Thea swirled her wine in her glass. “How was your trip to Alleyton today, Lieutenant Reynolds? I heard you went to the doctor.”
Obviously, she hadn’t caused enough trouble yet. Maybe she was the one who should be locked in the attic. Devon glared at her, then shot a glance at Morning Fawn, bracing himself. “It went well enough. He wanted to check on how his treatment was working.” He lifted a finger toward his eyepatch.
Morning Fawn crumpled her napkin. She wouldn’t believe he’d gone there to just see Dr. Schramm. Her gaze darted away from his. Jealous? As she had been in Alleyton? The steady pump of his heart thrummed harder. She wasn’t indifferent to him, despite Moyer’s elaborate gift.
“I suppose you’ll have to go back for more treatments.” Thea smirked.
Could he strangle the woman here and now? Did she know about Frieda, or had she merely picked up on Morning Fawn’s displeasure? “I prefer not to discuss my wound at dinner, Miss LeBeau.” His voice cut sharp. “I believe your father and I were discussing horses.”
“Of course. Please pardon my daughter, sir.” LeBeau dabbedhis mustache with a napkin. “Now where were we? Lightning…”
Devon stirred his fork in his sweet potatoes as he half listened. He’d steered clear of Morning Fawn ever since she’d sat beside him at church four days ago. But he’d relived those moments beside her in the pew at least a dozen times since Sunday. Then, today in the barn, he started digging memories out of the dungeon of his heart. Getting all googly-eyed because Morning Fawn showed him a scrap of attention. He had no business stirring up feelings there wasn’t time or place for.
A wise man would snuff out the sparks.
He touched a hand to his sternum where beneath layers of linen Isabelle’s locket pressed against his flesh. Would the day come when it would be time to tuck the treasure away in a trunk instead of wearing it on his person?
Devon excused himself before dessert, but instead of heading upstairs where he should work on details for his mission, he drifted to the front door. A starlit night greeted him as he stood in the open doorway. A slight chill shimmered the leaves. A perfect evening for a walk. He lingered on the threshold. He didn’t want to think about why. But when Morning Fawn’s step sounded in the hall, he sucked in a breath, and when her foot struck the bottom stair to go up, he turned. “We could get some fresh air.” Stupid line.
She halted. “I suppose so. I’d have to fetch my shawl.”
“I don’t know about that. What if you don’t make it back down?”
A smile tugged at her lips. “Well, I guess you’ll have to wait and see.” She tossed her hair back and sashayed up the stairs as if she knew he was going to watch the minute detail of her every move.
And he did.
CHAPTER 18
Morning Fawn slowed her steps on the bottom flight of stairs. Her red shawl hung over her arm. Per instructions of Lucy, she was to have Devon drape it over her shoulders.
Devon looked up at her as he had the night Nicholas came to dinner. However, this time, she was coming down just for him. But had any other audience mattered since he showed up at the house?
He sucked in a breath and tugged on the lapels of his frock coat. A wide smile crossed his lips.
“I need help.” She pushed the shawl toward him and turned her back to him.
“I can’t leave a lady in distress.” His fingers skimmed her shoulders as he draped the red spun wool around her, slipping the material beneath her hair. Goosebumps.
The dining room door clicked.
“Come on.” He touched her elbow and hurried her out before they could be accosted by the LeBeaus.
As they stepped off the porch, she curled her fingers aroundhis steady arm, his muscles firm beneath his coat sleeve. A tingle wove its way through her.
Just like— No. She wasn’t going to think ofPride and PrejudiceorJane Eyre. This wasn’t a romance novel. Devon had no vast estate, and thank goodness, he didn’t have a wife hidden in the attic. They were merely going on a walk. But the way her pulse pounded in her ears, her heart hadn’t gotten the message.
Down the moonlit path, they strolled. Banjo music drifted up from the slave quarter. The scent of soap and bay rum caught her nostrils, with only a touch of horse. Devon had washed up before dinner. For her?
A whip-poor-will called from a branch as they drifted through the grove of pecan trees making small talk.
On the porch, a door swung shut. Morning Fawn resisted the urge to turn and look. Why couldn’t those people leave her be?
Devon whispered, “We’d best not wander any farther from the path, or someone might come join us.”
“Last thing I’d want.” Pecan shells crunched beneath her shoes.
In a shadowed area next to the main lane, Devon stopped and gazed upward. “So many stars.”
