We stayed in that contented closeness for a few precious minutes, and then, in his way, he abruptly said: “I have three questions for you.”

   That should’ve immediately set off my alarms, but I was still too languid and dazed to give it much thought. “Okay.”

   “Your first time?”

   “Yes.” I hesitated. “Was it obvious?”

   “Not right away.” His face remained pensive, but there was an appreciative edge to his voice. “You aren’t exactly shy about what you want. That threw me off.”

   A little of my old doubt returned. “Is that a bad thing?”

   “No, no, you were fine.”

   I lifted my head. “Fine?”

   He sighed. “You were exquisite. Intense, daring, provocative—more so because you don’t even realize it. You make it hard to be patient. Is that better?”

   Delight—mixed with a little bit of self-satisfaction—filled my chest. I wondered if this counted as the sort of “sweet and tender things” Florence had spoken of. For Grant, it was probably akin to reciting poetry. “Yes. Is that your second question?”

   “You know it isn’t.” He finally turned his head and looked at me, his expression earnest. “Did I hurt you?”

   “No,” I said, surprised. “It was . . . I don’t know. I’m still reliving it. I don’t have the words. It’s beyond words.”

   He looked relieved. “Good. Though I would’ve settled for ‘fine.’” And then, because he excelled at the unexpected: “So. What are you doing running around with Tom Shortsleeves?”

   I groaned and rolled away, returning to my back. “Come on, Grant. Do we really have to talk about this now? For once, can’t we have a nice moment?”

   “I thought we just did. A lot of them. And of course we’re going to talk about this now. Mirabel, you were running around with some of the city’s most dangerous men! You could’ve gotten yourself killed.”

   My body still sang from what we’d done, and I’d even wondered earlier what the odds were tonight of repeating it. Judging from this conversation’s trajectory, they weren’t good.

   “Well, I’m still alive. Don’t you have any faith in me?”

   “A great deal, which is why, the more I think about it, I should’ve realized a long time ago who the golden-haired angel that’s captivated the city is.” He shook his head, expression pained. “When were you going to tell me? Why didn’t you already?”

   “I don’t know. The time never seemed right. Probably because I knew you’d react like this.”

   He sat up. “Like what? Like being worried about you?”

   A glimmer of the old frustration sparked in my chest at his tone. “Like you judging me.”

   “You should be judging yourself. What happened to your righteous sense of fighting injustice?”

   “That’s exactly what I’m doing. We give back to the oppressed. We punish the corrupt. It’s what I’ve always wanted to do, and you know it.”

   “I didn’t know you’d do it by becoming a vigilante. And a common thief.”

   “I’m not!” I jerked upright, wrapping a blanket around me. “I don’t take any jobs I don’t want to. It’s earning me money to help pay off Lonzo’s bond. And it connects me with the pirates you thought the traitors might be buying from. I thought you’d like that.”

   “Tom Shortsleeves steals art and jewelry, not army supplies. Everyone knows that.”

   “But Tom knows pirates who do steal for the traitors. Like Sandler. Remember the lead I got you?”

   He made no acknowledgment of that. “There are better ways for you to earn money.”

   “And I’m pursuing them all. Marriage, your case, Tom.” I waved my hands impatiently. “One way or another, I’ll get Lonzo back.”

   “Marriage is what you list first?”

   “I already told you I’ll do anything I can to pay the bond. Going through with marriage might not be my preferred plan, but it’s the most reliable.”

   “Going through with . . . wait. Do you have some serious offer?” His eyes widened. “Are you engaged?”

   I shifted uncomfortably. “Not exactly. I just have this arrangement. Sort of. If I can’t pay off my contract myself or get Lonzo’s money any other way, there’s this elderly—ah, extremely elderly—gentleman who’ll marry me at the last minute. He’s very nice,” I added quickly. “Very respectable, very generous with his wealth. And he doesn’t expect any ‘marital duties.’”

   I’d never seen Grant so shell-shocked. “I guess you weren’t kidding when you said you’d do anything. The other night, you acted like marriage was some distant contingency, but you’ve got a husband already lined up! Then what is . . . this? What we’re doing in bed?”

   “I . . .” I averted my eyes, unable to face that outrage. “Having a nice moment?”

   “Do I have any place in your life after you’re married?”

   I turned back incredulously. “Do you want one? Did you change your mind about attachment? I wouldn’t know. You aren’t exactly expressive when it comes to your feelings.”

   “Unlike you, overflowing with honesty. Was I supposed to be the illicit lover that you keep on the side while you reign as the pampered queen of your ‘extremely elderly’ gentleman’s estate?”

   I ran a hand over my tangled hair, weary and embarrassed. “I don’t know, Grant. I didn’t really think about us beyond this.”

   He flinched and stayed silent, which was never a good sign.