“You wound me. Why is it hard to believe a man would find your charms appealing?” he asked.
“I am no silly miss who desires false sentiment. Speak plainly to me or not at all.” The intricate art of flirtation had never been her strong suit. With Langdon, she rather liked it.
“Be very cautious what you wish for,” Langdon said.
“Come now, you have told me multiple times that you value plain speaking above all else. Is it hard for you to believe I share the same sentiment?” Sitting next to him and enjoying a lighthearted conversation was pleasant. It was nice to have a friend she could talk to.
“It is not hard to believe at all. You’re a woman with much common sense, but you’re also a lady, and as such deserve a compliment whether you wish for one or not.” He reached across the table and clasped her wrist. “Smile and say thank you or I will be forced to hound you with compliments until you concede the battle.”
If she turned her head, she could kiss him. “I never concede.” Liar. She had conceded to her base needs at the first opportunity and had let him take her in a carriage. The flush burned a path up her neck. What a brazen hussy she had become. She chanced a glance at him and her heartbeat increased.
Cook entered with a tureen of soup, a blessed distraction. She placed her burden on the table, her eager eyes traveling from Elizabeth to Langdon.
He smiled at her. “It smells delicious.”
“Thank you, My Lord. I hope you enjoy it.” She ladled the artichoke soup into bowls sitting in front of them, curious eyes flitting from Elizabeth to Langdon. While it would shock most in her class, Cook and Gillman were more her family than her father. After dinner, she would have to field a hundred questions from the woman over a hot cup of tea. Her back to Langdon, she winked at Elizabeth, beaming with approval. “Mary will be in soon with the second course,” she said, moving to the door.
“Thank you, Cook.” Elizabeth was hard-pressed not to groan at the blatant matchmaking. First her father and now Cook. Each in their own way wished to play cupid. Neither knew the genuine reasons for their association; to catch the smugglers and their ringmaster, Randell.
Langdon dipped his spoon into the soup, his head cocked in her direction. “I believe we were in the middle of a very interesting conversation.”
“Really? I don’t recall,” she said, lifting her spoon and settling the soup on her tongue. The savory flavors made her mouth water. With the stress of the day, she’d eaten little.
“I do. You were about to concede the battle.” The heat in his gaze was telling. Tiny flecks of gold showed in his hazel irises.
“How is it possible to cede the battle when it was so poorly waged?” She cursed her need to challenge him. If she were smart, she would have ended the line of conversation. When it came to Langdon, her intelligence flew out the door.
With a lazy grin, he took a sip of claret and studied her for a long moment. “Your eyes are the color of a newly turned leaf in the first throes of spring.”
“That is very green.” When Nattering said something similar, it had sounded silly. From Langdon, it curled her toes in her kid slippers.
He nodded, his regard traveling to her lips. “Your mouth is as red as the heart of a rose, dew kissed by time.”
She ate more of her soup, allowing the activity to give her time to formulate her response. With each compliment, her heart had warmed to him and the place between her legs tingled with growing awareness. “Indeed, please continue, my lord, because I don’t feel the need to saythank youas of yet.”
“Your ears are shells washed up by a gentle tide.”
“Conch shells, or perhaps oyster?” she asked, tongue in cheek.
“Most definitely oyster.” His gentle laughter followed the comment.
Amusement turned her lips up. “I must remember to use a salve. Calling attention to such a flaw is not flattering,” she said.
His elbow on the table, he leaned in her direction, his sparkling stare holding her enthralled. “Then I shall focus on a more tantalizing area. Your breasts—if I recall—are as round and perfect as an apple, made to fit into a man’s hand and taste their sweetness on his—”
“Thank you,” she blurted out, embarrassment flamed her cheeks at his bold reminder. “You, my lord, are no gentleman.”
He clasped her hand in his larger one. Since he wore no gloves, the heat seeped into her lace ones. He lifted her hand and pressed his lips to the back of it. “I am indeed a gentleman, but I, like you, don’t like to concede.”
Elizabeth shook her head, her smile widening to a grin, belaying her mock outrage. She lifted her napkin and flicked it against his wrist. “I demand satisfaction for the insult. Perhaps you would be willing to duel over an apology?”
His laughter increased. “You mean pistols at dawn?”
“More like fencing after breakfast, although I must admit you will have the advantage of strength. It has been ages since I have had a competent opponent. Harold and I used to spar quite often. In addition to being my husband, he was also my childhood friend.” It wasn’t until he’d lost her dowry in foolish games of chance that their relationship had become strained.
“You should never expose your weakness to your opponent,” he said, head tilted, a curious spark at the mention of Harold.
“I don’t recall confessing to a weakness, but perhaps you’re hinting at one of your own?” Harold had been a good man, but he suffered from gambling fever. As his wife, she’d had little control over their financial future. A pity since she’d turned a stipend into a fortune and was now a very wealthy woman. Except for the pesky fact that she had to keep it a secret, especially from the man sitting across from her. “Don’t think because I am considered the weaker sex, I am any less worthy an opponent.”
