LeBeau threw back his shoulders. “My niece is a whole different matter than one of my slaves. I don’t care how many savages she tramped around with, I expect you to treat Beth as a lady.”
Devon narrowed his eye. “I don’t believe Mor—Miss Bethhas ever tramped around with anyone.” His fingers curled into fists at his sides. “She is a lady of honor, and I have the utmost respect for her.”
LeBeau quirked his eyebrows. “Is that so?” He smoothed his fingers over his straight handlebar mustache and long-whiskered chin. His gaze scoured Devon from head to toe. “We’ll finish this discussion in the library.”
What now? The man had better not dredge up anything to impugn Morning Fawn’s character. Devon trailed behind him, leaving the door to the room open until LeBeau lit the lamp. The flame leaped to life within the glass globe, casting shadows against the drawn curtains and wallpaper.
LeBeau moved behind his desk and plucked a cigar from his cedar humidor. “Care for one?”
“No, thank you, sir.” Devon closed the door and settled onto the edge of the cushioned high-back chair in front of the desk, not certain whether he was in for an interrogation, a negotiation, or something in between.
LeBeau removed the lamp globe and lit his cigar before taking a seat in his leather-padded chair. The framed image of his sister, Morning Fawn’s mother, hung on the wall behind him. Dark-haired and pretty, she appeared to be mild-mannered, but there must be spunk that lurked somewhere in those pale eyes. She’d defied the LeBeau family and set an example for her daughters, choosing her heart over tradition, protocol, and wealth, or so Devon had heard.
The mantel clock chimed once. Twelve-thirty or one o’clock? It had to be somewhere in there. No wonder the man was so displeased. Devon held his fingers stiff on his hat, resisting the urge to crumple the brim.
LeBeau inhaled, then blew out a ring of smoke as he withdrew the cigar. The woody aroma wafted across the desk. “Tell me, Reynolds. What are your intentions toward my niece?”
Devon blinked at him. How was he supposed to answer that when he had no clue? “To treat her with respect and honor.”
“Beyond that. We already covered that ground.” LeBeau drew hard on the cigar.
“I’m still figuring out my intentions, sir.”
LeBeau’s gaze measured him as if he were some accounting ledger to be deciphered. “Let me know when you do. Until then, I’ll continue to allow Nicholas to call.”
Devon sat up straight. “That man?—”
“That man has declared his intentions.”
Devon gripped the chair arms. “That man doesn’t care about her.”
“And you do?”
Devon’s jaw clenched. He couldn’t declare intentions toward Morning Fawn, not when he was supposed to maintain a pretense of courting Frieda. “There’s a place in this world for friendship, Mr. LeBeau. I very much care for your niece’s well-being.”
“What I saw in the shadows from the porch this evening didn’t look like friendship to me.”
“I was every bit the gentleman this evening.”
“Didn’t say you weren’t. I’m concerned about what comes next.”
Devon leaned forward. “I’ll continue to be a gentleman where Morning Fawn is concerned—tomorrow, next week, next month, as long as she is in my acquaintance.”
“Morning Fawn?” LeBeau’s lip curled. “You can’t even remember her correct name. And my niece doesn’t have a year or two to spend in friendships and acquaintances. She needs a husband this season. I don’t intend to stand by and allow her to jeopardize a serious courtship for someone who can’t make up his mind.”
“Your niece deserves an opportunity to wait and find the man she wants to spend the rest of her life with.”
“Are you offering a proposal, Reynolds? Or at least a courtship?”
Devon blew out a breath. “I told you before about my wife. I’m not ready to marry again.”
“Suit yourself.” LeBeau clumped his forearms on the desktop. “When you’re ready to declare your plans toward Beth, let me know. And when that day comes, I’ll ask you to send for references and proof that you can adequately support her.”
“References? You know me. You hired me. Twice. And I’ve done fine work for you.”
“That’s true. You have, but hiring a man to do a job and considering that man as a potential husband for my niece are two different things.”
“A couple of weeks ago, you practically invited me to court your niece.”
