Page 37 of Miss Devon’s Choice

“You may think that is what you want, a dull existence, lacking in emotion or true feeling—but that is not for me. I have not changed my mind. I will not. And you cannot tell me what to feel. Dictate to me however else you wish—that is all my life has been for a very long time, and I am rather used to it.”

He was forced to give attention to the boat as it slid back into the boathouse, to the dock, but she could tell his thoughts were working on a response.

“Miss Devon,” he said, a foreboding calmness in his tone.

Rebecca hurried to stand, the boat rocking as she did, cutting off whatever Christian wished to say as he tried to steady the craft. She had to move, had to get away before he said something truly horrid. Before she did.

But there was no way out of the boat that wouldn’t make her appear indecorous. Climbing out on her own would amount to crawling onto the dock. With her only thought on escape, Rebecca stepped forward, and Christian braced himself, crouching slightly to keep the boat balanced.

“Thank you for the boat ride,” she said, then put her hand to his shoulder to keep her own stability before attempting to step out of the boat and up onto the dock.

The boat slipped sideways, the hollow feeling that accompanied a fall filled her chest. In her haste to get away, she had compromised their stability and would send them both into the water—

A strong hand pressed against the small of her back, propelling her up and out of the boat. She stumbled onto the dock and whirled around, catching Christian’s panicked look as he lunged from the far side of the boat, which had tipped horribly, to the other. She gasped and raised a hand, willing the boat to steady.

Somehow, he righted the craft, both hands in the air and shifting the weight of his body. For several long seconds, they both stood still, her hand raised toward him and his widened eyes on her.

Laughter drifted into the boathouse from outside the door, breaking the odd spell of stillness. Christian’s eyes fell away from hers as he bent down in the boat, retrieving his jacket. Her lungs protested and Rebecca realized she’d been holding her breath.

He’d no sooner slipped on his jacket than the baron’s sons and Lady Felicity entered, talking excitedly.

“Oh, you aren’t through already?” the young woman said, oblivious to the tension in the air. “We thought we’d join you on the lake.”

Rebecca forced a lightness to her voice she did not feel. “I am afraid I’ve had too much sun this afternoon. But do take the boat out. It’s absolutely lovely.” She smiled brightly at everyone, trying not to make eye contact, then skirted her way around the little group and out the door. She didn’t wait for Christian to follow.

She lifted her skirts as much as she dared and fled uphill.

Love was not coming as easily as she’d hoped.

Chapter Thirteen

The dinner hour had arrived and Rebecca had not. Christian stood in the parlor with the other guests, all of whom were discussing the card party which would take place after the evening meal. Where could she be? Why hadn’t she appeared yet?

After all their conversation on the boat, and her abrupt departure, he’d gone over their words again and again.

Despite his attempt to remain neutral, to discourage her attempts at drawing him out, the woman remained dedicated to her original goal. He’d looked for another opportunity to speak to her, but she’d kept to her room the rest of the day.

Her avoidance of him and the subject at hand meant he had to dwell upon their argument continuously.

In their last seconds together, when she had nearly capsized their boat, he’d acted out of instinct to keep her from falling in. And she’d looked at him with such surprise. He didn’t blame her. The way he had spoken to her really made him sound like a man who would’ve allowed her to drench herself.

He wasn’t that sort of person at all.

Arguing with her, he was certain, would be the only way to clear the confusion that had entered his brain.

With no other alternative to finding answers until Rebecca arrived, Christian searched out the countess. She spoke with her mother in a corner of the room, their voices low. The younger, flaxen-haired woman was all smiles, though he thought he detected some weariness about her eyes. The older woman looked as displeased by life as every other time Christian had observed her. After their initial introduction, he’d made an effort to avoid her.

Absurdly, Lady Vinespar reminded him of his grandfather.

He approached the countesses, bowing when he came near. “My ladies. Good evening to you both.”

They murmured their greetings, the mother coldly, the daughter with a gentle smile. How could two such different people be part of the same family? How had one raised the other?

“I must ask after Miss Devon,” he said, keeping his tone polite and disinterested. “Is she well? I haven’t seen her since the picnic.”

Lady Vinespar answered, disapproval dripping from each word. “She was fatigued and took a nap. I am afraid she overslept and will be late to dinner. I hope you are not offended by her breech in manners.”

Even had he cared about such things, Christian doubted her last sentence would’ve done more than irritate him. “Not at all,” he finally said. “I am glad she is well.”