All the courses, it seemed, were to be served at once.
“I refuse to waste their time,” he explained, apparently reading her thoughts. “Requiring my people to run in and out of here all night doesn’t make sense when they have paying guests to attend to.”
“But some of the dishes will get cold.” Amelia voiced the concern automatically. At his frown, she wished the words back.
Aside from a few cursory words, Mr. Beckworth hadn’t spoken to her since earlier that morning—not since he’d had tocut her out of her stays, and then locate new clothes for her to wear. That kind of inconvenience was the sort of thing that would irritate her father.
She unfolded her napkin and carefully placed it on her lap but refrained from taking any food for herself. At home, Amelia and her mother waited for her father to begin eating first. He was the head of their family and rarely allowed them to forget it.
“Is this not to your liking?” Mr. Beckworth asked, the tankard hovering at his mouth.
“Oh!” She rose slightly. With no maids present, he must be waiting for her to dish the portions out for him. It was what her father would expect…
But when she went to take his plate, he grasped her wrist.
“You needn’t serve me,” he said.
Amelia pointedly stared at his hand. His much darker skin made hers look as white as snow. His thumb, which covered her pulse, slowly stroked it. After a few beats of silence, she was free.
She couldn’t look at his face.
“Sit,” he ordered, and she immediately obeyed.
All of this was so new! Away from her parents and their expectations, she was… more than a little lost. The backs of her eyes stung.
“I’m quite… out of my element,” she admitted, not looking at him as she blinked the moisture away. “I am… unfamiliar.” Which was putting it mildly.
“Ah…” He leaned back in his chair and his feet scuttled into hers. When she tucked hers further under her chair, he sat up again, narrowing his eyes.
It wasn’t the first time she’d caught him watching her like this, as though she was an exotic animal he’d read about but never seen up close.
“I’m not complaining…” Held against her will, she had every right to protest. And yet, ever since he’d tossed those breechesinto the carriage, he’d ensured she had everything she might possibly need. “It’s just that… All of this… I’m not entirely sure what is expected of me.”
His eyes bore right into her. “That’s something that’s important to you, meeting the expectations of others.” It wasn’t really a question.
“Of course.”
“Why?”
Amelia frowned. “Well, because… One is expected to.” Even as the words left her mouth, she realized the absurdity of her answer. “We all must live by some kind of rules. Rules ensure order. They keep us civil.”
Before she even finished, he was already laughing. Amelia felt herself blushing, embarrassed despite herself. Really, she ought not to care what he thought of her at all, beyond preserving her own safety while she was forced to share his company; he was a criminal, and she should be glad to never see him again once this was all over.
“Civility is overrated,” he answered. “And order is only an illusion.”
He scooped and forked large piles of various offerings onto his plate. Amelia allowed herself a spoonful of beans and three small pieces of chicken.
Out of habit, of course. Ladies were moderate in all things.
One of the servants returned, and they both fell silent while the woman poured two tall glasses of wine, one for each of them.
“Leave the bottle,” Mr. Beckworth ordered, not unkindly.
By the time they were alone again, Amelia had rolled his words around in her mind. Every single aspect of society evolved around rules. She might have resumed the argument, but his knees bumped up against hers, sending her thoughts in a thousand different directions.
This time, rather than flinch from the inappropriate contact, Amelia… allowed it. Was he doing it intentionally? Did he even know he was doing it?
He gestured toward the stew and slice of bread. “Don’t mind me, have as much as you wish. You could use some more flesh on your bones.”
