It was her finest gown, the gown she knew showed off her figure to perfection, cut and draped with skillful precision. Fashioned in rich cream silk moiré, accented with cornflower-blue, and trimmed with antique lace, it had been sent to New York all the way from Paris. The dress had cost so much of her wages, she had eschewed dinner for two months just to pay for the frivolous confection.
Only to never wear it. It had accompanied her on her journey because of its value. She hated to leave the thing behind.
She ought not wear the dress now either. Not for the first time, and certainly not for the Duke of Arden. And yet, something within her longed to feel the luxurious silk against her skin. To don the extravagance she had not dared dream she would ever own as if it were her armor…
“Perhaps you could show it to me, Miss Montgomery? And then, I can see to your hair.”
Hazel frowned. “What is wrong with my hair, Bunton?”
Bunton blinked again. “Nothing at all, Miss Montgomery. It is perfectly lovely as it is.”
She quirked a brow. “But?”
A flush tinged Bunton’s pale cheeks. “But perhaps I could dress it for you. His Grace requested me to aid you, Miss Montgomery. I mean to uphold my duty.”
Hazel’s frown deepened. She was beginning to think she ought to have closed the door neatly in the domestic’s face when the woman had first appeared. If she had, Hazel could have continued on with her solitude and her research. But now, Bunton stood before her with expectations.
Damn it all to hell.
She sighed. “Very well, Bunton. Do what you must.”
Lucien wondered ifhe should have armed himself prior to joining Miss Montgomery for dinner. He watched her attacking the food upon her plate with a vigor he had never before witnessed. His curious house guest and unwanted partner-of-the-moment was overdressed in a silk evening gown, her hair worn in a more becoming style, which was captured at her nape. The lush femininity of her form and the extravagant gown were at odds with the voracious manner in which she consumed her dinner.
Right now, he very much pitied theharicot verts.
Her gaze met his, delivering a shock he felt to his core. She raised a brow, as if in challenge. “Is something amiss?”
Yes, something was amiss. He had an American interloper seated across from him at his dinner table. A strange, rude woman, who had either never been taught not to spear her vegetables as if she were harpooning a whale upon her fine porcelain plate, or just did not give a damn. She was yet another punishment he had suffered in the wake of The Incident, along with the surrendering of his pride and self-respect. He could not look upon her without being reminded of his own faults.
But he, too, had been rude, he realized belatedly, for he had been staring at her in horrified fascination. He cleared his throat. “Forgive me, Miss Montgomery, but I could not help but to note the intensity with which you consume your repast. Are you angry with this course in particular, or is it all the courses in general?”
More rudeness from him, but he could not help it. Miss Montgomery irked him. Her presence at his dinner table, within his very home, nettled him. He resented her. In truth, he resented himself.
Her cheeks flushed, an embarrassed tinge of red stealing over the creamy skin. She stared at him for an indeterminate span of time, long enough he had to tamp down the urge to squirm in his seat, much like a lad whose nursemaid had caught him sneaking his dinner to the family pet.
“Hungry, Mr. Arden, not angry. I am merely hungry,” she said at last.
And he felt, instantly, a sharp, stinging sensation he recognized at once: Shame. He wanted to say something remorseful. To fill the silence with an apology. But his lips refused to form it.
“This is the first meal I have had the occasion to partake in today,” she added, flummoxing him even more. “Between my arrival, my time at the Home Office, and my visit to you, I have been kept quite busy. I had not realized how famished I had become until I sat down. I do realize I am more…vigorous than most females. But my constitution has always stood me in excellent stead, so I’ll not apologize for it now.”
She was vexed with him. Lucien saw it in the way her mouth tightened and her eyes darkened. Rightfully so. For the first time since her unexpected arrival in his study—Miss Montgomery, that was, rather than the gentleman he had prepared himself to meet—it occurred to him she was not to blame for her interference in his life. After all, the Home Office had offered her the position aiding him in leading the League. The Home Office had courted her, had brought her over the sea, had landed her in his midst like a bloody pestilence.
He clenched his jaw, stemming the disastrous tide of his thoughts. Lucien could not bring himself to apologize, but he knew he must swallow his bitterness and offer something.
“Do not let me stand in the way of your vigor, Miss Montgomery,” he said, his tone stilted. He noted her plate was empty, and he turned to a footman, who presided over the entire odd affair. “The next course, if you please.”
When the servant had taken his leave, Miss Montgomery took a healthy gulp of her wine at last. Lucien had noted she had yet to touch it during the course of their meal, though she had shown great enthusiasm for every morsel of food. When she was finished, her tongue flicked slowly over her upper lip.
Once drawn there, his attention remained riveted upon the perfect bow of her pink pout. The sight of her tongue should not have affected him, and yet, his cock twitched. He swallowed, reaching for his own wine, then poured a healthy portion down his throat.
“How can there be yet another course?” Miss Montgomery asked, providing him a source of distraction he appreciated.
“That was but therelevé,” he told her. “Theentremêtsare next. Shall I call them off? If you are famished, however, surely you would wish to partake?”
She smiled at him, and that rare transformative curve of her lips hit him squarely in the chest. “Of course I wish to partake, Arden. My mind works best when my stomach is happy.”
He blinked, taken aback by her artless honesty. “Very well then.”
