Chapter 14
Morning Fawn stuffed Devon Reynold’s handkerchief in her pocket as she walked down the steps onto the pebbled lane. She should have left it in his hand. But the way he’d looked at her when she’d taken Moyer’s arm…as if she’d wounded him.
It couldn’t be anything more than his pride. Besides, he hadn’t given her any thought when he was busy taking his hat off for Miss Perfect.
Turmoil ruled in Morning Fawn’s stomach. She should know better than to allow Uncle Robert, Thea, and the rest to get to her. Foolishness. And the lamp-lit path offered no shelter from Moyer’s intrusive gaze.
She shivered. The wind rustled through the branches, drying the tears on her cheeks but leaving the raw places in her heart exposed.
“You’re cold, Miss Beth.” Moyer stopped walking. “Let me give you my coat.”
“No, I’m fine.” She rubbed her hands over her arms and started ahead.
“I insist you stay close to me to keep warm.” He caught up and jutted his elbow toward her.
Even she knew enough about manners to realize she couldn’t refuse without insulting the man. After all, she’d been the one to invite him to dinner. Feigning interest was one thing. Living it out was another. The wool of his frock coat scratched against her stiff fingers.
Moyer’s muscles flexed beneath his sleeve. His cologne and lingering cigar residue filled her nostrils. Too much. Like everything about him. Couldn’t the man let her breathe? What she wouldn’t give to be out here alone.
“I’m sorry you had to sit through all of that. I apologize if anything I said brought you pain, my lovely lady.” Moyer placed his gloved hand over hers.
She fought the urge to cringe. “Nothing a walk in the fresh air won’t cure.” Couldn’t he hush with that lovely lady line? Even Miss Logan or Miss Beth was preferable to that overwrought polish.
The waning moon, so much smaller here than on the open prairie, lit the nearly barren branches as they strode toward the orchard.
If it wasn’t for Reynolds, she’d be far from here, perhaps camped on the Arkansas River for the winter.
Gathered around the fire to hear stories.
Home. No, not quite home. By now, she’d have become the wife of Stands-His-Ground and perhaps have a baby on her back.
For better or worse, Reynolds had saved her from that.
“It must be difficult to sit politely at the same table as the man who stole you from the only home you remember.”
Difficult? Not exactly. Somehow it seemed that dinner would be more palatable with just him…and her.
“You disagree?” Moyer cocked an eyebrow.
She shrugged. “I was thinking that Mr. Reynolds’s presence is no surprise. After all, my uncle is the one who paid him to kidnap me.”
“It might be hard to believe, but your uncle only wants what he believes is best for you.”
“My uncle doesn’t know anything about me.”
“He knows you remind him of his sister.”
“He said that to you?”
He puffed out his chest. “I arrived early this evening. He and I had a cigar and brandy in his office.”
She rolled her eyes and withdrew her hand. Just like her uncle to discuss her life and affairs with a man who barely qualified as an acquaintance. “Did Lieutenant Reynolds join you?”
He chuckled. “Your uncle doesn’t share his confidences with the help.”
“Lieutenant Reynolds is the one who came up with the marriage-for-land deal.” The half truth gushed out before her better sense could hush it. She clamped her mouth shut and awaited the damage. Too much information for this fox.
“Reynolds’s idea?” He cocked an eyebrow and scrubbed his hand over his jaw.
“Mostly.” So her uncle had informed Moyer about the offer.
Probably figured she needed all the help she could get in landing a husband.
She clasped her hands in front of her. “My uncle made a couple additions to Lieutenant Reynolds’s suggestion.
” She might as well have a deed or a price tag stuck to her forehead.
Land for sale. Price equal to one marriage.
Moyer stuck his hand in his pocket. “Reynolds is bolder than I gave him credit for. But of course, he’s overreaching.”
Blast her uncle and her mouth. The man would be working on some plot next. Morning Fawn blew out a breath and stomped ahead. A raccoon scurried off the path and into the bushes.
Moyer caught up to her and took her arm. The watch fob hanging out of his waistcoat pocket jingled. “A lady has to choose carefully.”
“Excuse me?”
The breeze ruffled his tonic-smooth hair.
“A lady’s whole life is determined by whom she marries.
That one decision sets her course. What family she’ll belong to.
Whom she’ll associate with and befriend.
Her status and place in the world are all determined by the man she chooses and the weight of his billfold and his amount of acreage.
” His voice rang with authority as if he were addressing a row of workers at the cotton warehouse.
“You want the right man. Not a dirt farmer or a ruffian who lives from one scouting job to the next. You want someone with the means to give you the life you deserve. Money offers privilege and freedom, freedom to travel, and freedom to buy the dresses you want. Or the horse you love, land, freedom. Wealth is the surest way to security.”
“We’re talking marriage here, not shopping at the local mercantile.” She lifted her chin. “And for your information, Devon Reynolds isn’t a dirt farmer or a ruffian.”
A smirk darkened his face. “So you’re defending him? You prefer a man who throws you over his shoulder and ties you to a horse to a gentleman who treats you like a lady?”
The nerve of the man. Before she knew what she was doing, she slapped him. The smack of her palm to his cheek rang in her ears.
He rubbed his hand across the wounded area, his eyes shooting sparks at her.
A bird took flight from a branch overhead. Wonderful. She’d managed to disturb the whole orchard.
“I’m sorry.” She exhaled. “I shouldn’t have done that.” Even if you deserved it.
He straightened. “I beg your pardon, Miss Beth. I was out of line with that last remark.”
Why did he have to turn into the perfect gentleman now?
She pivoted toward the house. “It’s been a long evening, sir, for both of us.”
“Please understand.” He stepped beside her. His ring glistened in the moonlight as he scrubbed his hand over his jaw. “I was taken aback to discover I have competition for your hand.”
She crossed her arms. “There isn’t any competition. I’m not ready to make a decision. At the moment, I’m thinking about the benefits of being a spinster.”
He chuckled. “My fair lady, we could not have that.” He’d recovered quickly, his fox-like instincts sharp once more.
Skirts gathered, she headed for the house.
Once again, his hand slipped around her arm. “It’d be a shame for a lady of your beauty, spunk, and character to be shuttered away, living at your uncle’s mercy and provision for the rest of your life.”
Did he know about the attic? Was this a veiled threat or just flowery talk? How much had her uncle said to him? Her shoulders tensed.
“Beth.” He stopped her at the bottom of the steps.
It was Beth now? “There’s a Miss part there, Mr. Moyer.”
He clicked his tongue. “Forgive my presumption, but my thoughts dwell on you so often, I feel as if we’ve known each other for ages.” He stepped in front of her. “My heart cannot bear the thought of losing you.”
You never had me.
He held out his hand to her. “May I?”
Reluctantly, she edged her stiff fingers toward his.
“You must give me the opportunity to win your affection.” He rubbed his thumb across her knuckles.
Should she come out and say it? “There are easier ways to get land, Mr. Moyer. And you already have plenty.”
His eyebrows shot up. “Miss Beth, if you think it’s the land I care about, you’re greatly mistaken.
You can have the parcel in Parker County to do with as you please.
Set up a refugee for your beloved Comanche if you wish.
” He brought her hand to his lips, his eyes glistening.
“It is you my heart desires. I want you to reign by my side.”
Everything, or almost everything, she could ask for, offered to her on the silver platter of his tongue.
A tingle ran up her arm as his lips brushed her fingers in a lingering kiss.
With Lucy nowhere in sight, Morning Fawn struggled out of the crinoline, dropping it to her feet on the attic floor.
Her head still spun with Moyer’s lavish promises.
She could have the land to do with as she pleased.
Bring her pia there, and maybe others, as well.
Reign? She’d seen that word in books, like a king or queen.
Goodness knows that man thought enough of himself to imagine himself a king.
Probably try to rule her like one as well.
She didn’t want to be bought. Was it too much to ask for love?
The moon shone through the window. Stepping over the heap of clothes, she drifted to and pressed her nose to the pane, rubbing her hands over her arms. Where was this God her mother had told her about? Her mother had prayed and read the Bible to her and sang songs like “Amazing Grace.”
What was that? Grace? Her mother and the preacher—her pa, too—talked about Jesus and how Jesus loved her and died for her and had forgiven her.
It hardly seemed like anything more than a story.
But her mother had believed it. With all of her heart.
And so had Eyes-Like-Sky, at least she had before. Who knew what she believed now.
Where was this God? And what did He mean to Morning Fawn? If she prayed, would He answer? She used to pray.