It was delicious. And she was going to eat every drop, whilst ignoring him in the process.
“How can truth be flattery?”
She almost choked. Taking great care, she swallowed before glancing back to find him watching her, intent. More heat slid through her, decadent and dangerous.
“My eyes are hardly the same shade as my dress,” she countered, pleased with herself for the calm of her voice, completely at odds with her vast inner turmoil.
“On that we shall have to disagree.” A small smile curved his sensual lips, almost sad. “Your eyes are what I noticed about you first, brilliant and blue, bluer than the sky. A vibrant, rich hue. The second thing I noticed was your hair.”
Everyone noticed her hair first. It was brazen and bold and the bane of her existence. That was how she knew he was cozening her.
“You would have taken note of my hair, just like everyone else. It is quite loud and brash, unfortunately.”
“It is copper spun into silk, sometimes tawny depending upon the light, with hints of cinnamon. It is longer than I remembered.”
Her heart, her stupid heart, sped up, like a wild horse galloping away from someone attempting to rein it in.
She flushed, her discomfit rising at his regard and reference to their past both. “Many things can change in two years’ time.”
“Not everything.” He returned his attention to his bowl of soup, quite abruptly, leaving her staring at him.
Admiring the slash of his jaw, the purse of his lips as he raised his spoon to them. Since when had the act of eating soup been so erotic? Never, she was sure.
“What has not changed?” she asked, giving in to her blazing curiosity, quite against her better judgment.
The servants returned, whisking away the soup course and bringing in the next before he could respond. By the time theRissoles à la Reine Victoriahad been placed on the table, accompanied by peas on amacédoineof vegetables with mushroom sauce, she lost the daring to repeat her query. The food laid before her, garnished with fried parsley, ought to have been mouthwatering. It certainly presented a pretty picture.
But she found herself distracted, her appetite suppressed. Once more, the servants flitted away after presenting the plates.
Revise your battle plan, Julianna.
Ah, but there was the trouble. Currently, she had none. Julianna lifted a bite of therissolesto her mouth, chewing. If she could not speak, she reasoned, neither could she say anything foolish. Nor could she offer her question again.
This was a dinner. Nothing more. Theirs was a marriage of convenience. Also nothing more. The passion they shared was as potent and all-consuming as ever. But she could not allow it to distract her from her true course. Nor could she let it divert her from the fact that Shelbourne had pretended to be smitten with her before, only to run off to his mistress at the first possible opportunity.
The misery of that day, watching him with another woman, the widowed Lady Richards, renowned for her ethereal beauty and stinging wit—returned to her. Lady Richards was an immensely popular hostess in the Marlborough House set. Artists painted her. Sculptors sculpted her. Even the prince was said to be in love with her.
But it had not been Julianna’s rival’s looks which had dealt the death blow to Julianna’s heart when she had chanced upon Shelbourne and his mistress two years ago. Oh, no indeed. It had been thekiss.Dear, sweet God, that awful kiss. Seeing another woman’s mouth on his. The betrayal had been cutting. It still was. The bitter reminders coiled around her now, curdling her stomach. Why had she allowed herself to be in this position? Softening toward him, allowing him to charm her, to kiss her, touch her, make love to her…
“Julianna?”
She jerked at his voice, which clawed her back from the ugliness of the past. She had done her best to bury those memories deep, but he was affecting her in ways she had not anticipated.
She met his gaze. “What is it, Shelbourne?”
“Will you not call me Sidney when we are alone?”
She tamped down more unwanted longing. “Why should I wish to do so?”
“Because I am your husband.”
Yes, he was, wasn’t he?
She caught her lip between her teeth, worrying it, before she realized what she was doing. Old habits. Drat this man, for he had her at sixes and sevens, always. And longing for him was the worst habit of all. She forced herself to still.
“Sidney then,” she said coolly, as if she were entirely unaffected and gave not a fig either way, “if it pleases you.”
“Other things would please me more.”
