Chapter 19
The moon had passed its meridian, and wispy fingers of clouds covered some of the stars by the time Devon walked Morning Fawn to the porch steps.
Her scent of rosewater and citrus filled his nostrils and permeated his thoughts.
Sitting so close to her on the wall that a wave of her hair lapped against his shoulder, and her hand lying supple beneath his, warming him to his core, he’d lost track of time.
It’d been all he could do to not touch his lips to her brow.
His legs, everything about him, wobbled.
How could the lady at his side be the same woman he’d yanked off a horse and wrestled to the ground only three weeks before?
He was in trouble in more ways than he could count.
If they were in Brownsville, within the Yankee lines and his mission done, and no scoundrel trying to weasel in on his girl with black mustangs, that’d be a different story, but…
The front door swung open as they stepped onto the porch. LeBeau stood in the entryway, against the glow of the hallway lamps. Light bled through the tall curtained windows that flanked the door on either side, like sentinels.
Morning Fawn tensed.
Devon lowered his mouth close to her ear. “Whatever he says, leave it to me. You go to your room, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She frowned and slipped her hand from Devon’s arm.
LeBeau snapped his pocket watch shut. He’d discarded his frock coat and cravat. His Adam’s apple bulged above his loosened collar. “Get up to your room, young lady.” His voice came out a tired grumble.
She skirted past him and headed for the stairs.
Devon removed his slouch hat and stepped inside. He braced himself against the onslaught of LeBeau’s scowl. Seconds ticked away.
Morning Fawn’s footfalls reached the landing and proceeded up the second flight.
Devon exhaled. “I apologize for the late hour, sir. We were only talking. In the view of the house the whole time.”
“I know what you were doing. I’ve been watching.” LeBeau tugged on his half-buttoned waistcoat. The tail ends flapped against the slight paunch of his belly. “Only, there’s a good amount of trouble that can be hatched beyond the purview of the naked eye.”
How was he supposed to answer that? Devon crumpled his hat brim. “My intentions are honorable, sir.”
Lebeau sputtered out a half laugh. “We saw how honorable your intentions were last Saturday night, Reynolds.”
Devon ground his teeth. Mighty fine how this man sought to blacken him with crimes he, himself, was likely guilty of. But he couldn’t dispute the remark without stirring up a heap of trouble for Ned and Lucy.
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 Beth has 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.”
“Yes. But you declined. Other contenders entered into the picture, one with thousands of acres and a bright future.”
How bright could a man’s future be if he was so puffed up his head might float away? “Your niece needs a man of honor who will love her and care for her as she deserves. Moyer’s first love is himself.”
LeBeau snorted. “We’ll see who crosses the finish line, Lieutenant.”
Devon’s hands clenched and unclenched as he marched up the stairs. If it wasn’t for Morning Fawn, he’d grab his gear and sleep in the stables rather than spend another night under this man’s roof. No, the stables wouldn’t be far enough. He’d clear off the man’s property completely.
In the privacy of his own room, Devon threw his hat on the floor and drove his fingers through his hair.
The nerve of that man, questioning whether he was good enough for Morning Fawn.
Asking for references. References from his home county.
That’d be enough to get him treed as a spy.
His stepfather and others were not ignorant of his Unionist views.
Even if it wasn’t for the sham courtship with Frieda, he couldn’t declare intentions toward Morning Fawn. Couldn’t risk LeBeau having him investigated. Not until the mission was over. Not until the whole war had been won, unless he could get Morning Fawn out of here.
Would there ever be a time and place for a courtship with her?
He’d never be able to compete with Moyer in LeBeau’s eyes. He didn’t own an inch of land at the moment. In regard to Morning Fawn’s dreams of those acres in Parker County? Devon was about as far as she could get from finding a loyal Confederate.
No more evening strolls. LeBeau had made that clear. No more unaccompanied anything, not until he petitioned to court her. If Devon violated the rule, the man would likely bolt her door shut or kick him off the premises.
Two days of silence. Morning Fawn couldn’t tolerate another morning of it.
She threw off the covers and shuffled over to the window.
The gray of dawn hovered across the sky.
A trickle of orange edged above the horizon, blurred by a curtain of light mist that enveloped the yard and beyond.
This was her chance. Devon was an early riser.
Her relatives were not—at least, not in winter.
She grabbed her green wool dress and tugged it over her head, thankful for the protection against the chill that pervaded her room. Devon would be at the stables. Grabbing her shoes, she slipped out of her room, tiptoed down the stairs, and headed for the back door.
Pans clanked, and the sweet scent of freshly baked bread wafted from the detached kitchen, but she didn’t dare stop for a bite.