Nathaniel seethed. It was the day after his blowup with Caroline, and she was the last person he wanted to see, but there was no escaping her. He was providing security for the first lady today, which meant he was required to be trapped only inches from Caroline in the close confines of a carriage. As they rolled along Eleventh Street, Caroline sat on the bench opposite him, glancing through a fashion magazine as though she didn’t have a care in the world.

They were traveling to the Naval Hospital, where Mrs. McKinley would unveil a plaque commemorating sailors injured during the recent war. It would be an indoor ceremony, so Nathaniel was the only guard, but they’d brought along a photographer to memorialize the event. His name was James Remberton, but everyone called him Rembrandt in deference to his artistic bent.

The normally spacious carriage felt cramped from all the photographer’s equipment along with the two huge bouquets Caroline had brought to deliver to the sickrooms. Nathaniel wanted to tell her she shouldn’t have bothered—injured soldiers didn’t care a fig about flowers—but she insisted they be placed inside the carriage to ensure they were protected from the breeze. The cloying scent of tuberose made his head ache.

“Look!” Caroline said as she paged through the magazine. “The Countess of Windover wore scarlet opera gloves to a performance in Rome. Shall we order you a pair?”

Mrs. McKinley looked intrigued. “Do you think I could get away with something so daring?”

“You’re the first lady. You can dare whatever you wish.” Caroline laughed.

Nathaniel fought to keep his expression blank, but this was the sort of nonchalant disregard for the rules that always irked him. Caroline and Ida McKinley could flout decorum while their minions were bound by rules and ordered to serve.

But it wasn’t flowers or opera gloves that really angered him, it was the fact that he’d ignored so many warning signs about Caroline Delacroix. She had flat out told him she had no respect for rules the first day they met. She had a criminal attorney. She flouted one rule after another inside the White House, and yet he’d overlooked those clues because she was charming and flirted with him.

He’d spoken to George Cortelyou about terminating Caroline’s access to the White House, but George claimed the first lady depended on Caroline. Nathaniel privately thought it was all the more reason to remove a woman with undue influence, but he’d made no progress in plugging the security breach.

And here she sat, side by side with the first lady, gossiping about fashion.

“Scarlet is increasingly worn in high society,” Rembrandt said. “It doesn’t photograph well, but if the correct shade is selected, it can look both daring and stately.”