Something about the way he said it indicated he understood the danger that was synonymous with Hughes. And if Walker hated it as much as Slade did, maybe he could be trusted. He cast a glance over his shoulder, sent a prayer winging heavenward. Do I dare, Lord God? And how much?
Peace filtered in through the crevices of the wall inside him, slow and seeping like a midnight fog. Cooling the embers of frustration. He let it soothe as he drew in a breath. “I’m not like them.”
Walker opened the stall and rubbed the horse’s nose. “You’re trying not to be, anyway. I can appreciate that. But you wear your past like an ill-fitting coat, mister.”
He didn’t know whether to be insulted or flattered. “You ever try to change who you are?”
“Sure did.” Peace rang in the words. And a far sight more of it than Slade could boast.
“How did you manage it?”
Walker chuckled and went about saddling the mare. “It helped that my best friend was all but a saint.”
“Stephen Arnaud?” He seemed to run into the man’s name everywhere he turned.
“That’s right. You got someone like that?”
His father’s face filled his vision. So many years he had run from him, from the expectation he thought came with his affection. He hadn’t realized how exactly he fulfilled the story of the prodigal son until he’d woken up in a gutter one morning and realized what he’d become. Until he tossed his old ways aside and came home. Until his father embraced him.
Until he saw the resentment burning in Ross’s eyes when he did.
He cleared the memory from his throat. “Yeah. I have someone like that. Just nowhere nearby.”
“Hmm.” Walker put the saddle on over the blanket and reached under the horse for the billet strap. “I guess it’s a good thing the Lord ain’t just where that somebody is, then.”
“Guess so.” What a strange conversation to be having in Marietta Hughes’s stable. With Devereaux Hughes even now inside with his mother, knowing well the KGC castle was all but under his feet. “Guess so.”
Walker cinched tight the loop. “Do what you gotta do and get outta here. You need help with something, come to me. But keep away from Marietta, and don’t let Devereaux catch you looking at her like she’s a lamb to your wolf.”
Slade’s every muscle turned to stone. It was one thing to wonder if he could trust, could share a morsel here and there, and quite another to have some random man in his enemy’s stable all but shout that he knew Slade’s business.
And Marietta Hughes was no lamb.
He said nothing.
Walker finished his task and handed him the reins. Met and held his gaze. “Are we clear?”
Slade took the straps of leather. That made four men now who had warned him away from her. For different reasons, but the same point.
She was trouble. A smart man would never so much as glance at her out of turn.
He jerked a nod and led the horse out of her stall. And he wished he were a little smarter than he knew himself to be.
Eight
Devereaux read the invitation through twice. Nothing out of the ordinary, a small dinner party among old friends. He knew what he found interesting—that it had been addressed to Mrs. Lucien Hughes and Mr. Devereaux Hughes, together.
But he wasn’t entirely certain what had garnered Marietta’s attention. He looked up as he handed it back. “Why would you not accept, darling?”
Marietta stiffened, as she did every time he used an endearment in the presence of anyone but Mother. She darted a glance to the other end of the room, but Osborne still sat with a book of sermons and a scowl, as he had most evenings for the week he had been with them. Why he read the things if they bothered him so, Devereaux couldn’t say.
“It would be my first social appearance.” She smoothed the pearl gray silk of her evening gown, a movement that was graceful, elegant, and shouted her nerves.
“And a fine time to ease back into such things. Do you not agree, Mother?”
His mother had been brought down an hour earlier, and though she had not moved from her chaise, her color was still good. Now she looked up with that sweet-as-molasses smile she always gave Marietta. “The Ellicotts are a fine family. I’m certain whatever invitation you decide to accept as your first appearance will be the perfect choice, Mari dear.”
More like whichever decision she made, Mother would scoff over it the moment Marietta left the room.
But if ever she detected her mother-in-law’s insincerity, Marietta hid the realization so well even Devereaux couldn’t find it. She sent a warm, unclouded smile to the chaise. “I would feel better about accepting any invitation if you were well enough to join me, Mother Hughes. I hate the thought of leaving you on your own for a whole evening.”
“Ah, c’est la vie. You mustn’t put your life on hold for me, dear. I shall be just fine.”
“You have French roots, do you not, Mrs. Hughes?” This came from the corner, though Osborne didn’t glance up from his page. Nor did he bother to keep his posture upright. He slouched in the chair like a university student amongst his peers—or like the common stock he was.