He sounded amused. “In my arms, you mean? I’m afraid so.”

A moan of distress trembled on her lips. “What he must have thought…”

“He thought nothing of it. In fact, he said it would benefit you to do a bit of ‘screetin,’ as he put it.”

The Yorkshire word for bawling like an infant.

Humiliated, Kathleen blotted her eyes and blew her nose.

Devon’s hand slid into her tumbled hair, his fingertips finding her scalp and stroking gently as if she were a cat. It was wildly improper for him to touch her in such a way, but it was so shockingly pleasant that Kathleen couldn’t quite bring herself to object.

“Tell me what happened,” he said softly.

Her insides turned hollow. Her body was as limp as an empty flour sack. Even the effort to shake her head was exhausting.

His soothing hand continued to play in her hair. “Tell me.”

She was too exhausted to refuse him. “It was my fault,” she heard herself say. A continuous hot rivulet leaked from the outside corner of her eye and disappeared into her hairline. “I’m the reason Theo is dead.”

Devon was silent, waiting patiently for her to continue.

The words came out in a shamed rush. “I drove him to it. We had been quarreling. If I had behaved the way I should, if I’d been kind instead of spiteful, Theo would still be alive. I had planned to ride Asad that morning, but Theo wanted me to stay and battle it out with him, and I said no, not when he was in such a state – then Theo said he would go riding with me, but I told him —” She broke off with a wretched sob, and continued resolutely. “I said he wouldn’t be able to keep pace with me. He had been drinking the night before, and he still wasn’t clearheaded.”

Devon’s thumb stroked across her temple, through the trail of salt water. “So he decided to prove you wrong,” he said after a moment.

Kathleen nodded, her jaw trembling.

“He dashed out to the stables, half drunk and in a fury,” Devon continued, “and insisted on riding a horse that he probably wouldn’t have been able to control even sober.”

The tiny muscles of her face spasmed. “Because I didn’t manage him as a good wife would have —”

“Wait,” Devon said, as a hiccupping sob escaped her. “No, don’t start that again. Hush, now. Take a breath.”

His hand slid from her hair, and he propped her higher in his lap until their gazes were almost level. Taking up a fresh cloth, he blotted her cheeks and eyes as if she were a child. “Let’s consider this rationally,” he said. “First, as to this business of managing Theo – a husband isn’t a horse to be trained. My cousin was a full-grown man in command of his own fate. He chose to take a stupid risk, and he paid for it.”

“Yes, but he’d been drinking —”

“Also his choice.”

Kathleen was struck by his blunt words and matter-of-fact manner. She had expected him to blame her, perhaps even more than she blamed herself, if that were possible. No one could deny her culpability; it was too obvious. “It was my fault,” she insisted. “Theo wasn’t in command of himself when he was angry. His judgment was impaired. I should have found a way to appease him, and instead I pushed him over the edge.”

“It wasn’t your responsibility to save Theo from himself. When he decided to act like a hotheaded fool, no one could have stopped him.”

“But you see, it wasn’t a decision. Theo couldn’t help it that I set off his temper.”

Devon’s mouth twisted as if she had said something ridiculous. “Of course he could.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because I’m a Ravenel. I have the same damned evil temper. Whenever I yield to it, I’m perfectly aware of what I’m doing.”

She shook her head, unwilling to be pacified. “You didn’t hear the way I spoke to him. I was very sarcastic and unkind… Oh, you should have seen his face…”

“Yes, I’m sure you were a perfect little hornet. However, a few sharp words weren’t sufficient reason for Theo to dash off in a suicidal tantrum.”

As Kathleen considered that, she realized with a start that her fingers had slid into the thick, closely shorn locks of hair at his nape. Her arms were around his neck. When had that happened? Blushing furiously, she jerked her hands from him.

“You have no sympathy for Theo because you didn’t like him,” she said awkwardly, “but —”

“I haven’t yet decided whether I like you either. That doesn’t change my opinion of the situation.”

Kathleen stared at him with wide eyes. Somehow his cool, unsentimental assessment was more comforting than sympathy.

“They ran to fetch me, after it happened,” she found herself telling him. “Theo was lying on the ground. His neck was broken, and no one wanted to move him until the doctor arrived. I leaned over him and said his name, and when he heard my voice, he opened his eyes. I could see that he was dying. I put my hand on his cheek and told him that I loved him, and Theo said, ‘You’re not my wife.’ Those were the last words he ever spoke. He was unconscious by the time the doctor arrived…” More tears sprang from her eyes. She didn’t realize she was twisting the polishing cloth in her fists until one of his hands settled over both of hers, calming the agitated movement.

“I wouldn’t dwell on Theo’s last words,” Devon said. “One could hardly expect him to be sensible. For God’s sake, his neck was broken.” His palm passed over her knuckles in a repeated caress. “Listen, my little watering pot, it was in my cousin’s nature to do something rash at any given moment. It always would have been. The reckless streak in the Ravenel family has persevered for centuries. Theo could have married a saint, and he would have lost his temper regardless.”

“I’m certainly not a saint,” she said woefully, ducking her head.

Amusement rustled through his voice. “I knew that within the first minute of meeting you.”

Keeping her head down, Kathleen stared at the hand over hers, elegant but brutally strong, with a faint scattering of hair on the back of it. “I wish I had it to do over again,” she whispered.

“No one could blame you for what happened.”

“I blame myself.”