“Anyway,” I say, quick to change the subject, “I never thanked you. For last night…”

“What, for doing my job?”

“You’re just a mechanic,” I remind him.

“I thought I was your bodyguard.”

“Well,” for some reason my heartbeat quickens wildly at this innocent statement. “I know I said that, but… Still, no one expects you to put yourself in danger like that for my sake.”

Sam lifts one of his severe brows. “Don’t they?”

“No, not really. At least, not for someone like me…”

“Who else?” he asks me seriously. “You’ll forgive me for saying it, Miss Porter, but I wouldn’t give two cents for that lot you call family. But for your sake… Well. I guess you’ve seen what I’d be willing to do.”

“Oh,” I say, coloring deeply, moved by his words and more than a little flustered. “Still. Th-thank you. For saving me.”

Sam inclines his head ever so slightly in the faintest bow, his eyes never once leaving mine.

“It was no trouble, Miss Porter. Really.”

There’s something wrong with me. I’ve seen not one but two dead bodies now in the space of just a few days. But somehow, that doesn’t bother me at all. In fact, it hardly even registers. This evening as I stare at the notes I’m taking for Harrison’s murder, I can’t even read the words.

All I can concentrate on, all I’ve been able to think about for the last several hours…

I rise abruptly, dressing in my rain coat, hat and boots, and make my way outside.

The sky is low and drizzly. The sun set only half an hour ago. I make my way out to the annex, not frightened as I perhaps should be, knowing an attempt was made on my life here not twenty-four hours ago. I let myself inside, hanging up my coat and changing my boots for a pair of slippers, and pad silently down the hall to the morning room.

I feel apprehensive as I sit down at the piano bench. Self-conscious.

Sam. Has he really been listening to me play? I guess the cigarette butts were evidence of that.

I always thought I was alone out here. No one in the house ever wanted to listen to me practice; Mother especially can’t stand my loud, dramatic music. But Sam… Sam…

I’m nervous. I’ve never been so nervous sitting at a piano, before. Not even when I played in a concert hall in front of a thousand people…

I touch my fingers to the cold keys, playing a few scales to loosen up, breaking up the silence of the wide, dark room. Outside I watch the trees bend in the wind, a few overgrown branches rustling faintly against the tall windows.

He wouldn’t be out there, I tell myself. Not on a rainy night like tonight. Still…

Trying not to think too hard, I let myself begin to improvise a song. Simple, lovely, shy. A maiden’s song, I think with flushing cheeks. The maiden who’s only just begun to awaken to the idea of her own romance.

Foolishness, I tell myself. To imagine that someone like me could…

The volume of rain increases suddenly, startling me out of my thoughts. It’s pouring, I realize. Sam will be drenched! If he’s even out there…

I don’t stop to think, but rise and run down the hall, slipping back into my rain clothes and bursting out into the storm. I run around to the other side of the lonely house, lured by the faint orange glow of a cigarette.

“Miss Porter,” Sam’s eyes widen at the sight of me where he’s tucked himself up against the wall, just out of the rain.

“Would you—” I say, my voice fairly drowned by the thundering deluge, “would you… like to come inside?”

He considers my offer a moment. Lowers his cigarette.

“Alright if I smoke?”

I nod, put my hand out. He considers this too. Then he reaches out, and clasps me firmly. I begin to run, pulling him after me through the rain.

Inside, our breath echoes in the empty hall. I take off my wet things and stop to clean my fogged up glasses. Then I look to Sam concernedly.

“I should get you a blanket.”

“I’m alright, Miss Porter.”

“But you’ll catch a cold.”

“I don’t get sick that easily.”

It’s dark. I can hardly see his face, but I sense he’s near.

“This way,” I say, turning from him quickly and leading him down the hall. The sound of his footsteps following after me makes my stomach do somersaults.

“Take any chair you like,” I say when we reach the morning room, lit by a single gas lamp. “There’s an ashtray on that table there.”

Sam takes it and finds a wooden chair, pulling it to a spot in the middle of the room that gives him a full view of me. He leans himself back in it, crosses his leg over his knee and lights a match, touching it to the end of his cigarette. He shakes the match out and lays it in the ashtray, and takes a long drag. The embers flare, casting his features in the faintest glow.

Realizing I’m staring, I shake myself, letting my eyes fall back to the keys.

I don’t know that I can trust myself to improvise properly with an audience, especially in this mood. I’d be embarrassed if I played something stupid.

Instead, I stick to the classics, familiar pieces I could play in my sleep. The minutes slip by, and with them, my tension. Miraculously, I even manage to forget my audience, throwing myself body and soul into the music. Then I notice just a bit of movement, and my gaze goes back to him.

Though I’ve kept him here for more than an hour, he doesn’t doze the way Lady Charlotte did. He’s watching me with those strange eyes of his, a clear, direct gaze that never falters. Thinking inscrutable thoughts.

My nervousness returns, and I miss a note. I stop mid-sonata, fingers hovering over the keys. Slowly, I lower my hands. Sam continues to watch me as the notes fade and silence descends.

“Is that it?”

“It’s getting late…”

“Not as late as you usually go.”

I color faintly. “If I’d known someone was listening…”

“What?”

“Nothing. I should get back to the house.”

“I’ll walk you back.”

The rain’s slowed once again to a light drizzle. I tell Sam he doesn’t have to follow me, but he’s insistent.

“After what happened last night, you think I’m letting you out of my sight?”

I do my best to pretend his words don’t stir up great swirling butterflies in my belly.

It’s a short walk to the main house. At the door, I stop and turn to him.

“Would you… like to come in for a cup of coffee?”

Sam’s eyes widen at this second invitation from me and he swallows. “That’s very kind of you, Miss Porter. But to tell the truth, I’m dead on my feet. After I see you off I’ll head back to the garage and pass out.”

“You should have said something,” I say, feeling suddenly stupid. “I wouldn’t have kept you up so long if I’d known…”

“You didn’t keep me up. I wanted to be there.”

He’s looking at me again, captivating my imagination with the intensity of his gaze. But it doesn’t last. After a moment, he disrupts the mood with a faint, professional sort of smile. Dismissing me.

“Well, then. I’d best be on my way.”

“Of course. Thanks again, Sam, for everything.”

“My pleasure, Miss Porter.”

He tips his hat at me together with a little bow, turns, and disappears into the night…