She needed to divert this conversation. She was good at talking men in circles and would funnel this line of questioning away from Luke. Men could be easily manipulated through the right mix of flattery and teasing.

“While I admire your sober and respectable comportment, it doesn’t pair well with the scary tone you’re using. The overall effect is terribly dour. You could pass for one of those grim Puritans, like Jonathan Edwards, threatening sinners in the hands of an angry God.”

“Thank you,” he said mildly. “I wrote a paper on Edwards in school. I’ve always admired his way with words.”

“That does not surprise me. Tragically. The black suit and lack of color is perfectly in keeping with puritanical fussiness.”

His gaze flicked to her gown, a white brocade with a blue portrait collar. “While I think the oyster-white shade of your gown is overly conventional, the cerulean blue trim is a classic symbol of piety and loyalty. It’s one of my favorite colors.”

She leaned forward in the chair, intrigued by his effortless assessment. “Really? I chose it because of its association with the freshness of spring.”

“In August?”

“I believe in putting a good face on things, even in the sweltering heat of summer.”

Nathaniel tilted the electric fan her way. “Miss Delacroix, you always have a good face.”

“You must think I’m arrogant,” she said.

“No, I think you’re confident. There’s a difference.”

She loved that he understood the distinction. Maybe she shouldn’t be surprised, for he seemed to be a master of interpreting human behavior. He hid it behind that calm, somber exterior, but somehow that made it even more exciting.

“How come you seem determined to make people dislike you?” she asked. “All these rules and fussiness and no-hands-in-pockets nonsense.”

“My job isn’t to be liked, it’s to keep the president safe. How come you met with a criminal attorney?”

“Mr. Alphonse is a very nice man,” Caroline said. “Of course, he smiles a lot more than you. With actual teeth showing. When you smile, it’s always a closed-mouth smile, like you’re being stingy with it.”

One corner of his mouth curved into a reluctant smile, making a dimple appear in his cheek. The half-smile reached all the way up to his eyes, which warmed and sparkled. But still no teeth showed.

“See?” she challenged. “There it is. As if you can’t bear to deliver a real smile.”

Before he could answer, a tap on the door interrupted her, and an usher opened it. “Mr. LaFontaine is here to see you, sir.”

“Tell him to wait,” Nathaniel said, but she used the opportunity to divert the conversation.

“Do you think our head chef is an assassin? Or consorting with anarchists? I can assure you that Mr. LaFontaine has worked at the White House for thirty years. There were other presidents far more worthy of assassination, if he was so inclined.”