Page 116 of Summer of Sacrifice

Cal ran a finger lazily up and down Seleste’s arm as she marvelled at the contrast of their skin colours, so stunning together. “I missed you with every damned breath, Seleste.”

She smiled up at him. “How did you find me?”

His grin was mischievous. “I’d like to think you taught me a few things about observation. I heard about a woman sleuth, Lady Beetle Jousters.” He smiled manically. “A lady sleuth who was helping people in Merveille and Bowery. The more I thought about it, the more that odd name seemed to be an anagram.” He tickled her sides until she laughed. “Seleste Joubert.”

She grinned, rather proud of herself, and him. “And how did you prove such a thing to be true? Hm?”

“Money can do quite a lot,” he bragged mockingly before he laughed. “I snuck in and looked at the Post Master’s log book.”

Seleste laughed heartily and smacked his chest. “I can’t believe you did that!”

“It seemed like what you would do.” He shrugged. “I wrote to you first, but you didn’t answer.”

“I’ve been away all Summer and hadn’t yet read all my letters upon my return.” Her heart squeezed to think she’d had a letter from Cal sitting in her hut for over a day, unbeknownst to her.

Cal’s heart beat steadily in his chest beneath her ear, and Seleste feared she could get lost in the rhythm. “Eventually,” he said, his voice a rumble against her cheek, “I took up residence in Bowery and—er—watched the post box.”

She abruptly rose to sitting. “You did not!”

“I did.” He shifted to sit up and hung his head. “I saw you two days ago. Watched you leave your boat and get back in it, then head this direction.”

“How did I not notice you?”

“The apartment I purchased is directly across from the Post, and I watched through a window. I knew you’d see me any other way.”

“You are diabolical.”

He chuckled, but then his face fell, eyes suddenly far off.

“Why are you here, Cal?” Seleste looked at his ring finger, ashamed she’d waited so long to do so. She’d been afraid of what she’d find there. It was bare. “Where is Lady Catherine?”

“We’ve put off the wedding as long as we can. She doesn’t want to marry me, either, Seleste. The woman is quite gifted at finding reasons to put it off, and I’m grateful. She’s—she’s also in love with someone else.” He toyed with her hair. She’d left it down, free and full, all Summer. “I like your hair like this.”

“Yet you are still betrothed?” Her stomach was beginning to sour.

Cal nodded, just barely. Seleste removed herself from his arms and stood, quickly wrapping a sarong around her body, her legs still sticky with their time together.

“Cal. What are you doing here?”

Sitting up on the edge of the bed, ensuring he remained covered, he folded his hands in his lap. “There is another reason I have postponed the wedding. There has been a string of grisly murders in Seagovia.”

Seleste’s jaw went slack. “That’s terrible…” How had she not heard about this?

“I–I hoped that you would come with me and help me figure out what’s going on.”

“Cal, this isn’t something you should be a part of. It’s too d?—”

“My father was the first.”

Seleste launched forward. “What?”

“It was his liver, yes. But it was because he was being poisoned with arsenic. For a long time.”

Pieces of the previous Summer fell into place. “Dr. Pollock.” She sank onto the edge of the bed next to him.

“I don’t know. Maybe. He was my first suspect, but he was the next to go. And here’s the thing. I’m the only one who knows. Everyone thinks the beau monde has merely had a string of bad luck amongst its elite. But I can tell it’s not the case. These were murders.” He took her hands in his. “Please, Seleste. There have been three others. Please help me solve this.”

It was foolish, in too many ways to count. She’d have to abandon her current cases… Be alone with this man she loved but who was betrothed to someone else.

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