The pencil stopped, and Gwyneth smiled up at him in a way that made his stomach knot. “I thought I had better sketch it before I mixed my paints tomorrow. Your parents took me to the harbor today to see it.”
He forced his gaze from the Lord’s masterpiece of her face to the one underway on the paper. “Your memory astounds me. You captured her. Her details, but more, her soul.”
Her laughter trilled like music, light and brilliant. Had he heard her laugh before? Perhaps a measure of it, but never a full chorus like this, one that chased the shadows from her eyes and lit her face.
Oh, he was sunk. No question. Now his life’s quest would have to be teasing that laugh from her again and again.
Even when the music tapered off, still it glinted in her Caribbean eyes. “I was unaware a ship had a soul.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” He took the excuse to lean closer under the guise of tapping a finger to the page—a blank spot on it, so as not to smudge her work. “You are obviously aware, for there you have put it to paper.”
She laughed again, though all too soon went serious. “I looked again through my things, Thad. Still I could find nothing from my father.”
Seeing the shadow that cast on her face, he nearly wished he had never brought her into this business. But then, he hadn’t, had he? Her own family had. Still. He brushed aside one of the red-gold curls from her cheek—only half of her hair had thus far been pulled loose by her oblivious fingers—so that he might look squarely into her eyes. “You needn’t keep searching again and again, sweet. There is no need to revisit it every day.”
“But there is.” Brows knit, her face followed his retreating hand for a moment, until she seemed to realize what she was doing. Were it not for the troubled spark of her gaze, it would have made him smile. “As I looked, I remembered that each and every time I traveled before Papa, he tucked a note into my things somewhere. Without fail.”
Thad sighed and rested his hand over hers on the secretaire. To give comfort, not to feel the frisson of heat in his fingers. Not at all that. Ahem. “Perhaps Mrs. Wesley found it when unpacking for you and put it away somewhere.”
“That was my thought too, but I cannot find one anywhere.” She averted her face, blinking rapidly. “If only I could ask her.”
“There are only so many places she could have put such a thing. I will ask Rosie to help you look. She has been finding whatever I lose since I was a boy.”
That at least earned him another laugh, albeit one that quickly faded. She sighed and lifted a hand to her neck, stretched, and winced. She kneaded at the spot where the ivory column met slender shoulders.
“And how long have you been hunched over this desk, sweet? Since I left?”
“Perhaps.” The turn of her lips carried a rare hint of mischief, one that made his heart squeeze tight.
If only that pain were not still on her face. He motioned toward her neck. “May I?”
Her expression went blank as her fingers fell back to her lap. “Pardon?”
By way of answer, he raised his hand to her neck and rubbed where hers had been. “Philly, the silly thing, would always read until she was stiff and sore and headache ridden, and she would force me to help her relieve it.”
“Oh.” The word was not an acknowledgment of the story, but rather a wonder-filled exclamation that accompanied the tilting of her head to give him better access. “Oh, that is exactly what I needed.” She chuckled. “Aunt Gates would no doubt think this scandalously improper.”
No doubt any London matron would. A thought which made him grin. “Aunt Gates, is it? Do we like her?”
Another breathy chuckle. “We do, though she is a bit staid. Very concerned with appearance. She could not possibly realize that her husband…”
Just like that, her neck went so tight and tense he silently cursed himself. Aloud, he clucked his tongue like Rosie would do. “Do relax lest you render my ministrations useless.”
She made an effort, though it was largely in vain. “Better?”
“Not a bit. Which means, I suppose, that I shall have to stand here the longer, scandalizing your poor aunt’s would-be sensibilities.”
There, the tease relaxed her. She loosed a slow exhale, and another pin slipped from her hair, letting a curl fall across his hands.
Thad saw no reason to move the silken curtain. “You look as though you have been sleeping better.”
A little hum sounded in Gwyneth’s throat. “More, anyway. I thought—the night before the Wesleys left, I had no nightmares. I thought a corner had been turned, but…well, they have come back since. So it has been fitful and I awaken often. But I can at least get back to sleep.”
“Progress.”