Page 73 of Miss Devon’s Choice

She laughed. “It took us over a week to discover it. I am afraid we are very poor treasure hunters.” He couldn’t help but laugh along with her.

He turned his attention back to his stockings and shoes, restoring himself quickly to order, only a little dampness about his person could give away their adventure. Appropriately attired once more, Christian stood and took her hand.

“Congratulations, Miss Devon, on your victory.” He bent and dropped a gentle kiss upon her knuckles. Christian was rewarded when he felt a shiver go through her before she gently pulled her hand away.

“Thank you, my lord, but it is our victory.”

Standing there, looking down into her triumphant expression, the pull Christian felt in his heart nearly overcame him. He ached to take her up in his arms and seal their triumph, small though it was, with a kiss. Stepping closer, Christian’s gaze moved from her laughing brown eyes to her pink lips, and he saw the moment she took in a quick breath. That brought him back to himself, but it was too late.

Rebecca took a step backward, her hand pulled from his for the second time that day. “Thank you, Christian. I had better prepare for dinner. I will see you shortly.” The words rushed from her, and then she was gone, her lavender hem disappearing behind a rosebush before he collected his thoughts.

It’s time. I must speak to her, tell her how I feel. Christian closed his eyes, reining in his emotions. When we have time alone. When I can express myself clearly, without attempting to press an unwanted kiss upon her. That was why she had fled, wasn’t it? To escape the overly intimate gesture.

But if a kiss offends her, how much more would an unwanted declaration of feeling? She may have given up on me.

Love was a complicated emotion. Already it had set his life on a confusing course. It was not too late to correct it, to pretend he’d never had his revelation, to put up a stronger barrier around his heart. They hadn’t even known each other a fortnight. This emotion was new, it wasn’t well-rooted in his heart.

Telling himself he could still escape with his heart intact made the offending organ ache and crack. There was no help for it. He needed to tell Rebecca. He needed to take her up in his arms and tell her everything. Soon.

Chapter Twenty-seven

The fuss made over Rebecca and Christian’s find had nearly driven Rebecca out of her contemplative state. Everyone wanted to know how they had deciphered the riddle, what it had meant. The earl, however, had sat quietly looking between her and Christian while the party waited for the butler to inform them dinner was upon the table.

When she met Lucas’s eye at one point, he’d raised his blond eyebrows high and a slow grin spread across his face. Having been the man to hide the bangle, he must’ve known how difficult it would be to reach. Did he guess that Christian and Rebecca had done something rather strange to obtain the right height?

Withdrawing from the evening early had been her only recourse, truly. When the ladies rose from the dinner table and made their way to the parlor, Rebecca went directly to Aunt Jacqueline and Virginia. The mother and daughter stood discussing the evening’s entertainment, a game of charades.

“Aunt, cousin,” Rebecca said, gaining their attention.

“What is it, Rebecca?” Virginia asked with solicitude, while Aunt Jacqueline narrowed her eyes.

“I am afraid I am still not feeling well.” After all, Aunt Jacqueline believed Rebecca had spent the day reclining in Virginia’s private rooms. “And I wish to be recovered for the ball tomorrow. Might I be excused?”

Virginia, instrumental in Rebecca’s escape, immediately looked suspicious. But she wouldn’t say anything. Not in front of her mother. Aunt Jacqueline was another matter entirely.

“I have never known you to have such a weak constitution. It must be all this country air. You were never ill in London. If you are wise, you will keep house in the city as often as possible.” Aunt Jacqueline drew herself up importantly, then raised her hand to Rebecca’s cheek. “You are quite flushed.” Lying generally did that to Rebecca, but Aunt still hadn’t found that out. “Yes. Retire at once. Tell that maid of yours to see to it you drink warm buttermilk.”

Rebecca barely repressed a shudder of revulsion and curtsied before making her exit. In the quiet of her room, Rebecca placed the bracelet on her dressing table beside her mother’s books.

The memory of Christian’s arms wrapped around her legs, lifting her into the air, came back to her in a rush. Her cheeks went hot at the memory and she closed her eyes, trying not to think on it, but she was met with the image of his face after he kissed her hand.

He’d wanted to fully kiss her in the very next moment, she knew, as his eyes flickered to her lips. The very idea of a kiss sent her heart racing, but she hadn’t allowed it. She couldn’t. Not until she knew, once and for all, if there was any chance at all he might come to love her.

Because if not, it might be better for them both if she went to Austria after all.

She collapsed onto her pillow and pulled the blankets over her head, trying unsuccessfully to block further thoughts of Christian, of his kisses, to spare her aching heart.

The sounds of someone bustling about her room, the quiet scrape in the grate, a swish of fabric, woke Rebecca from her light doze. In and out of sleep all night, Rebecca couldn’t decide if it had been one of the longest nights of her life or one of the shortest. She pushed the light fabric surrounding her bed open, enough to peer through at Hettie, who was trying to fit a very large box onto the dressing table.

Rebecca burst from her bed, rushing to save her mother’s books before they toppled to the ground. Hettie let out a little shriek of alarm, obviously not expecting Rebecca to leap from her bedsheets in such an unrefined manner. This also meant Hettie dropped her box, which hit the books, and knocked them directly into Rebecca’s arms.

Maid and mistress stared at one another, and Rebecca thought her expression must mirror Hettie’s wide-eyed stare.

“Good morning, Hettie,” she said at last.

“Good morning, miss,” the maid responded, raising a hand to her throat. “Did you—did you sleep well?”

Rather than answer that simple question with her unnecessarily complicated explanation, Rebecca gave her attention to the large parcel. “What is this, Hettie?”