She cocked her head. “What meaning does that place have for you?”
Instead of answering, he cut into the delectable quail doused in truffle sauce, and the longer the silence went on, the more she realized he had no intention of giving her a reply.
“I will be furnishing the rooms I have to reflect the needs I am going to have,” she announced, while cutting into the seasoned asparagus. “I hope you do not mind the expense.”
He waved. “I am sure the allowance you have will cover whatever trinket or bauble you want.”
“A full suite of furniture is not a simple ornament,” she pressed, frowning. “It is an investment.”
“I suppose you will need it when you move into your townhome after the annulment,” he shrugged. “Carry on then.”
He is hellbent on stymying me at every turn, isn’t he?
“Where are you going to go after the marriage is annulled?” she asked.
When his silence washed over her again, she sighed. “Will you tell me how you take your coffee?”
“Black as midnight and hotter than the lava that flowed over Pompeii,” he answered. “With a dash of whisky.”
Casting through her mind for another topic of conversation, she asked, “Are you annoyed that I stopped you from destroying those books?”
He shrugged one shoulder. “No. Those old tomes belonged to my father and brother, and I doubt they have any knowledge pertinent to this time and era inside them. They are more like sepulchers instead of fountains of knowledge. But do what you will.”
She closed her utensils and delicately wiped her mouth. “Books always have a place in society, no matter how long they were written. Even obsolete, they give one the insight into the mindset of those who came before us. Think of what would have happened if they had not preserved Homer’s Odyssey—”
“Afairytale.”
“Or Ovid’s Metamorphosis—”
“Aglorification of a tyrant.”
“Or Romeo and Juliet—”
“Misguided love and mutual destruction.”
Cecilia felt her composure fraying, “—so mankind could have those tales as proof to bolster their own strength. To become as brave as the heroes they read about.”
“And for women to constantly fantasize about the white knight riding in to save them,” the derision in his voice scraped over her skin. “It is honestly better for mankind to stay grounded in reality and not try to emulate a figment of imagination. All stories are a ludicrous mix of broken dreams and insane fantasy.”
“I am surprised to hear that from you,” Cecilia admitted.
“Really?” Cassian rolled his neck. “And why is that?”
“You are always so blithe andDevil-May-Carewith the whole Ton that it looked like your whole existence was nothing but fun-loving and one jest after another. I never suspected you were this…” she blinked, “…pessimistic.”
“The word you were looking for isrealistic,” he said while leaning into his chair. “How much do you know about astrology?”
“Virtually nothing,” she answered.
“I was born on January fourteenth, a sign ruled by Saturn principally and Mercury, introducing an element of adaptability and communication skills. They say it’s a sign balancing the traditional Capricorn need for structure with a thirst for knowledge and exploration.”
He shrugged, “Many say it is malarky and superstitious nonsense, but I find I am more of myself on a ship, on horseback, or on a caravan traveling elsewhere away from England.”
It was not hard for her to interpret what he meant. “You are planning to leave the moment the sixty days are over.”
“The second my solicitor places the annulment document in my hands,” he amended, reaching for his wine. “I do not remember if I’ve told you before, but the night you kissed me was the very night before I was set to sail off to Greece—permanently.”
She dropped her utensils and gaped at him. “Why are you willing to leave your homeland behind?”
