pale as cream. Instead of surrendering to a blush this time, Clara gazed at him with somewhat startling directness.
“You have…ah, you have extraordinary eyes,” Sebastian said, studying the pearly color of her irises.
“My grandfather used to call them the eyes of a witch, though he meant it in a fond way.” Clara arched a brow in amusement. “I think.”
“I’m sure of it,” Sebastian said. “They’re quite beguiling.”
“Thank you.” She slanted those eyes to his mouth, her glance like the brush of silk. Not the first time he had caught her looking at his mouth. He wondered what she found so interesting about it.
If anything. Perhaps she just didn’t know where else to look, though he suspected that thought wouldn’t have occurred to him with any other woman. If Clara Winter didn’t know where else to look, she’d stare at the wall behind him. She wasn’t coy.
He glanced at the interior of the chest in which numerous toys were packed with care.
“Your uncle’s creations?” he asked.
“Yes.” Clara placed her hand on the lid and closed it. “I keep them for my son.”
“You have a son?”
“His name is Andrew.” She pushed the chest away with a hard shove. Wood screeched against the floor. “He is seven years old. He lives with my father on his Surrey estate.”
Though Sebastian wanted to know more, the tone of Clara’s voice repelled further inquiry. He heard the emotions beneath her surface-thin remark, like a veneer of ocean ice, and he sensed the effort it took her to keep that façade from breaking. He knew because the very same struggle now ruled his own life.
“What do you want?” Clara asked, lifting her dark lashes once again.
His heart thumped hard against his rib cage. “What do I want?”
“From my uncle. From…from me.”
“I—”
She gave a quick, dismissive shake of her head. “Do not tell me you want to understand the functioning of the automata. I saw you try to conceal a yawn at least three times during Uncle Granville’s lengthy discourse.”
“It’s true that I’d rather have been speaking with you.”
“You’d rather have been speaking with anyone, as long as the topic was of interest to you.” She swept a hand behind her head to tuck a lock of hair back into place. “And why do you seek to flatter me so often? Why did you kiss me? What do you want?”
Sebastian fought a brief battle with himself. If he told her the truth, that he was seeking plans for a secret project, she could very well banish him from the museum, and then he’d never find the plans.
On the other hand, this circumventing was getting him nowhere, and he had a better chance with Clara than he did with Granville.
Clara’s eyes steadied on his face. He detected a faint tremor in the full line of her mouth, a tremor she tried to suppress by pressing her lips together.
“I might be able to help you,” she said, “but you must tell me the truth.”
The truth. His right hand flexed, the fingers tightening. No one knew the truth.
Emotions swayed in Clara’s strange eyes. Eyes of a witch, indeed. They pulled him in like an undertow, drawing him toward their fathomless depths. His intention to charm her into revealing her knowledge of the cipher machine faded to transparency. He could no more mislead this woman than he could stay away from her. He no longer wanted to.
He did, however, want to know her secrets. He almost burned with the desire to explore all the pleats and folds of the tumultuous soul he sensed lay beneath her lovely façade.
Sebastian took a breath, felt his pulse pounding in his throat. His brother had asked him to keep a confidence, but Sebastian needed to earn Clara’s trust. And honesty was the only way he could achieve that.
“I am seeking the specifications for a certain machine,” he finally said. “I’ve word that your uncle might have them in his possession. The machine was invented by Jacques Dupree, and I have reason to believe he sent the plans to your uncle shortly before his death.”
“How do you know such a thing?”
He didn’t actually know much of anything. “My younger brother told me about them. He lives in St. Petersburg and corresponded with Monsieur Dupree about his inventions.”
“What type of machine is it?”
“One that transmits telegraphic messages,” Sebastian said. “Apparently in an…innovative fashion.”
“But why would Monsieur Dupree have sent the plans to my uncle?”
“I don’t know,” Sebastian admitted. “Darius said it was likely to ensure their safekeeping. You