A Most Unusual Match by Sara Mitchell Page B

wreckage?”
    For a moment Dev scrambled for solid footing in a mental quicksand. “Everybody makes mistakes,” he finally ventured. “It’s the price we pay for being human. Some mistakes have lasting consequences, some pass into oblivion. I try not to dwell on mine more than I can help. I like to think I’ve done the best I can, to make a good life for myself.” Fine words, from a man who an hour earlier had been halfway ready to hop aboard the first southbound train. “What mistake do you believe has destroyed your life, Thea?”
    â€œSometimes…being born?” A hollow laugh did little to ease the uncomfortable pall that descended between them. “I beg your pardon, Devlin. My grandfather scoldsme about my propensity to talk before I think about how the words will sound aloud. It must be a family trait.”
    He barely heard the last sentence, since she’d mumbled it beneath her breath. “You’ve had some troubles, haven’t you?” He kept his voice gentle. “This fiancé from England. He’s a fabrication, right?” She nodded, but when she would have responded Dev shook his head. “It’s all right. I’ve known almost from the first. You have your reasons, same as how you don’t feel you can share your real surname. You asked me once if I’d ever been desperate. Are your parents trying to force you into a marriage you don’t want? Is that why you came to Saratoga with a false name and a manufactured betrothal in your trunk, to chase after one of the country’s wealthiest bachelors without looking…desperate?”
    â€œIf only it were that simple.” Shifting on the chair, words abruptly burst forth in a passionate gush. “I’m not chasing Edgar Fane in hopes of a proposal. I despise him. He’s a cad, and the only reason I’m ‘chasing’ him is because I want to find the evidence to stop him from ruining someone else’s life. But nothing I’ve planned is turning out the way I expected. Nothing. Tuesday night is my last chance—he’s leaving next week. One of his lady friends, a Mrs. Gorman, told me. And it’s Sunday….” She stared through Devlin as though peering into a lake filled with monsters. “I don’t know if I have the courage. I’m afraid I’ll have an attack, I’m afraid I’ll make a mistake and he’ll know I’m a fraud, I’m—” her voice dropped to a broken whisper “—I’m afraid, and I’m ashamed of it. But I have to do this. Have to…” She pressed her lips together until they turned white.
    The skin beneath her eyes looked bruised; above the tattoo of rain on the roof Devlin could hear the labored rasp of her breath. Without a qualm he mentally laid asidebadge and credentials, and focused all his skill on coaxing back the woman who had faced down a crowd of bored sophisticates at the Casino.
    â€œDon’t be ashamed of fear,” he said, leaning closer until their heads were inches apart. “It’s an instinct, designed to protect you. If you’re afraid to share a meal alone with Edgar Fane, perhaps you should heed those instincts, and call it off.”
    â€œI can’t. I won’t.”
    â€œMmm. Which one, Thea?”
    Some of the wildness dissipated, and the white slash of her mouth softened. “Won’t. Grandfather tells me I’m more stubborn than an ink stain. My friends are kinder. They call it resolve. Mr. Stone—I mean, Devlin? Do you believe in God?”
    What in the—? “You want to know if I believe in God?” Confound it, but her mind swished about like a horse’s tail chasing off flies. She nodded. Dev sat back in the chair and studied on the question for a moment or two. “Well, yes, I suppose so. Most people do, I reckon. My dad was a praying man. But he died when I was six. I guess I’ve been