At last, the hearth fire burned low. “We should probably go to sleep now,” Beth said reluctantly, putting the journal away. Devon felt a strange little swoop in his heart, as if he’d been abseiling with a rope that had suddenly slackened. Beth reached up to remove her spectacles, and he had to force himself not to catch her hand, stop her, since he couldn’t think of a reason for doing so beyondyou’re so damned sexy when you wear them, I want to keep handing you things to read. Which, he guessed, she’d find impolite.
“I’d like to take the earliest possible train tomorrow,” she said, her voice brisk again now they had stopped discussing birds. “I’m certain Hippolyta already has a plan in action.”
“And you want to catch up with her.”
“I want tobeather. We may have been associates for the past couple of years, but that doesn’t mean we aren’t rivals now in this competition. To be honest, I’m glad I missed the ferry. It means I didn’t have to tell her to her face that I was parting ways with her.” She lowered her head as she carefully packed the spectacles into her satchel, and Devon could have sworn he heard her muttering in a self-deprecating tone, “I’m not sure I have enough apologies in me for that.”
“Maybe, if she was the one who lured us into that trap in Calais, it was her way of not having to tell you thatshewanted to part ways.”
“Maybe. But why would she involve you?” Beth shook herhead. “Really, it could have been anyone who did that. Ornithology is hardly a walk in the park. Er, except when it is an actual walk in the park to observe birds, of course.”
He grinned at her. “Very true. As for the train, there’s an eight o’clock to London we can catch. The innkeeper has agreed to knock on our door if we’re not awake on time.”
A tight little pause followed.
“I appreciate your assistance thus far,” Beth said slowly, “but we should probably keep in mind that there can be—”
“Only one Birder of the Year,” he recited with her. “Yes, I remember.” The pie turned over in his stomach. Standing, he gathered plates and empty wineglasses, then stepped across the thin space of bare floor to stack them on the hearth shelf. Vapor arising from the clothes hung to dry on bedframes made his breath feel hot. Lust spiraled like a small, frantic bird in his gut. Scowling, he vehemently wished himself somewhere more comfortable, such as the Indian jungle during monsoon season.
A small noise made him turn, and his blood leaped as he found Beth standing close to him, an empty plate in her hands.
“I hope we won’t have a long walk to the train station,” she said, even as Devon contemplated which of her cheek or throat or earlobe he would most like to kiss first. “My shoes are quite ruined. It was discourteous of Miss Marin to hijack the carriage rather than simply share.”
Devon huffed a laugh. “Discourteous certainly is a nice way to describe having a gun pointed at you,” he said, and held out his hand to take the plate from her.
At that same moment, she leaned forward to place it atop the others on the hearth shelf. His fingers brushed against the front of her nightgown. The plate clattered onto the shelf.
“Sorry,” Devon said, stepping back.
“Sorry,” Beth said, stepping back at the same time.
“It’s fine,” they both answered at once.
He tried to go around her, just as she tried to move out of his way. He shuffled in the opposite direction—so did she—and they laughed nervously. There simply wasn’t enough space in the room, although at this point Devon suspected there wasn’t enough space in the entire world for him to comfortably breathe, knowing that Beth Pickering existed.
His defenses cracked, and a gaggle of devilish inclinations rushed through the gap. He caught Beth’s hand, setting his other hand on her back. She looked at him in surprise.
“Have you ever seen American bald eagles perform their sky dance?” he asked as he swayed her into a side step. The piano strains of what might have been Vivaldi’s “Summer,” had the pianist enjoyed any talent, arose from below. Following the rhythm, he led Beth in a step back toward the hearth again. “It’s breathtaking.”
“A courtship dance,” she said warily, although her free hand rose to lie against his upper arm. It was such a light, tentative touch, Devon barely felt it, yet tremors went through his body in response. Why had she done it? To encourage him? Or merely to keep her balance? He looked down at her, seeking answers, but she would not meet his gaze. With another woman, he’d make an educated guess, but this one was all sincerity and sudden knives, and he simply could not be sure.
“The reeling flamingo of Peru somersaults during its courtship dance,” she said. “And uses magic to flip rocks as well. The bigger the rocks, the more likely it is to find a mate.”
“I flipped a couple of these mattresses to stack them out of the way,” Devon answered with a boyish smile as theysidestepped again, their movement slower this time, their hands growing warm.
Beth sighed. “Are you ever capable of engaging in conversation without bantering?”
He lowered his eyes so she wouldn’t see the shadow flickering through them, then looked through his lashes at her. His smile slid languorously into wryness, even as he danced her back toward the embracing heat of the hearth fire.
“I do believeyouwere the one, Miss Pickering, who spoke of courtship.”
She sniffed indignantly, but he noticed the way her ears reddened. And the sweep of her eyelashes. And every fine thread of light weaving through her soft, ruddily brown hair. He was caught—the dance forgotten, his very heartbeat seeming to slow to a whispering stop. Somewhere beyond the room, people were traipsing up the inn’s stairs, opening and shutting doors, talking to each other. But it felt like the room of seven beds had broken off from the universe and was out drifting among stars and wild dreams.
My God, he thought. Just two days in Beth Pickering’s company and he’d begun using poetic language, telling inane jokes, and even veering dangerously close to thoughtfulness. Much more of this and he might becomegentle.
He stepped away from her abruptly. Taken by surprise, Beth rocked a little, and Devon reached out instinctively, catching her around the waist to save her from falling, despite the fact that she was really in no danger of it. She gasped, sending his pulse into a wild flutter at the sound. Despite all his academic genius, he did not know what to do; staring into her deep sky eyes for some kind of answer, he felt like he wasthe one falling. Beth pressed her hand against his chest, and when she did not use it to push herself away from him, but seemingly to anchor him to her quietness, it was as if he, too, was being saved.
“You truly are an angel, aren’t you?” he whispered.
