“Oh, yes,” she replied, then shot a glance at her governess.
Heathcliff refused to glance to her as well. He was saved from the temptation when Mrs. Keyes walked into the room, announcing that dinner was ready.
He sighed in relief before he could expose his true emotions. He hazarded a glance at Miss Miranda, noting that her lips twitched once more.
It was a good thing he wasn’t gambling; he’d have lost before he’d even been given a fair shot.
Not that gambling was ever fair.
He should know; he helped run the books at Temptations.
Of course, it wasn’t exactly unfair either. It was all about the odds.
And right now, he didn’t feel they were in his favor.
It was a disconcerting feeling, one he wasn’t familiar with and not comfortable experiencing.
He increased his pace toward the dining room, seeking a bit of escape.
“My lord, would you mind?” Miss Iris asked, a slightly irritated tone to her words.
He slowed, turning toward her. “My apologies.”
She nodded, then glanced behind her to Miss Miranda, then to him, raising a brow.
Dinner couldn’t begin and end soon enough.
After he led Miss Iris to her seat at the table, and then Miss Miranda, he took his own and motioned for the footmen to start serving.
When the clear chicken broth was served, he had the impish thought of pushing the limits of Miss Miranda’s current silence.
What could it hurt? The thought relieved some of the tension in his body, the idea that it was simply a game of dare thrilled him.
Damn it, even in her silence she was challenging.
Intriguing.
But surely a game of silence couldn’t be dangerous?
He played his imaginary hand, and purposefully ignored Miss Miranda and, as a result, Miss Iris.
The soup was finished and the second course served, the silence continuing. The footman must have sensed the tension and even set spoons in the dishes quietly, as if afraid to break the silence.
When the second course was finished and the dessert was served, he allowed himself a glance at Miss Miranda. She lifted a fork full of lemon tart to her mouth and took a delicate bite. Her pink lips were dabbed with a bit of whipped cream, and her tongue darted out to lick them clean.
Heathcliff swallowed.
Looking wasn’t his wisest action. Then again, he wasn’t exactly sure what he had done this evening had been of the wiser variety.
She met his gaze, pausing, then shifting her expression to one of daring. He expected her brow to arch in a silent question, but she simply waited, holding his gaze.
He leaned forward slightly, studying her.
A silent game of waiting for the other to fail and blink.
It would not be him.
“Miss Miranda?” Iris’s voice pierced through the fog of challenge.
