She touched the leather sheath which swung at her side. “Ihave a knife, and I know how to use it, Nicholas.” She forced the mettle into her too-quivery voice.
He chuckled. “Is that for me or a ruffian along the road?”
“Whoever needs it.”
“I wouldn’t dream of being ungentlemanly. I don’t believe in a man forcing his affections upon a lady.” He motioned to the chair. “Have a seat. I’ll send to my house for my maid to come look after your feet and bandage them up. And then, if it’s your wish, I’ll have my servant take you in my carriage to your horse, and I’ll see you at Sweet Briar for dinner. If your uncle gives you trouble, tell them I’m on my way, and I’ll explain everything.”
Was this an elaborate trick? Or a sincere effort to gain her affection? But it’d be foolish to refuse. “Thank you.” She fumbled with her hat in her hands. “I’d rather not be seen like this any more than I have to.”
“Do you think Reynolds will be at dinner?”
“I have no idea. He might be busy eating Miss Perfect’s cooking.”
“I hope not.” He tossed the unlit cigar on his desk and checked his pocket watch. “I’d love to see his face when you put him in his place.”
She inwardly grimaced. Not a sight she wanted to see. Obviously, the show wasn’t over yet.
CHAPTER 25
Dark had fallen by the time Devon strode across the ground between the stables and the house. A chorus of coyotes sang in the distance. Dinner would be over, and that suited him just fine. His thoughts were too jumbled to sit across from Morning Fawn at a table after everything that had happened.
Images flooded his mind. Her tear-streaked face. Her hair tumbling out from beneath that battered hat. Trousers. Her poor feet. Why had she run from him?
He’d ridden back from Alleyton in a daze. Morning Fawn was beautiful. Unpredictable. More clever and brave and determined than he’d ever imagined. And potentially, unintentionally dangerous. He’d lost his head. How else could he explain why he’d told her everything? Or almost everything.
Of course, Frieda and Dr. Schramm hadn’t understood why he’d done it. Frieda’s silent brooding and Schramm’s deep worry had echoed across the room. He couldn’t tell them it was because he couldn’t bear to hurt Morning Fawn or lie to her again. He’d told them he trusted her with his life, that her not knowing was more dangerous than her knowing. Otherwise,she’d continue to poke around until she was in the middle of everything, and it’d be safer to give her a minor task where she could be a part of helping but not in a place of consequence.
His stomach rumbled. He should have asked Morning Fawn to meet him in the kitchen after everyone else turned in for the night. Even one day was too long to leave her stewing over what he’d told her. Besides, he needed to hear she’d returned safely. Hopefully, she’d made it back without detection and wasn’t locked in the attic.
At least the house wasn’t lit up in alarm with search parties waiting to be sent out. No, everything was quiet. Almost.
The porch swing creaked. A low light glowed against the columns. Would Morning Fawn have dared wait up for him?
He stepped quickly through the damp grass to the front of the house and stopped dead in his tracks.
Creak. Creak.Back and forth, Nick Moyer pumped the swing with his legs, a brandy snifter in his hand and Morning Fawn at his side, her feet tucked beneath the seat, both hands curled around the scumbag’s arm.
Devon froze, his mind in full stutter.
The couple glanced his way, Moyer looking as if he were a cat who’d swallowed a mouse.
Morning Fawn had acted as if she had no interest in Moyer. Had it all been subterfuge? She wouldn’t dare reveal his secret to Moyer. Would she? He couldn’t have been that wrong about her.
Devon rocked backward on his heels. What if it had all been a ploy to get him to talk?
“Evening, Lieutenant.” She straightened. “You missed supper.”
How in the devil was he to play this? Her syrupy, taunting voice grated against his nerves.
“I’ll scrounge up something in the kitchen.” The wordstasted like gravel. For all he knew, they could have men waiting in the house or yard to arrest him.
Morning Fawn swatted at a mosquito. “I figure you were too busy taking care of business. Black wavy curls and sweet-talking type of business. Sugar lips too.”
Devon’s jaw clenched. She’d told Moyer about Frieda. What else?
Moyer’s smirk was so wide, it was a wonder his brandy didn’t drool out of his mouth.
“Cat got your tongue?” Morning Fawn smoothed her hand over her skirt. “I want you to know, I’ve heard about your double-dealing, and Miss Perfect can have you. I also wanted to inform you that I’ve accepted Nicholas’s request to court me.” She cuddled up close to the rat and waved her hand toward Devon. “That’s all. You can run along now. Unless you want to stay and watch us star gaze. I’ve had enough of your snaky ways.”
