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“I was inspired.” James didn’t try to kiss her again. Instead, he handed her his coat and walked into the living room, taking in the spread she’d laid out. “Everything looks great.”
“I had planned to cook.” She followed him in. “Then I thought better of it. You competed today. I didn’t think you’d want a heavy meal.”
“You’re right. I don’t.”
“I also didn’t know how you’d feel about wine, so I didn’t open the bottle yet. Would you like some, or are you abstaining?”
A corner of his mouth lifted. “I’m not riding for three days. So, absolutely, let’s open a bottle. But not wine. Champagne.”
Devon wrinkled her nose in disappointment. “I’m sorry. I don’t have any champagne.”
“No problem. I do.” He strode back to the door, unzipped his duffel, and yanked out a bottle of Dom Pérignon. “Shall I do the honors?”
“Please,” Devon replied, flourishing two champagne flutes. “What a lovely surprise.”
“I pride myself on those.” James uncorked the bottle and poured, handing her a flute. “To this evening,” he said, raising his glass. “May it yield one surprise after another.”
“To this evening,” Devon echoed. She took an appreciative sip, then gestured toward the sofa. “Please, have a seat.”
“After you.” He stood beside the sofa and waited.
Devon sank down on the cushion, angling her legs toward him to keep a conversational distance between them. “How was the Grand Prix?”
“No complaints.” He perched on the adjoining cushion. “Stolen Thunder and I took first place.”
“That’s wonderful. Congratulations.”
“Thanks.” He flashed his dazzling smile. “Today’s just my day. I sensed it the minute I woke up. Probably because I knew I was seeing you.” He glanced around. “Your family’s out?”
“For the evening, yes.”
“It’s very quiet. Where are your pets?”
“Terror’s upstairs with a stack of socks to chew on, and my mom’s dog, Scamp, to play with. Connie’s in the laundry room sulking because I’m with you instead of her, and Runner’s in his cage in Merry’s room.”
“All for me? I’m flattered.”
Devon’s lips curved. “It’s hard to concentrate with chaos erupting. I wanted to give you my full attention.” She paused, smile fading. “I know what a difficult week this has been for you. First, that horrible accident involving your groom. Then Mr. Rhodes’s death. This nightmare never seems to end.”
Soberly, James nodded. “It’s hard to believe so much can happen in so short a time. Frederick, your mother, the Wellington fiasco, and now this.” He leaned forward, taking her hand in his. “Still no word from your mother?”
“None.” Devon’s lips thinned into a grim line. “I’m worried sick about her.”
“Of course you are.” James’s grip tightened. “I wish there was something I could do.”
“There is. You can be honest with me.”
A hint of wariness. “I’ll try.”
Lowering her gaze, Devon studied their clasped hands. “I apologize in advance if I offend you, but I have to ask someone or I’ll burst.”
&n
bsp; “Go on.”
“I didn’t know Mr. Rhodes. Maybe he was a fine man and I’m reaching. But the timing of his suicide…is it possible he’s the one who murdered your uncle, and the guilt was too much for him?”
James shrugged. “I’m not offended. You’d have to be a fool not to wonder if the incidents are connected. The truth is, I just don’t know. Philip felt guilty about something, that’s for sure. It could have been strictly financial. On the other hand, it could have gone deeper. The idea that he murdered Frederick turns my stomach. But I can’t swear that he didn’t.” A pause. “What does your father think?”
