Rexanne Becnel by Thief of My Heart

highly unlikely for someone involved in such nefarious scheming. Besides, she was far from the type of woman who appealed to him. She was too slender and too plain, hardly the blond, blue-eyed beauty that he generally preferred.
    Then, unbidden, a vision of her as she’d appeared last night came to him. Her shoulders had been so pale, her neck so delicately curved. The swelling of her breasts had belied her slenderness. Her eyes had been so wide with the longest, blackest lashes….
    There was no denying that his restless night had been caused precisely for the reasons he’d given her. He’d wanted her in his bed then. And this morning he felt the same way.
    Dillon shook his head in disgust and heaved himself away from the wall, then gave his horse a pat on the rump. He had a hard enough task before him to prove she was a fake. It would not help things at all to have her leading him about by the nose—or by anything else. He would just have to forget about last night—and this morning—and concentrate on the task at hand.
    Unless, of course, he could turn the situation to his advantage.
    A small smile quirked the corner of his mouth as he let himself out of the stall, then retraced his steps through the barn. Perhaps the best way for him to get to the truth would be to woo his “widowed sister-in-law.” Perhaps a few kisses—or even more—would aid his cause better than anything else. Whether she became angry and flustered, or soft and obliging, he could not really lose. One way or another, she would make a slip and he would be there, ready and waiting.
    By the time he passed the chicken yard, Dillon was whistling under his breath. Whether she was a black-garbed widowed schoolmarm or a wind-blown, barefoot country girl, Lacie had better watch out. He was on to her game, and he fully expected to enjoy every minute of besting her at it.
    Lacie slammed the kitchen door then slumped back against it. She was trembling from head to foot, confused by emotions that were too strong and too foreign for her to deal with. She took a long, slow breath, trying to slow her thundering pulse, but it did little good. Nothing she did could make her forget what he had just done. Nothing.
    With a small cry of despair she pressed her fists to her eyes. That was what she feared most—that she would never be able to forget the unspeakably exhilarating way he had made her feel. So warm, so weak—not herself at all.
    The sound of approaching footsteps suddenly caused her to back away from the door. Her eyes were wide and she was braced for the worst when the wood-batten door creaked open. When she saw it was Mrs. Gunter, however, and not Dillon, she nearly collapsed in relief.
    “Oh, thank heaven it’s you!” she gasped as she sat down hard in a spindle-backed chair.
    “ Ach , and who else would be in the Küche at so early an hour?” the florid-faced woman asked genially. Then she gave Lacie a curious look. “ Und why are you here, Lacie?”
    Lacie looked down at her hands, which were knotted in her lap. Indeed, that was a very good question. Why had she run into the kitchen instead of back to the house?
    Perhaps it was because she didn’t want to alarm Ada or Nina by her disheveled appearance and then have to explain what had gotten her so unsettled.
    But more likely, she admitted to herself, it was that she thought no one would yet be in the kitchens and that she could be alone for a while and able to think through these terrible feelings that still assaulted her.
    With a disconsolate sigh she raised her eyes to Mrs. Gunter’s grandmotherly face.
    “I—I was up early. I couldn’t sleep,” she explained weakly.
    “So you went out to feed those chickens of yours,” Mrs. Gunter prompted with a fond smile. “You know, if it weren’t for you, I would have cooked that crippled bird long ago. You’ve seen to it that she’s by far the fattest of that lazy lot.”
    Lacie smiled. “She’s far too old now. She’d be too tough