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that he
admired. And it must have taken a great deal of humility for her to admit that,
while she remained furious at his grandfather, she recognized how important the
old boy must be in his life. If only M. Billingham Bootle possessed one iota of
the sensitivity and thoughtfulness of this woman whom he had trampled on
without conscience. Well, Mark intended to remedy that, to make things up to
Courtney in every way.
    In the meantime lovely Courtney
Kelly was his for one glorious evening, and he intended to relish every second.

Chapter Six
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    Courtney eyed Mark covertly over
the edge of her menu. He’d put on his glasses again, and, scowling at the menu,
he appeared even more intelligent and refined.
    An hour ago, she’d been furious
with him. Now she was feeling all too charmed by him. He was handsome and
sympathetic, with a wonderful sense of humor. Logic argued that she should have
nothing to do with him, that he might well be cut from the same black cloth as
was his crafty grandfather, but her heart suspected otherwise. Besides, she had
just endured a major upset in her life, one that really wasn’t Mark’s fault but
that of his grandfather. She could use some cheering up.
    And she did feel buoyed at the
moment. Mark had ordered them frozen daiquiris, and several sips had already
loosened her blood. Their surroundings couldn’t have been more elegant or
romantic. The cozy Creole restaurant was softly lit and tastefully decorated
with brass ceiling fans and green plants. The mouth-watering aromas of succulent
foods filled the air. Their linen-draped table was positioned next to a sheer
glass wall looking out on a charming courtyard with sparkling fountain, ferns,
and blooming flowers.
    “It’s so lovely here,” she
murmured.
    “Indeed it is.”
    Courtney glanced at Mark to see he
was staring straight at her, and felt herself blushing. This man was too much
of a babe for her own good. She countered with small talk. “Have you decided
what you want for dinner?”
    He closed his menu and removed his
glasses. “Actually, I’m not that familiar with New Orleans cuisine.”
    “I am,” she responded confidently.
“My roommate in college lived here. I spent some holidays and a summer here,
even took a few courses at Loyola.”
    “Ah, so you’re the expert, then.
I’ll bow to you.”
    She perused her menu. “I’d suggest
we have it all—bouillabaisse, oysters Bienville, shrimp creole, crawfish
etouffee . . .”
    “Goodness, I shall be your
culinary slave,” he teased, snapping his fingers toward the passing waiter.
    Moments later as they nibbled on
the excellent oysters, Courtney remarked, “So, Mark. Tell me more about your
background.”
    He pulled a face. “Not the usual
tedious drivel.”
    She wrinkled her nose at him. “You
are from another continent, you know. I doubt I’ll find details of your life
boring.”
    “Very well, don’t say I didn’t
warn you.” Taking a sip of his drink, he murmured, “I grew up in London, in one of those moldly old mansions in Mayfair.”
    “Born with a silver spoon in your
mouth, eh?” she teased.
    He nodded wryly. “The Bootles hail
from a long line of titled aristocracy. My dad acquired quite an impressive
trust once he came of age, and married well when he was in his mid-twenties.
Unfortunately, shortly after my birth, he and my grandfather had their falling
out.”
    “Oh, yes, you mentioned that. What
was the rift about, if I may ask?”
     He sighed. “Actually, it was
over my grandfather’s desire to have my dad join the family business, Bootle’s Baby Bower.”
    “You’re kidding me!” she
exclaimed.
    “No.”
    “Then let me guess: M. Billingham saw
your father as his heir apparent, and your father had other ideas?”
    “Precisely, though their
relationship was a bit more complicated than that. Grandfather always was
something of a maverick, you see. As I’ve mentioned, we hail from noble stock,
but there are a few heretics