She smirked at him. “You think you are toying with me,” she said. “Don’t you?”
He smiled fully then, showing her his teeth. “I think I would like to, someday.”
She paused, her expression flickering with the faintest aura of surprise.
It delighted him.
“So, how shall we play this out?” he asked, leaning back in his chair as the door opened again and a little torte was brought in, dusted with sugar and orange peels. “A special license? Are you eager to have the thing done?”
“The thing being my marriage?” she replied, turning her face from him to indicate which slice she’d prefer. “Certainly not. I expect things to be done in full accord with tradition. I want thebanns read in full. I want announcements sent. I want a properly attended wedding. Is that acceptable to you?”
“It might be,” he said, sinking his spoon into the tip of his own slice of torte. “If you are still planning to manage the whole knighthood drudgery as my fiancée.”
“Willing?” she replied with a little scoff, turning all the orange peels off her cake with precise little flicks of her spoon, her eyes on him rather than her task. “I insist upon it.”
“Then we are in accord,” he replied, and tasted the cake. He paused to indulge in the sweetness, allowing it to dissolve on his tongue, then dipped his spoon back into the sponge as he continued. “And you have confirmed that you knew of the knighthood in advance. I expected you to play coy.”
“Perhaps you should stop expecting things without good reason,” she suggested with a smirk, lifting her own morsel to her very full lips. “Just a suggestion.”
“Ah, but then you will stop correcting me, and we’ve only just met,” he said before his next bite, enjoying the way those dark eyes almost imperceptibly narrowed. “What will you need of me, to propel the engagement forward in the correct and traditional manner?”
“Very little,” she said, so quickly, he thought it was a barb rather than the truth. “Information and signatures for the most part. You will need to come to our church to meet with the vicar so we may initiate the banns, unless you prefer to use your own parish?”
“My what?” he said, drawling out the words in an effort to see if he might get another little flash of annoyance.
This time he did not. Instead, she twisted her lips in the way she might if a child attempted to correct her grammar and did so incorrectly.
He attempted not to wince.
“My schedule is at your disposal,” he said, switching to chivalric softness, watching her hand turn another piece of cake onto the bowl of the spoon. “Truly. I will go with you to your church tomorrow if you wish it.”
“I do,” she said briskly, and enjoyed another bite of cake, watching him with an innocent blink of her eyes as though she were curious if he might have a tantrum after his second failure to extract his desired reaction.
He considered it.
After all, what was the alternative? Candor? He wasn’t sure what that would even look like, coming from him.
He ran his eyes over her again, as though searching for cracks in a suit of armor, lingering on the glint of dark pearls over her collarbone, and on the sky-blue mesh that gripped her bodice, emphasizing her generous hourglass proportions.
He swallowed and forced his eyes back up to her face, only to find that somewhat worse.
“Why are you being knighted, Mr. Aster?” she asked, as soon as his eyes found hers. “I was not told.”
“Ambrose,” he said, a bit dryer than he would have liked, but steady. “My fiancée should call me Ambrose.”
“Why are you being knighted,” she amended, flashing a little glint of her teeth, “Sir Ambrose?”
“Oh, God,” he said, grimacing. “Not that.”
She tittered then, at long last, just softly on her breath, lifting her napkin to hide it beneath a dab at her lips.
It was his turn to glare. “Oh,” he said archly, lifting his chin, “was it I who was trying to toy with someone across this table? It seems perhaps it wasn’t, Miss Beck.”
“Victoria,” she corrected. “My fiancé should call me Victoria. Or Vix, if you like.”
“Vix,” he repeated, a little concerned at the way his stomach dropped directly into his groin as the word left his mouth. “I like that.”
“Oh?” she said, still amused, dropping that napkin back onto the tablecloth. “Do you like it enough to tell me why you are being knighted?”
