The dining room was everything my bedroom had been and more. Candlelight glittering on cut glass, the gleam of polished silver and the place settings at the head of the table commanding all the attention. It was clear that dinner was to be an intimate affair between the two of us.
My gaze traveled to the man who stood behind the chair.
The man... that was not the same one from the garden.
This one was taller, broader, with the same bearing of a soldier, but marked differently. And he had a pale scar that cut diagonally across his cheek, just enough to lend danger to his smile. His expression warmed the moment his gaze landed on me.
"Miss Kruger," he said, his voice rich, confident, and utterly assured. Taking my hand before I could think to do or say anything in response, he bowed over it and pressed his lips lightly against my knuckles. "Welcome to my home."
My stomach flipped.Your home?I wanted to blurt. Instead, I managed a shaky smile, though my thoughts thundered so loud it felt like a stampede of elephants were running through my mind.
If this was my fiancé, then who was...
The tall stranger in front of me was already drawing me toward the table, pulling out a chair with easy grace. "It's lovely to finally make your acquaintance, Miss Kruger. CaptainLeighton Smythe, at your service," he said, as if he were not pulling the rug right from under my feet.
My knees nearly buckled as I took my seat. If this were the real Captain Smythe... then who had kissed me by the pond?
Staff swept in, efficient and silent, setting steaming dishes along the table. Leighton turned to me with polite interest as though we had been acquainted for years. "Your journey must have been long. I do hope Sinclair saw to your comfort?"
I folded my hands in my lap to keep them from trembling. "He did, thank you. The room is... more than I could have imagined."
"Good," he said, flashing that devastating smile, scar and all. "I mean for you to be at ease here. This house will be yours as much as it is mine."
I murmured something in reply, though my tongue felt clumsy and clunky. Small talk followed, words I barely heard or kept up with. My mind kept replaying the stolen kiss in the garden. The brush of lips, the warmth of the stranger's nearness.
While my fiancé sat before me, handsome as sin, talking to me. Welcoming me into what would beourhome.
I tried not to let my turmoiled thoughts show, but even though we were barely known to one another, something in my bearing must have tipped Leighton off. "I had hoped to meet you when you arrived," he said after a prolonged silence. "I'm sorry that I was called away to tend to business."
Did he think that is what my stiltedness was about? Before I could say anything in response though, he kept talking.
"Though I've been told you had a chance to explore a little of the house before dinner. I hope it has not disappointed you."
My spoon faltered against the porcelain. My pulse tripped at his words.
Explore.
The word struck too close. For a breathless instant, I was certain he knew. That he had seen me by the pond, lips parted in a kiss that should have never happened.
A kiss that I still felt against my lips.
My throat tightened. I managed a careful smile, lowering my gaze to the soup. "It's... quite magnificent. Far more than I'm used to."
"Good," he said, seeming pleased. "I would not have you feel like you're missing anything here."
My nerves hummed. I dared not look too long at him, lest he read the guilt on my face. Yet the urge to understand him, to know more, pressed at my chest.
Why had he not told me of all this? This grand house, the wealth, the refinement? His letters had spoken little of such things.
"I... admit," I began softly, toying with my spoon, "I was surprised, Captain. When we spoke... well, nothing we spoke of prepared me..." I gestured faintly at the glittering room, the gilded mirrors, the sweep of servants moving silently around them. "This."
His lips quirked, not quite a smile. He set down his own spoon and leaned back, studying me with something like amusement, or perhaps curiosity. "My station does not define me, Miss Kruger. And if I'm being honest, I'd rather have made a suitable match without all of this being an incentive."
I guess in a way, that made sense. It would also explain why he hadn't picked from what I was sure were a plethora of suitable brides from within Cape Town's high society.
"I'd also hoped to make a match that would... suit me. Me and my..." He paused, and cleared his throat and then looked at me with a look so heated it took my breath away.
My pulse raced at the way his eyes lingered on me, steady and intent. I wanted to ask more, to press him to complete his thought, but the words tangled with another question entirely.
