“Exactly. I did not pay enough attention to you. I should have.”
“George,” she sighed, closing the drawer and moving on to the next.
He waved her frustration away. “I came here to help you, and I am determined.” Each of his words sounded closer than the one before.
She shifted her weight over her heels and looked up.
His shadow loomed over her.
She looked at him until her eyes adjusted to the darkness, and his features swam barely into view.
He looked at her, too, and even through the dim candlelit darkness between them, truth rang in his gaze. “I do not like to see people lonely.” The stark tone of truth in his deep voice made her stomach flutter. He must have known the sting of loneliness himself to feel and express such emotion for others.
Impossible. She knew about his relationships with the widows. She wanted to know more but had no idea how to query him on the subject. “Loneliness. You are not lonely, are you George? With your sister and your—” She swallowed the wordwidows.
“Have you discovered anything of substance yet?” He would not answer her question.
She did not blame him. “No. Either he’s hid the files elsewhere or he was lying.”
“Both are possible. Hm. Have you checked the secret drawer yet?”
Jane frowned. Secret drawer? She didn’t even know—ah. Wait. It came back to her now from some obscure, mostly forgotten childhood memory.
“Remind me where it is.”
George swept around the table and sat in the chair. Candlelight cast shadows over his face, bringing his high cheekbones into relief and revealing the dotted stubble across his jaw. He looked like an entirely different man. For a second, he was a different man. That goblin king once more, and the look of him—stark and handsome and strong despite his injuries—changed her. Her heart leapt into her throat as he leaned closer to the desk, closer to her, so close she could smell him. He smelled of soap and winter wind and entirely… good? No. Not quite the right word. Enticing…?
No. Not that. She almost laughed. Certainly notthat.
She scooched as far away from him as she could, wiggling with discomfort.
He leaned forward and pressed his palm flat against the bottom of the desk. “Where is it?” His arm swept back and forth, searching. “Ah. Here it is.” He must have pressed a button because what appeared to be the bottom of the desk popped forward.
Right into Jane’s face.
“Ah!” Jane fell onto her backside, rubbing her nose. “Ouch!”
“Are you hurt? Bleeding?” George turned to her; his hand cupped her chin and pushed her face upward.
She wiped her nose and tried to register pain in her face. All she could feel were George’s fingers, hot, pressed into her skin.
“You’re not breathing. Come along. Let’s summon a physician.” He stood and pulled her to her feet.
She brushed away his worried hands. “No! No, I’m fine. Perfectly so. I swear. The drawer startled me more than hurt me. I lunged out of the way quick enough. Quick reflexes. Haha. Let’s see what’s in here, shall we?”
She reached into the shallow center drawer. “Nothing. Oh! Except”—she pulled an object from the drawer and held it close to the light—“a ribbon?”
George scowled and searched the drawer himself. “There’s something else too. A note.” He pulled it free and held it close to the candle as well.
“What does it say?” Excitement felt like an arrow whizzing near Jane’s ear. It thrilled unexpectedly.
George leaned closer, squinted. “‘I’ll never forget this last week. Thank you, dear one.’ Hm. We should leave it be.” He straightened and dropped the paper back into the drawer.
“What is it?”
“A love note. Put the ribbon back, Jane.”
Jane dropped it in the drawer like it was a snake and not an accessory. She pushed the drawer closed once more, locking away the secrets of her brother’s heart.
