Until the Dawn by Elizabeth Camden Page B

before the wedding.
    “I did!” she sputtered. “He seemed so kind and sympathetic . . .”
    “Don’t take it too hard,” Quentin said. “Mr. Gilroy is a professional. He’s been on my grandfather’s payroll for a decade. He specializes in ferreting out secrets, gaining unsuspecting people’s trust, and entrapment. Someone like you didn’t stand a chance.”
    “But why does your grandfather spy on you?”
    “Because we don’t trust each other. Nickolaas Vandermark is as cunning as any Borgia prince, and twice as rich. He feasts on intrigue as though it were mother’s milk. If anything you told Mr. Gilroy is of interest to my grandfather, Nickolaas will have hired a team of private investigators to uncover every detail of your life. He probably knows the color of your undergarments by now. That’s just the way he is. You need to watch what you say around Mr. Gilroy.”
    She still couldn’t accept it. Mr. Gilroy seemed so caring, and she instinctively trusted him. “But he seemed so nice . . .”
    “That’s because he is nice. He is also a man who has amassed a small fortune by working for my grandfather while simultaneously drawing a salary from me.”
    It didn’t seem possible that such a genteel man could be so underhanded. “So you are saying that Mr. Gilroy will always put Nickolaas Vandermark first, no matter what?”
    “No, I’m saying Mr. Gilroy will always put himself first. He is quite clever at playing me against Nickolaas when it suits his purposes. Mr. Gilroy lives by his wits. Don’t give him ammunition to shoot you with, because he won’t hesitate if it suits his purpose.”
    “I think that’s terrible.”
    Quentin pushed himself to his feet, grasping his cane and using careful steps to close the distance between them. There was no cynical mockery in his face, only a hint of wistfulness as he studied her.
    “I worry about you, Miss van Riijn,” he said quietly. “You are simply too sweet-natured to survive very long in the real world. You think that God and Jesus set the rules, but it’s really people like my grandfather and Mr. Gilroy who are pulling all the strings.”
    What must it be like to view the world through such a dark glass? Being attuned to God’s presence in the world did not make her fragile; it made her stronger. But how strange that Quentin Vandermark, a virtual stranger with a ferocious reputation, echoed her father’s sentiments exactly. Her father repeatedly tried to block her from anything that might put her feelings at risk, and it was humiliating that everyone underestimated her. She raised her chin a notch.
    “I’m not a Ming vase,” she said. “I’ve been knocked down a time or two, and I’ve always survived.”
    For some reason, the comment appeared to trouble him. He returned to his bench, all trace of warmth gone from his voice.
    “My son is a Ming vase,” he said ominously. “Handle him with care, Miss van Riijn, for he is the only thing in the world I treasure, and I won’t let anyone damage him.”
    She didn’t doubt it, for she’d already learned from the bodyguards what had happened to the men who’d kidnapped Pieter last summer. After paying the ransom, Quentin hired a team of mercenaries to track the money, hunt down the kidnappers, and bring them to justice. Those who resisted did not survive to make it to trial.
    No, she didn’t doubt that Quentin wanted to protect his son. She merely didn’t think he knew how to do it.

6
    T HE NEXT WEEK WAS EXHILARATING as Sophie undertook her first professional job, tutoring Pieter and cooking for the Vandermark household. Although she had yet to figure out a way to get Emil re-hired, Florence had returned to her position as housekeeper, a blessing considering the amount of food these men devoured at every meal. It was hard not to be flattered by the enthusiasm they showed as they consumed the meals she set before them each day.
    There was nothing magical about her cooking, but she loved