I tilted my head. “Are you sure? Can you explain what ‘because’ meant?”

   “Because?”

   “In the conservatory. You said I didn’t do anything wrong that night. But the only reason you gave for why you stopped was ‘because.’”

   He straightened up and walked to the other side of the room, angling away from me. “Do we have to talk about this?”

   “Well, you’re not doing anything else until Silas gets back.”

   “Would you settle for me saying I did it because I’d hoped to avoid conversations like this? I knew things would get muddled.”

   “They shouldn’t have.” My voice cracked a little, and I cleared my throat to sound hard again. “It was all supposed to be simple. I thought we had an understanding.”

   He was showing all the little signs of agitation I’d learned. Pacing. Raking his hands through his hair. But I knew he wasn’t frustrated at me so much as himself, and having to talk about personal things. Finally, he spun around.

   “Simple, huh? Okay. Then tell me why you wanted to do it.”

   I blinked, caught off guard. “What kind of question is that?”

   “An easy one. Here, I’ll give you a simple answer. I wanted to because you’ve got a face that could sack Ruva and a body I can’t stop staring at. That night we ‘met’ in the rain? I saw plenty in that wet nightgown, and I’ve wanted to see the rest for a long time. Those other girls you live with are like dolls. They look like they’ll break. But not you.”

   My mouth went dry, and I had no idea how to respond or even feel. To a certain extent, I’d just been complimented—on my appearance, at least. And wasn’t this whole debacle supposed to be circling around physical attraction? Desire and nothing more?

   He’d given me a simple answer, but he’d delivered it with almost no expression, no feeling, not even when citing the almost poetic reference to an ancient queen whose beauty had allegedly broken the great peace of Ruva. It sounded so practiced, like he could have been reading from a script.

   “No simple answer from you on what should have been a simple matter?” he prompted.

   The taunt in his tone sparked me back to life, and I began thinking up a list as impersonal as his. “I don’t know what your point is, but yes, it’s the same for me, obviously. I like—wanted—your body too! Rosamunde and I were sizing up all the men on the ship on that first day, and I didn’t even look at anyone else. You were stronger. Hardened. You had a fighter’s stance, and I could tell right away you were more than a shopkeeper. I wanted to touch your face, your arms, your chest . . . and try to figure out if you were some kind of warrior in disguise. You’ve got this look in your eyes that pierces right through me. It’s always hungry. Hungry to tear apart the world and its secrets. And sometimes it’s hungry for me, and that . . . does things to me. Even your hair . . . I like it because it’s like you. Trying to behave, but ultimately, the unruliness—or maybe it’s just defiance?—comes out. And when you didn’t shave—”

   Grant held up a hand. “Okay, I’ve heard enough.”

   Without realizing it, I’d started smiling when talking about his hair, but his pained expression snatched my amusement away. “What? You asked for a simple answer.”

   “And you didn’t give me one.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and slumped against the wall. “Seriously, Mirabel. Let go of . . . whatever we stumbled into. Focus on helping with the case and getting your money. Focus on what you worked so hard to get here for: a husband.” The word tumbled out harshly, like it left a bad taste in his mouth.

   “That’s not what I came for,” I said after several moments of contemplation.

   A small frown creased his forehead. “Isn’t it? I can’t really believe you sailed across an ocean to help root out traitors.”

   “No. I came here for my brother.” I pointed at the letter and could hardly believe I was telling him what I’d never told anyone. “Lonzo Borges is Lonzo Viana. He got in some, ah, trouble and started using a different name. He sailed here almost two years ago as a bondsman. I lost contact shortly after he arrived—until you found him.”

   I could see Grant processing this. He rarely learned something he hadn’t seen coming. “That’s why you want the reward. I wondered if you . . . were trying to buy out your own contract. You’ve gone through all of this . . . for him?”

   “I’d do more. As much as I’d like to buy out my contract, his bond comes first. And if that means finding a rich husband? Well, it’s worth it to keep him safe. Why are you looking at me like I’m crazy?”

   “I’m not. I’m looking in awe. Whenever I think I know how brave you are, you astound me again.”

   “I don’t feel brave. I just love him, that’s all. He’s sacrificed for me too.” I clenched my hands in front of me and looked down. “He broke with our father because of me.”

   “Broke?”

   “Our father trained us both to be a part of his crusade, but we had very different roles. I was the pretty distraction—even more than I am here. I wanted to go on daring escapades, like the men did, but I believed in my father. I thought he knew best. The cause really was just, and I was born to it.” I took a deep breath and almost couldn’t go on. “He encouraged me to be friendly with men when it suited his needs. Very friendly. I distracted them while my father conducted his secret deeds. Sometimes I coaxed out information. Usually, all I had to do was a kiss or a little touching. Sitting on someone’s lap. I didn’t like it at first, but after a while . . . well, I just didn’t think about it at all. It just became I something I did. I was indifferent to it.”

   I glanced up. Grant’s face gave away nothing, but I could see him hanging on to every word. I had to look away again at the next part of the story.