Page 41 of Miss Devon’s Choice

Yet again and again, her eyes searched for Christian’s imposing form.

When clouds started to gather in the distance, and luncheon was called, she’d very nearly determined to go knocking on Christian’s door. It was an unseemly idea, of course, but how much longer could he hide from her?

She’d gone to her room to freshen up, allowing Hettie to help her out of her rumpled dress and into another, more comfortable gown. This one was a blue so light it was nearly white, and one of the few she actually liked. After the last button had been done up, Hettie began to fuss over Rebecca’s hair.

That was when Rebecca looked out her window and spotted a familiar tall, dark form stalking away from the house. Without waiting for Hettie to finish pulling and twisting her hair back into order, Rebecca snatched her bonnet and ran from the room, her maid calling after her.

He will not avoid me this time.

Running through the house, Rebecca hoped to catch Christian before he made it too far. He’d been moving quickly, and his legs were longer than hers. Where could he be going? His dog wasn’t with him. He walked away from the stables. What was the man up to?

She burst out the door and continued hurrying, slamming her bonnet on top of her head and ignoring the trailing ribbons.

When Hettie tells Aunt about my departure, I will certainly catch some trouble. Though the thought caused her to nearly tumble, she didn’t stop. She only glanced over her shoulder, wondering if the maid was watching her run after a man. Propriety be hanged. She fixed her course forward again. This is my future at stake.

At last she saw him, walking at the edge of the lake.

Christian, dressed in blacks and grays, matched the clouds moving swiftly above them. Stepping out of doors in the threatening weather didn’t speak favorably of his frame of mind.

“Christian,” she shouted, cupping her hands around her mouth. He took several more steps before looking over his shoulder, stopping altogether when he spied her.

Lifting her skirts as much as she dared, Rebecca doubled her efforts to reach him. He watched, his face a mask of displeasure.

“Where,” she asked between pants, slowing as she drew near, “have you been? I haven’t seen you in ages.”

His regard was hardly warm. In fact, he rather reminded her of the first night of their acquaintance. Cool and aloof, he looked from her back up to the house.

“You shouldn’t be out here. It might rain.” Saying nothing more, he took up his walk again.

Took up his angry stride, more like, she corrected herself. But she didn’t hesitate in joining him, keeping at his side. “Are you impervious to rain? If I shouldn’t be out, neither should you.”

“I need to think.” Though his words were abrupt, they were not dismissive.

“And jogging along the lake helps in that endeavor?” He wasn’t jogging, but she practically was. “How interesting. I think best sitting in quiet, before a roaring fire, in a comfortable chair.”

He cut her an incredulous glance. “I am thinking, Rebecca. Not inviting conversation.”

Cheering at his use of her Christian name, for the first time since the boating incident, Rebecca tried not to grin.

“Very well. I will be silent.” She made a show of pressing her lips together tightly but did not withdraw. A good general pressed an advantage, and she counted his lack of complete dismissal an advantage.

His pace didn’t slow, but she kept up, grateful she wore half-stays instead of the full, busked stays Hettie had tried to press upon her. Freedom of movement had been important for the games, but it was more essential now. Her half boots were equally helpful. Slippers would’ve never held up to their pace or the soft ground they traversed.

They made it halfway around the lake before the first raindrop fell. Then there was another, and another, and tiny ripples began to grow and multiply on the lake’s surface.

Christian halted at last and glared up at the sky. He muttered a string of words in Italian, which nearly made her smile. Obviously that language slipped from him in moments of distraction, or high feeling. She wondered which this was.

“You shouldn’t have followed me,” he said, meeting her eyes. Instead of the cold look from before, she saw distress in them.

Rebecca shrugged, breathing heavily after the unusual exercise. “It is only rain.”

A crack of thunder sounded loudly overhead, followed closely by a bolt of lightning flashing in the distance. Rebecca ducked down and covered her ears. A ridiculous, childish response, but her heart had jolted and now raced faster than it had during her run.

Christian looked about them, but there was nothing other than pastureland. He muttered curses, which were pretty unmistakable given that they were in both English and Italian.

“I should’ve made you go back,” he growled over the sound of the rain, and the wind which began to pick up. He turned back the way they’d come. “The boathouse. It’s closer than the main house—” Another rumble of thunder interrupted him.

“There’s something closer,” she nearly shouted, pointing at the trees. Rebecca lifted up her skirts much higher than was proper, preparing to run again.