Until she could no longer bear the sight of him.
But that was later, and this was now, and there was soup simmering over a fire and he had two more courses to make.
“I agree to your deal, Griffin,” she said at last, and this—Violet relenting—felt like a gift.
One he would wholeheartedly accept. “Thank you. Now then, if you are insistent upon offering me aid, perhaps you might peel these carrots.”
Grinning, he handed a bunch of root vegetables, their leafy tops neatly trimmed to preserve them, out to her. She took them from him, offering him a small, shy smile in return. “I have never before peeled a carrot, Griffin, but I am more than willing to try.”
Of course she had not. As the daughter of a duke, and then the sister to one, she would never have been required to learn such a thing. And as a duke himself, it was highly irregular that he had, he reminded himself. But he had been raised with his mother’s ideals; that there was no harm in hard work, but rather great pride in it.
One of his first happy memories was peeling potatoes for his mother as a lad so she could make her famous scalloped potatoes. It was a great shame Pearson had not thought to stock the house with potatoes, for Griffin would have loved serving Violet his mother’s decadent recipe.
Another day, perhaps.
“I will show you, spitfire,” he promised softly, enjoying the way the firelight and twin oil lamps in the room glinted off her lustrous hair and eyes. “But first, I need to stir my soup.”
Violet could noteat another morsel of food. Everything Strathmore had prepared had been perfectly delectable, some of the best food she had ever eaten. Not Strathmore, she reminded herself then, butGriffin.
They sat terribly near, but still opposite each other, at a small scarred wooden table in the kitchen where he had prepared the meal. The fire in the hearth was cooling to embers, the oil lamps were turned low, and the comforting scent of food blended with his potently male scent of musk and pine.
The Duke of Strathmore was a proficient chef. She still could not quite fathom it as she forced the last bite of custard tartlet into her mouth, swallowing it down. His soup had been rich and divine, followed by ham smothered in velouté, and mashed carrots, and finally the tartlet.
He had apologized for the lack of fresh fruit before she had begun to devour it. Cherry would have been delightful, but raspberry or peach would have done every bit as well. But Violet had never tasted anything better, and she would happily forego fruit for the rest of her life if it meant she could sit across from the beautiful duke she was going to marry and eat one of his confections.
“I regret the house did not have a larder stocked with more options,” he said into the companionable silence that had descended as they completed their meal.
Violet found enjoying a meal without the hovering presence of servants, particularly one so intimate, freeing and thrilling all at once. “I cannot imagine what you would have produced from a well-stocked larder. This alone was so delicious, I fear I may forever view all dishes served me inferior.”
He laughed, his blue eyes dancing, and he seemed more carefree in that moment than she had ever seen him. It suited him well, she thought, the role of devil-may-care agent. But there was far more to him than the surface suggested. He was also a man who was proud of his mother, a former servant who had risen above her station to become a duchess. He had loved that woman enough to learn her trade and employ it himself.
What a conundrum he was, the Duke of Strathmore. Just when she had supposed she had figured him out, he changed again, revealing new layers and depths.
“It was passable,” he argued without heat. “Enough to fill our bellies for the journey ahead of us tomorrow.”
Tomorrow brought with it a fresh barrage of emotions for Violet. It was a reminder they wereen medias resof their journey. A reminder too that she was betraying her beloved brother to prove the innocence of a man she scarcely knew. A reminder she knew precious little about their plans from this moment onward.
And it was well past time for her to ask.
“Where are we going tomorrow?” she queried, setting aside her fork and napkin and raising the glass of wine he had filled to her lips.
It was half drained, her second of the evening, and everything was awash with a warm, delicious glow of possibility. Probably a poor idea to consume more, but she was rather enjoying her first taste of freedom, truth be told. Like the duke’s cooking, and like Strathmore himself, freedom was mouthwatering, and she wanted more.
“Tomorrow, we travel to the home of a trusted friend of mine.” He raised his own glass of wine to his lips, draining it to the dregs. “We will be safe there as well, though perhaps more expected there than here, which is why we will need to marry as soon as possible upon our arrival.”
“As soon as possible?” If her voice squeaked when she repeated his words, it could hardly be helped. The mere notion of marrying the Duke of Strathmoreas soon as possibleleft her breathless and heated and flushed all over and…anticipatory.
He gave a single sharp nod, his expression growing closed and tense. “Yes, as long as you are still in accordance with the plan. Youdowant to marry me and become my duchess, do you not?”
She was beginning to realize he was a man of many masks, only some of which he deigned to show her. In that respect, he was rather a great deal like Lucien. Little wonder they seemed to despise each other. Little wonder each man wanted to bring the other to his knees.
The errant thought made her frown. Was that the way of it? Did Griffin merely want to lay Lucien low, and that was the reason for his acceptance of her proposal?
“Why do you wish to marry me?” she blurted, telling herself not to flush with embarrassment, that it was a normal question, a valid question. That she deserved to hear the answer.
His stare was hot and intense, eating her alive. “Do you not think yourself beyond the time for posing such a question, spitfire?”
“No,” she countered, meeting him, bluster for bluster. “This home has a door. I can walk through it if necessary.”
