“The world you paint in these letters is fascinating,” she said. “I could never be brave enough to sail to Java or Madagascar, but I love that you did. And these letters . . . I can see how hard it was for you. The distance, the heat, the illness. But also the people, the spices, and the adventure. A piece of my heart has always longed to do something big. Epic. I love that you were brave enough to do it.”

He stared at her, mesmerized. She understood. They couldn’t be more different in background or temperament, but she understood what drove him out into the world and the compulsion to work. His sense of unity with her grew stronger. He had never met anyone like her, and once again his attraction to her was spiraling out of control.

This was dangerous. Why would a girl this young and naïve want a stodgy, serious man like him? He was letting his emotions run amok, when in all likelihood she was only here to find something to impress her masters at the Smithsonian.

From the moment they’d met, they’d been completely honest with each other, and he didn’t want to stray from that now. No matter how mortifying, he needed to be frank with her. He wanted their friendship to be something more but feared she didn’t feel the same. After decades of loneliness, a harbor was in sight, but if it was nothing more than a mirage, he needed to know.

“Annabelle, I find myself starting to care very deeply for you,” he began, tension making it hard to speak in a steady voice. “I’ve tried to help you by opening my home and greenhouses and library to you, but perhaps that was a mistake. I’d like a proper courtship with you, but if my feelings are not reciprocated, I don’t see how we can continue this rather unconventional friendship.”

She blanched, her eyes widening as she sat back a few inches. Everything he’d just said was obviously offensive to her.

He looked away, unable to witness the distress on her face. “I’m sorry—”

“Don’t apologize,” she interrupted. “Please don’t apologize.”

“But I owe you one. I’m sorry to be so blunt, but this is new and untried territory for me. I am sorry I misread—”

“You didn’t misread anything.”

His gaze whipped back to hers. Still sitting on the floor, gazing up at him, she looked insecure and painfully young.

“I want to be here. Please don’t send me away.”

The note of desperation in her voice was odd. It was the voice of a woman anxious to secure her position at the Smithsonian, not a hopeful woman who returned his affection.

“Annabelle, I can still help you. If you need a steady job, I can open doors for you.”

“Are you throwing me out?” The desperation was gone, and the challenge was back.