He inclined his head and lowered himself into the seat he had been offering her. “Touché, my dear. I only hope you like kippers.”
She glanced down at his laden plate with dismay, discovering a grouping of the revolting, smoked herrings the English so favored upon the fine china. “I adore them,” she lied with a brilliant smile.
“Excellent.” There was a smile in his voice, but she refused, on principle, to look back at him.
Her stomach growled again. Grimly, she snatched up a fork. She had been hasty in her decision to steal his place at the table, that much was plain. But by no means would she retreat now. At least, there was also a poached egg and some sausage. She would simply consume the disagreeable creatures first, while breathing through her mouth, then drown them with delicious coffee, before ending the meal in epicurean delights.
She stabbed at the thing, then cut off a bite-size portion and stuffed it into her mouth, chewing hastily. Hazel swallowed before washing it down with coffee.
“Excellent indeed,” she gasped, for her gulp of coffee was hot, and the flavor of smoked fish remained redolent on her palate, much to her chagrin.
“Hazel.”
She glanced up at him at last, her eyes watering from the combination of the dreadful kippers and the hot coffee. “Yes?”
“You do not have to eat the damned kippers to prove a point.” He looked as wry as he sounded.
“I enjoy them.” She speared another bite, lifted it to her lips. Even the texture of the thing was enough to make her want to gag. Truly, how could he eat this wretched fare? She would sooner eat the bark of a magnolia tree.
“Hazel.”
She swallowed more coffee to mask the untenable flavor in her mouth, just a sip this time. “Arden?”
“Lucien,” he corrected gently. The smile he gave her was disconcertingly tender. “I do believe we are beyond formality at this point, are we not? And please, for the love of all that is holy, cease eating the kippers, lest you vomit all over the breakfast table.”
Yes, they were well beyond formality.
Yes, the kippers were horrible.
She sighed. “What do you want from me, Lucien?”
His sensual mouth hiked into a deeper smile. “Many things. But to begin, I would like the honor of your company this evening.”
“This evening?”
This time, he grinned at her with such ruthlessness, twin divots appeared in his cheeks. Heavens, the Duke of Arden haddimples. And they were a revelation. As was the man himself.
“Yes, that is what I said just now, I do believe, my dear,” he said calmly. “I would like you to accompany me this evening.”
Was this his strange way of attempting to get her to reconsider his proposal, because of his own guilt? If so, he was destined for disappointment.
“I will not go to one of your balls or society functions, Arden,” she warned. “It is out of the question. I have no notion of your fancy rules and fancy ways, nor do I have any wish to. I am as you see me, unapologetically.”
“No ball,” he said smoothly, reaching for a plate of Bayonne ham and liberating a slice for his new plate. “Just an excursion.”
“What manner of excursion?” she demanded, eyes narrowing as she studied his calm façade.
He looked almost princely as he glanced in her direction. Certainly too handsome and too blue-blooded for her. “Agree to join me, and you shall see.”
She clenched her jaw. Oh, the rotten man. He knew her well enough, far better than she sometimes expected. And he knew she would not be able to withstand the mystery of where he planned to take her. If she refused him, the question would persist, taunting her, making her wonder. If she agreed, she would know.
And she wanted to agree. Of course she did. The Duke of Arden could offer to escort her to the gates of hell, and she would gladly accept.
“Perhaps,” she allowed.
“There is no ‘perhaps,’ sweetheart,” he countered. “There is only ‘yes’ or ‘no.’ Which shall it be?”
“My pride demands that it is ‘no,’” she said. “But my pride also demands that I eat these revolting things you call kippers. I do not think I can stomach the latter, so my pride may well have to go to the devil.”
