The blue of his eye sharpened as he drank her in.
Morning Fawn pressed her lips together, forbidding herself even a trace of a smile. She had no intention of letting him know his opinion mattered.
“Be careful not to trip, dear.” Thea unfurled her fan.
Moyer slipped in front of Devon and offered his hand to Morning Fawn as her foot touched the ground floor. His red silk cravat shone like a banner. “Please allow me to escort you, my lady. I am but a pauper compared to your beauty.”
Behind him, Devon snorted.
Good. Let the man simmer a bit. “Thank you, Mr. Moyer. I’m not used to such compliments.” She placed her fingers in his palm, wishing for the hand of another.
Devon glowered as he followed behind Morning Fawn, her deep-violet gown swishing against the carpet. If he had any sense at all, he would have elbowed that buffoon out of the way and taken Morning Fawn’s hand. She wasn’t used to the shoes or the crinoline, but he could get mighty used to seeing her in such dresses. But her hair? He preferred it long, flowing over her shoulders as it had on the return from Alleyton, instead of being drawn back in a bundle of fancy curls.
From the moment they sat down to dinner, Moyer dominated the conversation. The table might as well have been a stage. LeBeau soaked up the braggart’s stories and financial details, leaving little doubt this new guest had supplanted Devon as the favored beau for his niece.
Just as well. Devon didn’t have time for courting, fake or otherwise. He had a mission to focus on. He had a chance to make a significant difference for the North, and he wasn’t about to blow it by getting distracted by a pair of hazel eyes and a fiery demeanor.
He had enough to do making sure he didn’t end up swinging from a rope. And it wasn’t just his life on the line. It was the Schramms’ too. Unionists, they’d volunteered to help with the spying and the planning. If he could get his hands on the gunpowder in the quarter master’s depot, not even half a block from the cotton warehouse, his task would be much simpler.
Thea’s hand brushed his sleeve as she retrieved her butter knife.
He startled, but she seemed to hardly notice.
Her wide gaze flickered toward Moyer in response to his latest brag. She batted her eyelashes while she lavished butter on her roll. “You’re in a partnership with Richard King of King’s Ranch?”
Moyer settled back in his chair. “A partner in twenty thousand acres in Nueces County. But that’s nothing. King has another seventy thousand, at least. We’re raising a good herd of cattle there.”
Morning Fawn’s gaze jerked from her spoon laden with rice to her dinner partner at the mention of acres. Half of the grain spilled onto her plate.
Devon stabbed his beefsteak. If Morning Fawn was after land, she was courting the right fellow. But land didn’t guarantee a home—at least, not a real one. He’d seen that all too well when his mother married his stepfather.
LeBeau leaned forward. “Any chance King will allow you a stake in his cotton contracts? From what I’ve heard, he’s the head rooster when it comes to cotton. Got himself situated as the middleman between the European cotton brokers and the Confederate government.”
“I’m counting on it, sir.” Moyer reached for his brandy snifter. “Thought it best to get in on the land deal first. I don’t aim to sit by while fortunes are made.”
Devon blew out a breath. Men were giving their lives, and this man cared more about lining his pockets. He couldn’t stomach profiteers on either side of the Mason-Dixon Line. “Thereisa war going on, Mr. Moyer.”
Moyer arched an eyebrow. “That’s why I’ve made my services available to the Cotton Bureau. My job is to safeguard the lifeblood of the Confederacy. Some of us do our part by utilizing our business skills and intellect.”
Devon glowered at him. The man’s head was as big as a cotton bale and just as thick. “You don’t believe it requires intellectto take men into battle and bring them out alive and perhaps victorious?”
“I wholeheartedly support our boys in gray. If the Confederacy wasn’t in such dire need of my services here, I’d be out there in the field.”
Right. Hiding behind a tree. Talking loud enough that the enemy could hear him a mile away.
“Same here.” LeBeau sliced another bite. “If I was a few years younger and didn’t have more than a hundred slaves dependent upon me. Besides, if it wasn’t for us planters, the men on the front wouldn’t have anything but sticks and stones to throw at the enemy.”
Morning Fawn flickered a glance Devon’s way and traced a circular design on the tablecloth. The glow from the chandelier danced on her face. “Lieutenant Reynolds comes from a well-to-do family, but he prefers to fight for his way in the world.”
Devon blinked wide. She was defending him?
“For once, you’re right, cousin.” Thea slipped her fingers around his upper arm. “The lieutenant told us about his battles the other night at dinner when you weren’t here.” She shifted in her chair as if she needed to be another inch closer to him. The yellow folds of her skirt lapped against his knee-high boots. “But I would love to hear more. Especially about his missions fighting against wild Indians.”
She spouted enough tangy venom with the sugar-sweet tone to curdle his wine in his glass.
His arm itched beneath her hold. “As I mentioned the other evening, Miss Thea, I’d rather talk of more pleasant things?—”
“I couldn’t agree more, Reynolds.” Moyer smiled. “Why dwell on the fact that you were the one to capture Miss Logan?”
