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Authors: Sabrina Jeffries
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long past.”
“That’s a pity,” Mother said. “Mundane pleasures are about the only kind we have here in the country.”
With a meaningful glance at Mrs. Stuart, he waited for his mother to ask for some new toy to keep them amused, or perhaps a costly trip to Italy, where she could indulge her love of expensive things to her heart’s content.
Then she went on, “But we do enjoy them.” She smiled at Mrs. Stuart. “We sing and play and act charades and have our own sort of fun. Camilla is very good at reading aloud—very dramatic.”
He was still stunned by his mother’s prosaic idea of “fun” when the door opened and a footman came in bearing some confection.
“And we have an excellent cook,” Mrs. Stuart said cheerily as her portion was placed before her. “There’s nothing mundane about that pleasure.” She took a bite and her face lit up. “Her almond blancmange is sheer heaven.”
He arched one eyebrow. “I take it that you share Mother’s love of sweets.”
“I do, indeed,” Mrs. Stuart said, dabbing a bit of custard from the corner of her mouth. “Dessert was rare at the orphanage, I’m afraid, and now that I can have it whenever I please, I never seem to tire of it.”
He’d forgotten that she was raised an orphan. For a moment, he flashed on a little girl coveting every pastry she saw in the London bakeries, and his chest tightened inexplicably at the thought of her having something so simple routinely denied to her.
“Don’t you like sweets yourself, my lord?” she asked, jerking him from his dark thoughts.
“He never did,” Mother answered. “Pierce was a most unusual child—he would rather have fruit and cheese for dessert.” She cast Pierce a tentative smile. “That’s why I had Cook prepare some of that, too.”
And with a little flourish, the footman placed a plate of apple slices and a selection of cheeses before him.
Mrs. Stuart’s earlier words clamored in his brain: If her feelings are as false as you think, why does she have a chest full of your school drawings and papers? Why does she read to me your childhood letters, pointing out your witty turns of phrase and clever observations? Why does she keep a miniature of you by her bed?
He could feel himself weakening, feel the barricades crumbling a little, and it sparked his temper. Damn it, she could not just whisk away years of neglect with a plate of fruit and cheese and a few remarks about his childhood! He’d had as much of this as he could stand.
He forced a nonchalant smile to his lips. “I’ve grown up now, Mother. What I like best for dessert these days is a good cigar.”He rose. “And since that’s the case, I’ll step outside to indulge in one now that the meal is done.” He bowed stiffly in her direction. “Good night.”
Then he leveled a hard gaze on Mrs. Stuart. “Au revoir, madam.”
She blushed at his oblique reminder that her evening with him wasn’t yet at an end, but she managed a smile. “Au revoir, my lord.”
He strode out of the dining room, relieved that he was done. Mrs. Stuart had made better use of his bargain with her than he’d expected. She and his mother had obviously decided to plague him at dinner with talk of Christmas trees and prettied-up tales of his childhood until he turned to putty in their hands.
Well, he wasn’t without defenses of his own. If Mrs. Stuart insisted on making him uncomfortable at dinner, then he would damned well return the favor. Since he couldn’t seduce her, he’d have to consider other possibilities. Cards wouldn’t serve his purpose, and so far she’d proved herself adept at parrying his barbs in conversation. As for reading to him . . .
His eyes narrowed. She had a penchant for reading aloud dramatically, didn’t she? Good. Then he would give her something damned interesting to read.
6
T hough his lordship had used a flimsy excuse to absent himself from the meal, Camilla couldn’t fault him for it. Dinner had been
“That’s a pity,” Mother said. “Mundane pleasures are about the only kind we have here in the country.”
With a meaningful glance at Mrs. Stuart, he waited for his mother to ask for some new toy to keep them amused, or perhaps a costly trip to Italy, where she could indulge her love of expensive things to her heart’s content.
Then she went on, “But we do enjoy them.” She smiled at Mrs. Stuart. “We sing and play and act charades and have our own sort of fun. Camilla is very good at reading aloud—very dramatic.”
He was still stunned by his mother’s prosaic idea of “fun” when the door opened and a footman came in bearing some confection.
“And we have an excellent cook,” Mrs. Stuart said cheerily as her portion was placed before her. “There’s nothing mundane about that pleasure.” She took a bite and her face lit up. “Her almond blancmange is sheer heaven.”
He arched one eyebrow. “I take it that you share Mother’s love of sweets.”
“I do, indeed,” Mrs. Stuart said, dabbing a bit of custard from the corner of her mouth. “Dessert was rare at the orphanage, I’m afraid, and now that I can have it whenever I please, I never seem to tire of it.”
He’d forgotten that she was raised an orphan. For a moment, he flashed on a little girl coveting every pastry she saw in the London bakeries, and his chest tightened inexplicably at the thought of her having something so simple routinely denied to her.
“Don’t you like sweets yourself, my lord?” she asked, jerking him from his dark thoughts.
“He never did,” Mother answered. “Pierce was a most unusual child—he would rather have fruit and cheese for dessert.” She cast Pierce a tentative smile. “That’s why I had Cook prepare some of that, too.”
And with a little flourish, the footman placed a plate of apple slices and a selection of cheeses before him.
Mrs. Stuart’s earlier words clamored in his brain: If her feelings are as false as you think, why does she have a chest full of your school drawings and papers? Why does she read to me your childhood letters, pointing out your witty turns of phrase and clever observations? Why does she keep a miniature of you by her bed?
He could feel himself weakening, feel the barricades crumbling a little, and it sparked his temper. Damn it, she could not just whisk away years of neglect with a plate of fruit and cheese and a few remarks about his childhood! He’d had as much of this as he could stand.
He forced a nonchalant smile to his lips. “I’ve grown up now, Mother. What I like best for dessert these days is a good cigar.”He rose. “And since that’s the case, I’ll step outside to indulge in one now that the meal is done.” He bowed stiffly in her direction. “Good night.”
Then he leveled a hard gaze on Mrs. Stuart. “Au revoir, madam.”
She blushed at his oblique reminder that her evening with him wasn’t yet at an end, but she managed a smile. “Au revoir, my lord.”
He strode out of the dining room, relieved that he was done. Mrs. Stuart had made better use of his bargain with her than he’d expected. She and his mother had obviously decided to plague him at dinner with talk of Christmas trees and prettied-up tales of his childhood until he turned to putty in their hands.
Well, he wasn’t without defenses of his own. If Mrs. Stuart insisted on making him uncomfortable at dinner, then he would damned well return the favor. Since he couldn’t seduce her, he’d have to consider other possibilities. Cards wouldn’t serve his purpose, and so far she’d proved herself adept at parrying his barbs in conversation. As for reading to him . . .
His eyes narrowed. She had a penchant for reading aloud dramatically, didn’t she? Good. Then he would give her something damned interesting to read.
6
T hough his lordship had used a flimsy excuse to absent himself from the meal, Camilla couldn’t fault him for it. Dinner had been
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