Page 33 of Miss Devon’s Choice

Christian didn’t allow himself to be satisfied by that clever move on his part. He didn’t particularly want attention at the moment. He had to think. Something had happened between Rebecca and himself, something he hadn’t anticipated. Somehow, between the time he’d left the house and arrived at the picnic, he’d stepped into forbidden territory with her.

Never had a woman regarded him with the look that had been in her eyes as he finished reading. There had been admiration in her gaze. And something else. Something that had made him behave like a fool, tying her ribbons, nearly giving in to the temptation to lean forward and—

He jerked his thoughts away from that perilous track.

Christian focused on his plate, pushing himself to eat. A bite of the ham, another of crisp vegetables, some cheese. He started to relax and raised a glass to his lips. He had no wish to revisit his time beneath that tree with her again. While he didn’t equate attraction with love, it was nevertheless risky to become too attached to Rebecca. She could easily grow tired of him. Tired of his reclusiveness. Weary of looking at him, day after day.

In fact, he ought to stop thinking of her by her Christian name. She was Miss Devon, and ought to be until the day she took his name. Pleased with that resolution, Christian took another bite of his lunch.

“My lord?” Rebecca said from his side, her hand touching his shoulder.

He dropped his fork, allowing it to clatter against his plate, and jerked his head up. She stood beside his chair, her pink lips curving upward, hesitantly. She withdrew her hand, but his shoulder still felt the slight weight of it there.

“Yes, Miss Devon?” he said, his voice coming out more strangled than he liked. He belatedly realized he ought to stand, despite the informality of the occasion. He hurried to push his chair back and rise.

“I am sorry to interrupt your lunch. But I thought, perhaps, you would like to check that other location for the treasure hunt? After you’ve eaten, of course.” She held up a small plate of her own, filled mostly with tarts and fruit.

“Yes. Of course.” He glanced around hastily, finding an unoccupied chair. “Would you like to sit here?” he asked, gesturing to the seat two places down from his own. She shook her head.

“No, thank you. I am sitting with my cousin.” She pointed to where the countess had taken a seat in the sunshine. “Enjoy your meal.” Was it his imagination, or had her expression turned playful? He bowed and she went away, lightness to her step.

“I think she’s smitten with you, my lord,” the baroness said, interrupting her husband’s rather embellished story of the largest fish he caught that day.

Christian unceremoniously retook his seat. He managed a smile, though it felt tight, as he answered the woman. “We are betrothed, my lady.”

The woman raised her graying eyebrows but said nothing more. Had she heard the same rumors going about London? Did she think the same as the rest of the ton, that Rebecca had been forced into the engagement?

Miss Devon, he reminded himself. I must remember to think of her as Miss Devon.

He heard her laugh and the hairs on the back of his neck stood while his chest warmed. Every bite of his lunch could’ve tasted like stewed cabbage for all the attention he paid to it. He tried to keep his mind off his betrothed by watching the others at the picnic. Lord Sharpeton and Miss Dunhill had found a swing hanging from the trees. He wondered how their families felt about their obvious flirtation as he pushed her back and forth beneath the swaying branches. The Berwyn sons were seated on either side of Lady Felicity, apparently diverting her with their fishing stories.

And Miss Devon sat next to her cousin, smiling brightly.

A sudden movement in the trees caught Christian’s attention. His eyes went up to the branches of an especially large chestnut tree, where he spied a wooden structure. It was all straight lines amid the tree’s curves and rustling leaves. He peered closer and saw a head peek up over the planks.

A boy, a very young one, was peeping out at the party below. The child spied Christian looking and ducked out of sight. There were children at the house, he knew. Children belonging to the earl and to the marquess. But he’d hardly thought on them, given that any entertainments at such events rarely mixed children in with adult company.

Christian finished his meal and, after making his bows, took his leave of those seated at the table.

He walked to where Rebecca—Miss Devon—sat, doing his best to tamp down the excitement trying to rise within him. He thought he’d succeeded, and then she looked up at him from her place on the grass, her glowing expression lighting a portion of his heart he’d sworn to protect from such troubling things as young ladies.

“My lady. Might I borrow your cousin? We must continue our treasure hunt.”

The countess studied him, openly scrutinizing his face. He tried to appear pleasant but judging from the quirk of her brow he was unconvincing. “You may. Good luck to you both.” Why did he have the feeling she meant to wish them well with more than just the absurd treasure hunt?

He held his hand out to Rebecca, to help her to her feet. She rose gracefully, using his strength as leverage, and then brushed off her skirts. “You will see to my books, Virginia?”

The countess’s expression softened. “Of course, dear. My mother won’t see either of them.”

“Thank you.” Rebecca slipped her arm through his with rather more confidence than he liked.

“Your aunt doesn’t approve of novels?” he ventured to guess, after they’d taken several steps away from the picnickers.

Rebecca’s pleasant expression saddened. “I’m afraid she doesn’t see the value in them.”

Christian had nothing to say to that. It was a common enough sentiment.

“Since you enjoy novels,” she said, lowering her eyes to the ground before them, “you will allow me to read them after we are married, won’t you?”