She cringed. How could she have forgotten to flip the bedcover back down over the side?
Lebeau jutted his finger at Owens. “Look under the bed.” A spoon and a small bottle dangled from his other hand. “I might have known she was too riled up to behave.”
“I’ve done nothing wrong.” Her voice cracked, even as she stiffened.
Half tempted to kick him, she stepped aside as Owens knelt and dragged out the pot. Did they think they could get the laudanum down her throat without a fight?
Owens lifted the lid. “Up to her old tricks.”
She opened her hand. The plate clunked on the hardwood floor and chipped.
Jaw clenched and eyes narrowed, her uncle moved toward her. “You’ll have to hold her, Mr. Owens.”
Owens pulled himself up to a stand and cracked his knuckles. “My pleasure.”
They couldn’t give her the laudanum if there wasn’t any. Morning Fawn lunged for the bottle. Her nails dug into LeBeau’s pampered hand. The spoon clattered to the floor, and her fingers closed around the maple-colored glass.
Owens grabbed her from behind and jerked her away from Uncle Robert. The brute’s arms cinched around her as he hauled her backward, squeezing the air from her lungs.
Her uncle reached for her hand.
She flung the laudanum and rammed her heel into the leg of the man behind her.
“Yeow.” Owens yelped but held firm.
Gasping for breath, she kicked at her uncle as he dove for the bottle?—
Athud rattled the attic floor above the second-floor guest room. Submerged to his shoulders in the warm,bubbly water of the copper tub, Devon glanced upward and frowned. Morning Fawn?
Hurried feet thumped somewhere above—not over him directly, but nearby.
As Devon sat up and reached for the towel, water sloshed over the sides onto the carpet.
A scuffle followed by raised voices and another thud. It sounded like a fight. Morning Fawn and who? Were they trying to tie her or dose her with some concoction? He hopped out of the most luxurious bath he’d had in his entire life, leaving the dust and grime of weeks on the road behind. Water and suds streamed off of him as he dashed the towel across his body.
A muffled female yell wafted from the thick ceiling, followed by raised voices and more scuffling.
He had to get up there. Damp hair fell across his forehead as he grabbed his pants. No time to put on his drawers or undershirt. He pulled his shirt on and headed for the door, halting in midstride. His eyepatch. Couldn’t forget that. He snatched it from the bureau and tightened it around his head before charging into the lamp-lit hallway, barefoot, suspenders dangling from his sides.
George, the second rider from the afternoon, stood at the bottom of the ascending stairs conversing with the maid from dinner in a barrage of whispers.
They fell silent as Devon approached.
The young maid, dressed in a simple black dress, clutched her hands. A web of concern clouded her face.
George crossed his arms over his worn coat with its frayed cuffs. “Sorry, Massar. Mr. LeBeau sends his apologies if the noise disturbed ya.”
“Stand aside.” Devon moved to push past the man.
“Sorry, sir.” George planted himself dead center and stretched his arms across. “Orders. No one goes up.”
“You’ve got to be joking.” Devon blew out a breath. “What in the devil are they doing to her up there?”
George pressed his lips flat and shrugged.
More rumbling sounded through the floor.
“You tell me, or I’m going to see for myself.” Devon jabbed his finger toward the man who matched his height and likely his strength.
