Moyer chuckled and offered him a cigar. “And what about the raid into Tennessee?”
“Some other time.” Devon twirled the cigar in his fingers. Best stick the thing in his mouth and endure the taste. “We don’t want to bore Miss Logan with war stories. She might prefer a tour.”
“Of cotton bales?” She blinked.
Devon reached for her arm, but Moyer was quicker. His hand closed around her elbow. “I’d be delighted to show the lady how we serve the Confederacy. If you prefer to rest in the outer office, Lieutenant, my clerk could supply you with a glass of brandy recently arrived from London.”
Wait in the outer office with the potential of finding an excuse and a few moments in Moyer’s office unobserved? An unexpected opportunity. Exactly what he should choose.
But Morning Fawn glanced at the man’s hand as if a dog had latched onto her sleeve.
“I’d enjoy a tour myself.” Devon hooked his thumb over his cartridge belt, resisting the urge to grab her other arm. He’d not stoop to playing tug of war. After all, Devon was the one leaving with the lady.
CHAPTER 12
Out front an hour later, Morning Fawn firmed her mouth as Nicholas Moyer bent over her hand and brushed his lips across her knuckles. She cringed at the tickle of his mustache but held her peace.
Devon clamped his jaw shut, looking as if he were fit to be tied.
She smiled. Now she knew how to show the pirate she wasn’t some desperate damsel in need of saving.
Moyer straightened, giving her hand one last squeeze before he released it. “Till Saturday evening, my lovely lady.” Fire sparked in his deep-brown eyes.
“I shall look forward to it.” She batted her eyelashes as she’d seen Thea do a hundred times, trying not to wince.
“Your aunt’s waiting for us.” Devon grabbed her arm, not quite gently, and tugged her toward the horses. “Probably in a panic.”
“If you need to go on, Lieutenant, I could always escort her?—”
“My job’s to bring both ladies home.” Not even a hint of “no, thank you, sir” or “much obliged.” Devon’s pleasantries hadslowly fallen by the wayside the farther they’d walked between the rows of towering bales. Had he been bored, or maybe he didn’t care to play second fiddle to a cotton king?
Devon turned toward Morning Fawn and offered his linked fingers for her foot.
She pressed her shoe into his callused flesh as she stepped into the saddle, smiling at the slender wisps of cotton that clung to his felt hat.
In a matter of minutes, Devon had them headed back toward the ferry, past the freight wagons. “That man’s slicker than a snake oil salesman.”
“A what?”
“Never mind.” He unwound his canteen from his saddle horn and took a swig. “I’m trying to say he’s not to be trusted.”
“You don’t even know him.”
“I know a fox when I see one.”
She rolled her eyes. “You’re one to talk, Lieutenant. Going around stealing women.”
He exhaled. “There’s a world of light and dark between me and the likes of Moyer, Miss Logan.” He pulled ahead, ramrod straight in the saddle.
Silence dropped between them. But when she thought he’d turn right toward the river, he guided them left.
“Where are we going?” She slowed her mount.
“To see a doctor about my eye.”
She blinked at him. “But you said we had to get back to my aunt. She’s waiting, you know.”
“Since when does something like that trouble you?” He arched an eyebrow at her and moved farther right as a carriage rumbled past. “My eye’s been bothering me, and I have the name of a doctor in Alleyton someone recommended.”
