"Don't know anything about that," I said, truthful again. "Just had my orders. I'm one of Mr. Wainright's deputies." The lies were coming easier."Are you, really?" he said, looking about. I hoped the boys were all down out of sight with both ears and rifles cocked."Yessir," I told him confidently. "Y'all can make a fire here if you want and wait till morning. We've, well I've got some tinder you can use. He's sure to be 'round early checkin' up on us, the constable is, maybe six o'clock or so." No, it's frightfully cold out here. I think we'll go on into town and see what's amiss. Don't you agree, Captain Foster?" he said, turning to the well-dressed man beside him who wore high boots and a fancy wig."See here," the bulky, older man said in a loud voice, "I'm a captain in the Georgetown militia, and I certainly don't recognize you. What's your name?"I told him my name and said again that I was working for the constable. He and the young officer mumbled at each other, and then the man. And not for lack of desire, either. And now, they really shouldn’t even be here in a restaurant, looking at each other as though they would devour whatever the other allowed. Diana dropped her eyes to the table setting, noting idly how the cutlery gleamed brightly against the pristine tablecloth, and the roses on the table pumped color onto it. Roses. They were red roses! She hadn’t ordered roses. How had he managed that? ‘The flowers are beautiful, Kyle!’ ‘They are, aren’t they? Did you order them, then?’ ‘No, why would I?’ Her sharp denial had his eyes on hers again. They were caught in a web of emotions that they were finding it difficult to disentangle themselves from, and the arrival of the waiter was a welcome respite for the two of them. ‘Champagne, sir!’ the young man said, and popped the cork. He poured for them, and then left the bottle in the cooler on the little table by their side. ‘Champagne! What’s the occasion, Kyle?’ Diana asked avoiding his gaze. ‘If you have.
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