His defenses cracked, and a gaggle of devilish inclinations rushed through the gap. He caught Beth’s hand, setting his other hand on her back. She looked at him in surprise.
“Have you ever seen American bald eagles perform their sky dance?” he asked as he swayed her into a side step. The piano strains of what might have been Vivaldi’s “Summer,” had the pianist enjoyed any talent, arose from below. Following the rhythm, he led Beth in a step back toward the hearth again. “It’s breathtaking.”
“A courtship dance,” she said warily, although her free hand rose to lie against his upper arm. It was such a light, tentative touch, Devon barely felt it, yet tremors went through his body in response. Why had she done it? To encourage him? Or merely to keep her balance? He looked down at her, seeking answers, but she would not meet his gaze. With another woman, he’d make an educated guess, but this one was all sincerity and sudden knives, and he simply could not be sure.
“The reeling flamingo of Peru somersaults during its courtship dance,” she said. “And uses magic to flip rocks as well. The bigger the rocks, the more likely it is to find a mate.”
“I flipped a couple of these mattresses to stack them out of the way,” Devon answered with a boyish smile as they sidestepped again, their movement slower this time, their hands growing warm.
Beth sighed. “Are you ever capable of engaging in conversation without bantering?”
He lowered his eyes so she wouldn’t see the shadow flickering through them, then looked through his lashes at her. His smile slid languorously into wryness, even as he danced her back toward the embracing heat of the hearth fire.
“I do believe you were the one, Miss Pickering, who spoke of courtship.”
She sniffed indignantly, but he noticed the way her ears reddened. And the sweep of her eyelashes. And every fine thread of light weaving through her soft, ruddily brown hair. He was caught—the dance forgotten, his very heartbeat seeming to slow to a whispering stop. Somewhere beyond the room, people were traipsing up the inn’s stairs, opening and shutting doors, talking to each other. But it felt like the room of seven beds had broken off from the universe and was out drifting among stars and wild dreams.
My God, he thought. Just two days in Beth Pickering’s company and he’d begun using poetic language, telling inane jokes, and even veering dangerously close to thoughtfulness. Much more of this and he might become gentle.
He stepped away from her abruptly. Taken by surprise, Beth rocked a little, and Devon reached out instinctively, catching her around the waist to save her from falling, despite the fact that she was really in no danger of it. She gasped, sending his pulse into a wild flutter at the sound. Despite all his academic genius, he did not know what to do; staring into her deep sky eyes for some kind of answer, he felt like he was the one falling. Beth pressed her hand against his chest, and when she did not use it to push herself away from him, but seemingly to anchor him to her quietness, it was as if he, too, was being saved.
“You truly are an angel, aren’t you?” he whispered.
“Not as much as you’d think,” she said. And it might have been an offer, or it might have been just him dreaming. Either way, he could not seem to help himself. The narrative gravity drew them together slowly; so slowly, either one of them might have stepped back, packed their clothes, and left the room before the other moved an inch.
But they did not leave. And so the momentum or some unknown magic kept going, until at last their lips met.
—
Beth had been kissed before. Many times! As a woman of the world, she was quite seasoned in the matter. Why, she could not even count how many men had kissed her gloved hand when greeting her. Then there had been the copious times she’d been kissed on both cheeks by villagers grateful for her capturing a bird that had been threatening their lives (granted, elderly women villagers, but the point remained). Kissing was an altogether banal event. Certainly it did not compare to the sight of a sooty shearwater taking wing for its annual migration south.
And yet, as her lips pressed against Devon’s, every sensible thought within her scattered in a rush of pure sensation. Sooty shearwater? What even was a bird?!
Devon shifted his mouth across hers softly, like a wing-stirred breeze. Beth closed her eyes, sinking into the feeling. Her brain melted into a lush, gold-spangled reverie. She yielded to the gentle urging of his lips and parted hers, welcoming him, wishing for him. Devon responded at once, placing his hand against the back of her head as he deepened the kiss. So many lightning flashes sparked in Beth, she could have been plugged into a socket and used to illuminate a small city. Devon’s mouth was a velvet lapwing feather, stroking her into magic, luring her gorgeously into danger. She felt somehow both blissful and desperately yearning at the same time. A dozen perfectly decent scruples went up in flames as she shifted restlessly, hands reaching in search of something she didn’t know how to classify in the hard length of his body.
Devon stepped away from her suddenly, his breath shaking. He shoved back his hair. Beth stared unseeing into the middle distance.
“Um,” she said.
“Er,” Devon agreed, not looking at her either.
“Good night, then,” they chorused.
Without further word, they crawled onto opposite ends of the mattresses and tucked themselves beneath blankets, feet toward each other. A stunned silence descended upon the room, leavened only by the soft whisper of rain.
Oh dear, Beth thought to herself. That had been nothing like a kiss on the hand. Indeed, she’d place it in a whole different genus. Certainly it had been more romance than she’d experienced in her life thus far. She was obliged to declare herself scandalous indeed!
And not entirely upset about it.
Her brain, however, dropped a heavy stack of memories, sending reverberations through her nervous system and making her cringe. There was no need to inspect them; she recited their contents to herself daily: playground taunts because of her book-hugging awkwardness; offended silences when she let her intelligence show; even a full-color chart of the many rejections from her classmates, who were always several years older than her. In short, evidence to prove incontrovertibly that she was not good company.
No doubt Devon had only danced with her because he was rather drunk and she just happened to be there. As for the kiss—it was meaningless, an accident of circumstance. She should not harbor any foolish hopes. After all, the man was forever staring at her, thoroughly dumbstruck; he called her angel, which suggested he could not remember her name; and he was currently hunched so tightly at the other end of the mattresses they could have safely run a flock of geese through the space between them. The conclusion was undeniable: he disliked her utterly.
This was why she avoided society unless heavily armored with niceties that were sure to please. She’d let her guard down tonight, and it had been lovely, so lovely, but at the same time extremely misguided.
Pulling the blanket over her head, she closed her eyes so firmly not a single tear could escape.
And when she woke in the morning to find Devon gone, she was not surprised.
Chapter Ten
Always be aware that, for every bird in the hand, there may be two in the bush just waiting to attack you.
Birds Through a Sherry Glass, H.A. Quirm
Beth wasted no time in dressing. She’d been left behind by everyone now, and while it was no more than she expected, and the ache she felt was purely biological (no doubt from eating ox tongue pie the night before), it did shake her back into her good sense.
I need to act strategically, she told herself as she pulled on her fire-dried clothes.
Intelligence has never been more essential, she averred as she pinned up her hair.
Every minute must be used to my best advantage, she added while folding sheets and blankets into a neat pile. From now on, she had to place her own interests first if she wanted any chance of winning the competition. And that was what really mattered. Not tingly feelings. Not foolish romantic wishes.
**Tenure!**
“I shall be ruthless!” she declared aloud. “After taking these dishes down to the kitchen, and talking to the innkeeper’s daughter as promised, I’ll run for the train, and no one had better get in my way! Especially not that scandalous reprobate, Devon Lockley! If I never see him again, it will be too soon!”
