He was glad to see mere weariness. This time yesterday, she had been thrashing about with a scorching fever, her breathing shallow and sparse. And yes, he had feared. Feared that before the night was over, the Hugheses would suffer yet another loss.
But the fever had broken, and now look at her. She was nearly herself again. He sent her a smile. “I had better get back to my guest. If you need anything—”
“I will ring for Jess. You’ve enough to worry with tonight.” She produced a smile for him and picked up the Godey’s Lady’s Book from her bedside table.
It was several months out of date, but Mother hadn’t felt up to even flipping through a magazine in too long. “All right. Enjoy your evening, and I shall see you tomorrow.” He slipped into the hall and closed his eyes, taking a moment to switch tracks. He put aside thoughts of his mother and focused on the meeting ahead.
If all went according to plan, it could be an important one. Several Knights had arrived back in Baltimore over the past few days from Washington and points north. Devereaux hoped they came with some helpful observations that would lead to a new plan. So many, too many plans had been foiled over the years. But enough smaller ones had been a success that all the Union knew who they were. They knew to fear the KGC.
From the direction of the stairs came an echo of laughter. Marietta’s, which drew his feet her way. His blood warmed, but not entirely pleasantly. He had left her alone with Osborne—a necessity, but still. What could the newcomer, whose bad attitude rolled off him in waves, possibly have said to make her laugh?
Another trickle of it made its way to his ears when he reached the staircase, and this time it relaxed him. Sterling but empty—her society laugh. Good. Marietta had an inability to be in male company and restrain herself from flirting, but he took no issue with it so long as it remained distant.
He kept his tread quiet as he descended, careful to keep out of sight of the library door. It was Marietta’s favorite room, though he was not sure why, as he scarcely ever saw her with a book in her hands. More often she would be sitting in her chair with her eyes closed if she weren’t busying her hands with mending or bandages.
He stopped and leaned against the wall where he had a view of her, but where Osborne remained out of sight. She was as he had expected, in her favorite seat with a basket of cloth strips beside her, her scarlet hair hanging in perfect curls over her shoulders, and her flawless face still lit with a mask of a smile. A breath hummed out as his gaze lingered on the figure finally back on display and not hidden beneath yards of black crepe.
How clearly he remembered the first time he saw her, across the crowded ballroom in this very house, the day before she and Lucien wed. He had come back from New York City that morning and had rolled his eyes as his younger brother went on ad nauseum about the beauty of his bride. When he had come down to the dinner party, he hadn’t realized that the woman who caught his gaze so quickly was the same one Lucien had claimed.
It had been too late, then, to change anything. All he could do was maneuver her away from the crowds for a few minutes, under the guise of brotherly interest. Small consolation as it had been, she had felt as quick a connection as he had. He had seen it in her eyes and had known, all these years, that her heart was his more than Lucien’s.
And now, finally, she was too.
Perhaps she sensed his gaze. She glanced up and looked out the door. Grinning, Devereaux crooked a finger.
Her hesitation lasted only a moment, no doubt that perfect hostess breeding rearing up and telling her she oughtn’t to leave a guest alone. But then she set down her roll of bandage and rose. “Will you excuse me a moment, Mr. Osborne?”
His pulse speeding, Devereaux straightened as she exited the library, her skirts swaying. He backed into the parlor. The only light was the soft golden glow from the lamp in the hallway, touching but a few feet of the Turkish rug. He paused on its edge, hand extended.
Her fingers fit in his like the pieces of a puzzle, and he used them to pull her near. She came to an abrupt halt with a foot still between them, her eyes flinty.
A grin teased the corners of his mouth. “Are you that afraid of my kissing you again?”
“ ‘Afraid’ is hardly the word for it.” But she tugged against his fingers and increased the distance separating them. Had it been rebuke in her eyes, or teasing, he would have pressed closer.
But it was remorse.
He drew in a long breath, mentally cursing himself. If he had pushed her away, had made her retreat…no. She just needed time. He rubbed his thumb over her fingers and let the breath out again. “I promised I wouldn’t push you, Mari. And I won’t.”
She stopped trying to free her fingers, but the expression on her face was pure exasperation. “A strange thing to say after embracing me for our guest to see not two hours ago.”
He loved to hear her say our. How was he not to smile? “That was entirely for your benefit, my dear.”