“Both.”
He frowned. “You must eat, kitten.”
“And you must cease calling me kitten.”
“Perhaps I shall, but only if you agree to join me for a late luncheon.”
She glared at him, irritated by his stubborn insistence and tempted beyond all ration and reason. “This is but a lark to you, but to me, it is everything. It is my reputation, my school, my future. Without what remains of my good name, I have nothing.”
His gaze searched hers, presumably reading the determination there, because he sighed heavily. “It would appear we are at an impasse.”
She smiled, another surge of tenderness for him moving within her breast. “Thank you for your concern. You needn’t worry over me, however. I can find some tea and toast to tide me over until later.”
“Of course I must worry over you. No one else does, and you most assuredly do not worry over yourself.”
She found it astonishing that this golden devil of a rake would be so bothered by whether she took luncheon.
“I am a woman of independent means,” she said. “I look after myself.”
“Woman, it is as plain as the nose upon my face that you do not look after yourself.” He offered her his arm. “Now, come with me, if you please. I have a new plan, one that doesn’t involve you venturing anywhere you might be spied.”
She wasn’t sure she liked the sound of that either.
Miranda narrowed her eyes at him. “What is your new plan?”
He sighed. “Oh, kitten. Cease looking at me as if I’ve just announced my intention to become a highwayman of old and go about robbing carriages and stealing family jewels.”
She bit her lip to keep a chuckle from escaping. He was so very expressive. And impossible. And endearing.
And, and, and. Her foolish heart could go on. It was steadily becoming far too fond of the Duke of Whitby. As was the rest of her.
“My name is not kitten,” she reminded him pointedly.
“If you had seen yourself curled against me in slumber, you would know how utterly appropriate the sobriquet is,” he insisted, apparently unmoved by her irritation.
He reached for her hand then, the connection of his skin on hers sending a jolt of awareness through her like a live electric spark. “Please,” he added, with meaningful emphasis. “Trust me, Miranda. Come with me.”
Tell him no, urged her inner voice of reason.
And she knew she ought to do so. Knew she would be better served returning to her bedroom as planned and throwing herself headlong into the planning of the next day’s cream ices. She wanted to impress the guests. The distraction would be welcome and, most of all, safe.
“Please,” he added softly. “You won’t regret it, I vow.”
Miranda nodded, relenting despite all her misgivings. “Very well, then.”
She allowed him to lead her down the hall, the persistent suspicion she would regret her capitulation despite his solemn promise dogging her with every step.
CHAPTER 13
Rhys drank in the sight of Miranda at the other end of the picnic blanket he had spread for them. They were in a small clearing that was rendered private by a copse of trees at their back, just far enough from the manor house that they needn’t fear being disturbed.
He didn’t recall ever feeling so bloody happy and content.
A rarity for him—content to simply be in her presence. To eat with her, talk with her, laugh with her. He hadn’t even done anything more forward than taking her hand in his earlier, and yet…that didn’t matter.
Because she had agreed to come with him, and he had learned more about her and her passion for cooking, her students, and her school. And there was something deliciously intoxicating about merely being in her presence. Having her here with him was enough.
When Miranda relaxed and all the starch leached from her capable form, the tension fleeing, her beauty was even more pronounced. He thought he could happily stare at her for hours, days, years, and never grow tired of watching, of discovering new details he had heretofore missed. The woman was a masterpiece. And he’d never in his life held the slightestinclination toward taking up paint and brush, but some maudlin part of him longed to capture her thus on canvas. To preserve her forever as she was, lips reddened from the wine he’d persuaded her to drink, sunshine glinting in her raven hair.
