.”

“Somehow I doubt you meant for us to know that you visited him at Black Crowne.”

Comfort had regained enough poise not to show her relief. If they believed her conversation with Bode had taken place in his office, then they didn’t know she’d been in his apartment above it. More importantly, they didn’t know about her indiscretion. Or his. He hadn’t told them everything. That gave her the confidence she needed to say, “Mr. DeLong is free to report whatever he likes. I wouldn’t suppose that I could restrain him from doing that.”

Newt knuckled his chin. “Bode restrains himself. He has no intention of telling his mother or Bram about your ill-advised trek through the Coast to reach his office.”

Tuck picked up that thread and continued. “Just as he has no plans to reveal anything you told him to his family.”

“That’s good, isn’t it?”

“We think so,” said Tuck. “He does have one expectation, however. He expects that you will tell Bram.”

“And we expect,” said Newt, “that you’ll be honest with us about these dreams that are still troubling you.”

Comfort stared at them. She had forgotten there’d been any discussion with Bode about her dreams. That wasn’t part of what she thought he’d told her uncles. Equally disturbing, but easier to discuss with Tuck and Newt, was Bode’s expectation that she relate the whole of it to Bram.

“What I say to Bram, and whether I say anything at all, is my decision, isn’t it? Bode can’t dictate to me.”

Newt cleared his throat. “He hasn’t. Not precisely. Tuck misspoke. What Bode expects is that we’ll persuade you to speak to Bram.”

“Then I am sorry you’ve been put in that position. I’m not telling Bram. Further, there’s no reason that I should.”

“From Bode’s perspective there is,” Tuck said. “He believes your engagement is quite real. I think you can appreciate that he’s uncomfortable with you marrying his brother while keeping so much from him.”

“He made an excellent point,” Newt said, “about your long friendship with his brother. Isn’t it reasonable to suppose that over the years you should have shared at least some of this with Bram?”

“Reasonable to whom? Has everyone but me forgotten that Bram tends to act first and apologize later? I might as well place an announcement in the Chronicle as share a confidence with him. The nature of my friendship with Bram does not extend to telling him anything I don’t wish at least ten other people to know. How could you not understand that?”

“I think I do, but maybe I’m finally understanding something else.”

“Oh?”

“Maybe Bram’s your friend because you know you can’t tell him the important things. That’s as good an excuse as any to keep what’s bothering you all tucked up inside. When I think about it that way, lots of things make sense to me. Like why you’d start denying your nightmares and why you’d want to pretend that you don’t remember any part of them. Bram wouldn’t know what to make of all that unpleasantness, so you figured you wouldn’t have any. I bet he hardly ever asks a hard question anyway, and that’s what makes you so easy in his company. That sound about right?”

Comfort stared at Newt. She felt the ache of tears at the back of her eyes and a solid lump forming in her throat. She didn’t try to speak.

Tuck glanced sideways at his friend. “Never thought much of your carpentry skills, but you hit that nail square. Hard to believe we’re only seeing it now.” He reached in his pocket and removed a handkerchief. He rose briefly to pass it to Comfort. “What happened the last time you forgot yourself and trusted Bram?”

She squeezed the handkerchief in her fist. That worked as well as pressing it to her eyes. “You know what happened. He announced we were engaged.”

“So he did. Seems to me like you need to set that right. First with him and then with Bode. Bram can tell Alexandra the truth himself. That’s not for you to do.”

“I promised him,” she said dully. “Eight weeks.”

“Doesn’t matter,” said Tuck. “You’re deceiving people, Comfort. You deceived us. Bode. Alexandra. Everyone at that party. Could be that you’re deceiving yourself.”

She pressed her lips hard together. If she said something now, there’d be no mistaking the quaver in her voice.

“Could be,” Tuck went on more softly than before, “that your head knows better than your heart and maybe you should start listening to it.”