Read Online Lady Folbroke's Delicious Deception by Christine Merrill - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Christine Merrill
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hesitation, so he walked forwards into the blur in front of him, putting his handout nonchalantly to feel for the table that he was sure must lay before them.
There it was. His fingers touched the corner and a linen cloth. He led her to what he hoped was an acceptable chair and worked his way to the other side, finding his seat and taking it and running his hand over the plate in front of him to familiarise himself with the setting.
Now the tension in him was of an entirely different sort. Suppose he spilled his wine, or dropped the meat into his lap without noticing? Suppose, dear God, she served him soup? If he made a fool of himself, he might never have the chance to know her better.
Adrian listened for the approach of the servant, and sniffed the food he was served. Was it fish? Or perhaps lamb. There was rosemary there, he was sure. And fresh peas, for there was the smell of mint. Problematic, for they would roll across the plate, if he was not careful. Better to flatten them with the fork than to chase them about the plate.
There was a faint laugh from the other side of the table, and his head snapped up. ‘What is it?’
‘You are glaring at your plate as though it is an enemy. And you seem to have forgotten me entirely. I am trying to decide whether to be amused or insulted by it.’
‘I apologise. It is just that, meals can be a difficult time for me.’
‘Do you require assistance?’
‘That will not be necessary.’ It humiliated him to display his weakness so clearly, and he longed to end the game they were playing and lie with her. Once their bodies touched, she could see how little this mattered.
But she had ignored him, for he could hear her drawing her chair closer to his. ‘I said I did not need your help.’ His tone was sharper than he had intended.
But it did not seem to bother her, for her response was placid enough. ‘That is a pity. For it might be quite pleasant for both of us.’
He started as she touched his mouth with her finger, resting the tip on the centre of his lower lip, almost as though it were a kiss.
He touched his tongue to it and tasted wine. She had dipped her finger into the glass.
He reached out, very carefully, to his own glass, dipping a finger in the contents, and then following the sound of her voice to try to touch her lip.
She laughed again, catching his hand and bringing it the last few inches to her mouth to kiss it clean. At the touch of her tongue, his own mouth went so dry he could hardly speak.
‘You see?’ she whispered. ‘It might not be so bad to accept my help.’
‘But I would not want to grow used to being hand fed, no matter how attractive the hands might be.’
She laughed. ‘My hands might be ugly for all you know. And my face as well.’
He pulled his hand away from her lips, clasping her fingers in his. Then he turned it over, stroking the fingers, rubbing his thumb along the palm, over the back, circling the wrist. The fingers were long, the nails short, the skin soft. He held it to his cheek. ‘The hand is lovely, as is the woman. You will never convince me otherwise.’
She sighed in response and he could feel her lean towards him as the pressure of her hand increased. ‘You flatter, sir. But you do it well.’
‘And you tempt. I am utterly captivated.’ Which was not so much flattery as truth. He was hard for her, and they had not even begun to eat. But while he could not change his body’s reaction, control of the evening was returning to him, and with it, he relaxed and focused on his ultimate goal. ‘Before we go further, am I to be your only company tonight?’
‘Of course.’ She seemed surprised that he would ask. Surely that was a good sign.
‘Then I take it that you still have not found your husband? Or have you found him, and are punishing him for leading you into last night’s danger?’
She gave a little hiss of surprise and snatched her hand away. ‘I did not betray my husband. It was he who left me. I
There it was. His fingers touched the corner and a linen cloth. He led her to what he hoped was an acceptable chair and worked his way to the other side, finding his seat and taking it and running his hand over the plate in front of him to familiarise himself with the setting.
Now the tension in him was of an entirely different sort. Suppose he spilled his wine, or dropped the meat into his lap without noticing? Suppose, dear God, she served him soup? If he made a fool of himself, he might never have the chance to know her better.
Adrian listened for the approach of the servant, and sniffed the food he was served. Was it fish? Or perhaps lamb. There was rosemary there, he was sure. And fresh peas, for there was the smell of mint. Problematic, for they would roll across the plate, if he was not careful. Better to flatten them with the fork than to chase them about the plate.
There was a faint laugh from the other side of the table, and his head snapped up. ‘What is it?’
‘You are glaring at your plate as though it is an enemy. And you seem to have forgotten me entirely. I am trying to decide whether to be amused or insulted by it.’
‘I apologise. It is just that, meals can be a difficult time for me.’
‘Do you require assistance?’
‘That will not be necessary.’ It humiliated him to display his weakness so clearly, and he longed to end the game they were playing and lie with her. Once their bodies touched, she could see how little this mattered.
But she had ignored him, for he could hear her drawing her chair closer to his. ‘I said I did not need your help.’ His tone was sharper than he had intended.
But it did not seem to bother her, for her response was placid enough. ‘That is a pity. For it might be quite pleasant for both of us.’
He started as she touched his mouth with her finger, resting the tip on the centre of his lower lip, almost as though it were a kiss.
He touched his tongue to it and tasted wine. She had dipped her finger into the glass.
He reached out, very carefully, to his own glass, dipping a finger in the contents, and then following the sound of her voice to try to touch her lip.
She laughed again, catching his hand and bringing it the last few inches to her mouth to kiss it clean. At the touch of her tongue, his own mouth went so dry he could hardly speak.
‘You see?’ she whispered. ‘It might not be so bad to accept my help.’
‘But I would not want to grow used to being hand fed, no matter how attractive the hands might be.’
She laughed. ‘My hands might be ugly for all you know. And my face as well.’
He pulled his hand away from her lips, clasping her fingers in his. Then he turned it over, stroking the fingers, rubbing his thumb along the palm, over the back, circling the wrist. The fingers were long, the nails short, the skin soft. He held it to his cheek. ‘The hand is lovely, as is the woman. You will never convince me otherwise.’
She sighed in response and he could feel her lean towards him as the pressure of her hand increased. ‘You flatter, sir. But you do it well.’
‘And you tempt. I am utterly captivated.’ Which was not so much flattery as truth. He was hard for her, and they had not even begun to eat. But while he could not change his body’s reaction, control of the evening was returning to him, and with it, he relaxed and focused on his ultimate goal. ‘Before we go further, am I to be your only company tonight?’
‘Of course.’ She seemed surprised that he would ask. Surely that was a good sign.
‘Then I take it that you still have not found your husband? Or have you found him, and are punishing him for leading you into last night’s danger?’
She gave a little hiss of surprise and snatched her hand away. ‘I did not betray my husband. It was he who left me. I
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