Gathering up her satchel, lifting her chin to the veriest height of dignity, she opened the bedroom door and stepped out.
Just as the bathroom door at the far end of the corridor opened and Devon emerged, fully dressed and wiping his freshly shaven jaw with a towel.
They both came to an abrupt halt, staring at each other. Devon’s face went still; Beth’s heart swooped like a bald eagle doing a courtship dance.
After what seemed like an eternity, Devon blinked. “I was just coming to wake you,” he said.
“I was just going downstairs to order breakfast,” Beth answered.
They went on staring, their expressions growing tight as each tried to determine if the other was lying.
“We can walk down together,” Devon suggested, tossing the towel back into the bathroom without looking.
“Very well,” Beth agreed, restraining herself from rushing to pick up said towel and hang it neatly. Had she needed a reminder of just how wicked this man could be, such careless handling of laundry would have served perfectly! But no such reminder was necessary, not when her lips still zinged with the touch of his kiss, and her brain still zapped with ideas after their late-night conversation, and she felt alarmingly sassy.
Besides, the unkempt fall of hair over his forehead offered more than enough proof of wickedness. He might as well just go ahead and approach her with slow, firm paces, look deep in her eyes, and with a sultry hint of a smile, invite her to brush back that hair. Villain!
A villain who hadn’t left her behind after all.
“Miss Pickering?” he said, and Beth shook herself out of reverie to see him still standing at a polite distance, gesturing toward the stairs. “After you?”
She lifted her chin to the veriest height of dignity—only to recall she’d already done so as several muscles in her neck twinged with the strain. “Of course,” she said primly, and turned on her heel before she could see the amusement on Devon’s face.
She took two steps, then stopped. The sound of familiar voices rose from beyond the stairwell’s corner.
“I hope the housemaid was right and it is them staying here. We really need a straightforward execution today,” said one.
“I’m sure it’s going to end with a bang,” said the other, chuckling.
Beth gasped. Schreib and Cholmbaumgh! Somehow they’d tracked her and Devon to the inn.
Instantly, Devon was at her side. But before they could decide in which direction to retreat, Schreib and Cholmbaumgh rounded the corner and halted mid-step, staring up at them in astonishment.
Without thinking, Beth threw the dishes at the men. As they ducked, shouting, she and Devon ran into the room of beds. Devon slammed the door shut behind them, turning the key in the lock. They leaned back against the wooden panel, and seconds later it began to shudder with furious knocking.
“Let us in!” Cholmbaumgh shouted.
“We only want to talk to you!” Schreib added.
“Do you think us complete idiots?” Devon called out.
“Well, you did get your doctorate from Yale,” Beth said, “so you can hardly blame them.”
He gave her a dark look. She shrugged defensively. “I’m sorry, I can’t seem to help it. There must be some contagious aspect to your impishness.”
His eyebrows elevated at speed. “Did you just call me impish?”
“Cheeky?” she tried again.
The eyebrows plummeted. “Sharp-witted,” he said. “Devilish.”
Thud! The door shuddered again. Beth barely noticed. Looking at Devon, she tried to think of another bantering comment, but her brain was too busy contemplating a career change from science to romantic poetry reading.
Thud!!
“The lock won’t hold for long,” Devon said. “We’ll have to go out the window.”
Without further conversation, he grasped Beth’s wrist, tugging her across the room. They clambered up two stacked bed frames, moving with the ease of professional bird chasers. Devon opened the window, then moved aside.
“After you,” he said, gesturing to the morning air beyond.
Beth tilted forward to peer out. They were situated on the inn’s second floor, as a consequence of which the ground was worryingly far below and, even more worryingly, was comprised of bare stone. A drainpipe only two feet away from the window provided a convenient escape route, but its agèd state warned of a possible shift of genre from adventure to tragedy.
Beth tilted back again, frowning at Devon. “Really, this insistence on ‘ladies first’ is not chivalrous when a risky descent is involved.”
“I thought you’d rather not be in a position where I could see up your skirt,” he said.
Thud, bang! contributed Schreib and Cholmbaumgh, apparently smashing their bodies against the door.
“I believe we can allow some leeway in etiquette,” Beth said, glancing out the window again. The ground winked back with a flash of morning light against a lingering rain puddle. “Besides, you already saw my petticoat last night when I hung it up to dry.”
Bang, thud!
“I’m heavier than you,” Devon argued. “Should the drainpipe come away from the wall because of my weight upon it, you’ll be closer to the ground, therefore safer.”
Beth stared blankly at this dubious argument, Devon stared back, and the pursuers kicked the door so vehemently it cracked.
“Oh, very well,” she said, hauling up her skirts and climbing onto the window ledge. “But this is a mark against your character.”
