“Sir.” Devon raised his voice and pressed his palms on the table. He couldn’t allow him to tear into Morning Fawn like that. “Before the war, we were in the same tribe, so to speak, as Lincoln and the abolitionists. But that didn’t mean we saw eye to eye or followed their ways. Can’t we give Morn—Beth’s adopted family the benefit of the doubt?”
LeBeau’s glare bore into him. “Don’t play word games with me, Lieutenant, to win her favor. And her name is Miss Logan.”
Morning Fawn pushed out of her chair and stood, pale and shaking. “If I hear another word, I’m going to be sick.”
“Ladyhood and decorum at its finest,” Thea mumbled.
Morning Fawn strode out of the room, hand pressed to her mouth.
Devon followed, double-quick. He’d deal with LeBeau’s disfavor in the morning.
Sniffling, she paused at the bottom of the stairs and swiped away tears with her knuckles.
He’d tried to save her from the fight, but he swallowed back any thought of telling her so. “I’m sorry.”
She pivoted toward him. Red-rimmed eyes pierced him. “Leave me alone.”
“I know you’re upset and have every right to be. But if there’s anything I can?—”
“Allow me to take you out for a breath of air, Miss Logan.” Moyer stepped between them. When had he come into the hall?
“I’ve had enough visiting tonight.” She hugged herself tight. Moisture ran from her nose.
Devon dug in his trouser pocket. Where was his blasted handkerchief?
“I understand completely.” Moyer’s voice smoothed like a snake charmer as he handed her a square of white silk from his waistcoat pocket, its perfect triangular fold snapping open. “But surely, you don’t want to retreat to some stuffy room. Let me escort you outside, give you a chance to settle down.”
“She said she wants to be left alone.” Devon moved in front of the man.
“By you.” He smirked.
Jaw clenched, Devon’s fingers curled into his palms. “The lady?—”
“The lady wants you two to be quiet.” Morning Fawn grabbed Moyer’s sleeve. “Let’s go.”
Devon crumpled his belated handkerchief in his hand.
She paused at the threshold to the porch and glanced over her shoulder at him. In a flurry of movement, she stepped back to him, snatched the linen from his hand, and then returned to Moyer’s elbow.
What in the world?
CHAPTER 14
Morning Fawn stuffed Devon Reynold’s handkerchief in her pocket as she walked down the steps onto the pebbled lane. She should have left it in his hand. But the way he’d looked at her when she’d taken Moyer’s arm…as if she’d wounded him.
It couldn’t be anything more than his pride. Besides, he hadn’t given her any thought when he was busy taking his hat off for Miss Perfect.
Turmoil ruled in Morning Fawn’s stomach. She should know better than to allow Uncle Robert, Thea, and the rest to get to her. Foolishness. And the lamp-lit path offered no shelter from Moyer’s intrusive gaze.
She shivered. The wind rustled through the branches, drying the tears on her cheeks but leaving the raw places in her heart exposed.
“You’re cold, Miss Beth.” Moyer stopped walking. “Let me give you my coat.”
“No, I’m fine.” She rubbed her hands over her arms and started ahead.
“I insist you stay close to me to keep warm.” He caught up and jutted his elbow toward her.
Even she knew enough about manners to realize she couldn’t refuse without insulting the man. After all, she’d been the one to invite him to dinner. Feigning interest was one thing. Living it out was another. The wool of his frock coat scratched against her stiff fingers.
