“No risk of that happening here,” Devlin said with a chuckle. “And they’re actually surprisingly easy to take care of. Here, you should try holding one.”
“I don’t think so,” Cassandra said and took a step back, but Devlin had already opened the gate allowing him entry. He scooped a chicken up into his arms and returned to Cassandra. She stared at it, unsure what to do, for although she might have been living in the countryside and wasn’t completely unfamiliar with livestock, her experience with animals was limited to Raphael, the Clearview housecat.
“Come on.” Devlin leaned in closer and offered a wry smile. “I promise it won’t peck off your fingers.”
“Good God, I should certainly hope not,” Cassandra muttered. She considered the chicken and she considered Devlin. One was clearly more anxious for her to go through with this than the other. Well then…
Deciding she wanted to prove herself capable rather than a coward, she reached for the mass of feathers comprising the chicken and almost dropped it when it started flapping its wings in protest.
“Remind me why I am doing this?” she grumbled once she’d gotten a better hold of the bird.
Devlin crossed his arms and gave her a broad smile. “To satisfy my curiosity.” When she narrowed her gaze at him he added, “I’ve always wondered what you would look like holding a chicken.”
“Really?”
He shrugged. “It also means you can’t hit me once I tell you that Penelope may have requested a sibling and that I may have assured her I’d do my best to accommodate her wish.”
Cassandra’s stomach plummeted. “What?”
“I’m sorry, but she looked at me with those big brown eyes and the words popped out by themselves. It really didn’t have much to do with me at all, now I think of it.”
He was right. She did want to hit him. Right over his head, except that would mean whacking him with a chicken. Cassandra glared at the man she’d married. “You’ve just gone and promised her something she’ll never have, Devlin.” It felt like a knife had been plunged straight into her belly. “How could you?”
His expression sobered. “I couldn’t very well tell her the truth, Cass. If anything, she’ll just think we can’t conceive.”
“Take this, would you?” She held the chicken toward him. When he hesitated, she blew out a frustrated breath. “I promise not to hit you.”
“All right.” He took the chicken from her and returned it to the coop.
The moment he straightened, she punched his shoulder as hard as she could.
“Ow!” His brow furrowed. “You promised you wouldn’t hit me.”
“Well, I lied.” She brushed past him and headed toward the ladder. “It isn’t so nice, is it?”
He muttered something she couldn’t hear. Not that she cared. She was too upset with what he’d done, not just because he’d lied to Penelope, but because she felt he’d betrayed her trust – like he was secretly planning to get her with child one way or another, even if it meant involving her daughter.
Disgruntled, she headed back up to the main deck, hoping to seek out Penelope. They had some lessons to get through together, but when Cassandra saw that Trevor was teaching her how to fish, Cassandra returned to her cabin instead. Mathematics and French could wait a while. There were other things a young girl could learn that were just as important, and so far The Condor seemed to be a first-rate schoolroom.
That night,after giving her ample time to prepare for bed by claiming he had a few things to attend to before he was able to retire, Devlin entered their cabin. “I need to make some notes in my log.” He closed the door and turned, that same tortured look she’d seen on his face the previous evening enveloping his features the moment his gaze found her. Before she could discern the cause or question him about it, he cleared his throat and went to sit at his desk. “I hope you don’t mind.”
“Of course not. I’m in the middle of an excellent book, so I can easily read for the next hour or so.” Propped against her pillow, she reclined in bed with the blanket up to her waist. Her hair, which she’d undone and combed, hung loosely over her shoulder.
They’d made peace with each other that afternoon when he’d apologized for what he’d done. She’d admitted to overreacting a little and the conversation had happily ended with a fun game of chess, during which their friendship had been restored. Saying nothing further, Devlin retrieved his writing utensils. There was something strangely comforting about hearing the tip of his quill scratching across the paper as he wrote. Cassandra smiled and turned the page of her book, so engrossed in the story she did not notice when Devlin eventually stood and began to undress.
Until he asked, “Which book are you reading?”
She looked up and was instantly glad she was sitting down,because if she’d been standing, she probably would have fallen right over. As it was, keeping her mouth shut and not gaping was incredibly hard when confronted with his gorgeous perfection. Last night, she’d only glimpsed his back from the corner of her eye and had found it difficult to sleep after. Now, she was faced with his naked chest and abdomen, with muscles she’d thought existed only on sculptures.
Maintaining a vacant expression was extraordinarily difficult, yet somehow, inexplicably, she believed she managed to do so quite well.
Unfortunately, she could not for the life of her recall his question and ended up uttering a somewhat confused, “What?”
Devlin’s lips twitched. “Your book.”
“My book?”
A knowing smile seemedto envelope his features. It almost felt like his eyes might swallow her whole. “What’s it called?”
