A Most Unusual Match by Sara Mitchell Page A

ever afraid of monsters hiding under the bed? And when you finally found the courage to check, you discovered your fear was the product of a too-vivid imagination?”
    â€œSo you no longer believe Edgar Fane is a monster.”
    â€œLet’s just say I’ve come to understand that some monsters know how to disguise themselves more discreetly than others. His friends are mostly sycophants. A few tried to be kind. I can hold my own with them.”
    â€œAh.” This time they watched the rain in companionable silence. “Something’s still troubling you,” Dev eventually observed.
    â€œYes.” Her shoulders lifted in a nervous shrug. “You really are very perceptive. Um…would you mind if I ask you something?” When he hummed a lazy sound of assent Miss Lang cleared her throat, fiddled with the ends of her shawl, then shared softly, “I don’t know why, but for some reason it matters that you not think the worst of me. A month ago I didn’t know you existed, but now…” She ran her finger over the chair finial, color staining her cheeks.
    â€œNever mind. This is silly. It must be the weather. Rainy days have always made me introspective. But that doesn’t mean I should—”
    â€œI feel the same way, about rainy days,” Dev interrupted. Reaching down, he let his hand hover over hersfor a moment, and when she didn’t flinch away he gave her restless fingers a reassuring squeeze. “We have more in common than you realize, Miss Lang. Come now, tell me what’s troubling you. Today I promise not to bite.”

Chapter Eleven
    O nly a flicker of a smile appeared. “My last name isn’t really Lang.” Above the white collar of the shirtwaist her throat muscles stretched taut. “I would prefer to not reveal my surname right now. If you…could you call me Thea? That’s my Christian name. I—it’s unconventional, but here at Saratoga the unconventional seems to be the accepted standard of behavior. My name is really Theodora, but most times I prefer Thea. Theodora sounds too formal, when the man I’m talking to has…seen me at my worst.”
    In the muted, rain-drenched world her brown eyes had darkened to the color of wet pine bark. Automatically Dev registered the subtleties of her body that conveyed truth telling—slightly expanded pupils, crinkly eyes accompanying her shy smile, leaning slightly toward him—even as he filed away the revelation that she was afraid to tell him her last name. “Thea. It suits you. A strong name, and a deep one. Family name?”
    â€œNo.”
    He lifted an eyebrow. “Hmm. Touched one of those chords you don’t want to play, did I? No, don’t turn all tense on me…Thea. Yeah, that fits, much better than MissPickford, or Miss Lang. To even things up, call me Devlin. My grandmother was Irish. You may have noticed when the sun shines on my hair there’s a wee bit o’ red? But that’s all the Irish heritage I received, besides the name. My grandmother died when I was two so I don’t remember anything else about the woman responsible for naming me.”
    â€œYour parents didn’t choose your name?”
    â€œThey couldn’t agree, so they asked her to.” He could hear the curtness in his own voice, but Thea merely nodded her head, that wistful aura hovering around her again, twisting his heartstrings. “What else did you want to ask me about?” he added quickly. Let it be Edgar Fane, or something about the vertigo. Or the weather, for crying out loud. Just—no prying questions where too much honesty might be demanded.
    With this woman, he should have known better.
    â€œHave you ever made one mistake,” she said, the words emerging pensive and slow, “and no matter how hard you try to make up for it, the rest of your life crumbles a piece at a time, until you’re left with nothing but