Chapters (51)
- Cover
- Books by Elizabeth Camden
- Title Page
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Historical Note
- Questions for Discussion
- In 2020, look forCaroline Delacroix’sstory in
- About the Author
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- Back Cover
Gray paused, as though hesitant to speak. “That bottle of vanilla is for you alone,” he said. “No handing it over to the Smithsonian or the Department of Agriculture.”
She’d heard that vanilla extract was appallingly expensive, but something about his stern tone indicated his concern had nothing to do with its cost. “Is there something unique about this particular bottle of vanilla?”
“Yes,” he said simply. “It’s the real thing. I’m in a race against chemists who are working toward creating an imitation vanilla extract by distilling wood-tar creosote along with a little clove oil and chemicals.”
“Yuck,” she instinctively said.
“My thoughts exactly,” he replied. “The quest to develop real vanilla extract is the holy grail for spice manufacturers. The chemists can make a fake version cheaper than anything I can produce, but mine tastes better.”
She held the bottle aloft. “Is this what made the vanilla tart taste so good tonight?”
His eyes warmed. “It is. My father and I worked for years on a cold-pressed solution for vanilla extract. It’s the best in the world.” He reached out to fold her hand around the bottle of vanilla, triggering an involuntary thrill, for it felt wonderfully tender and intimate. “This is for you alone,” he repeated, his voice a rough whisper in the darkness. “Do what you wish with the spices, but don’t share the vanilla extract.”
“Why are you giving it to me?” she asked, her hand still encased in his. For all his vaunted sense of privacy, he’d been consistently generous with her.
“Because I like you,” he said simply.
Only four words, yet they had the power to make her heart skip a beat and brighten her entire world. Silence stretched between them, but it didn’t feel uncomfortable. Crickets sounded in the distance, and the house made settling noises as the night cooled. She could stand here and stare up into his darkly handsome face all evening as this strange magnetism hummed between them.
“I’ll see you tomorrow morning,” Gray finally said, promise in his voice as he stepped back a few paces.
His words echoed in her mind as she headed upstairs. The first thing she saw in the guest room was Elaine’s horseshoe, gleaming on the bed in the dim light. Her giddy euphoria popped like a soap bubble. Elaine’s work at the library had been a shining beacon of hope, but unless Annabelle could please Dr. Norwood with that orchid, they could both find themselves on a train back to Kansas.
She ended the evening on her knees, giving thanks for getting her this far, but praying for guidance. Gray had promised to show her the orchid house tomorrow, but she’d heard the hint of caution in his tone. He’d been attentive and charming all day, but if he had that orchid, he was going to guard it.
Seven
