Two members of his team entered the dining room just then, their arms laden with dishes, sparing Leopold from having to top Lady Amelia’s extraordinarily inappropriate comment.
Still blushing to the roots of her golden hair, she spooned a little of everything onto her plate and then unfolded her napkin and smoothed it onto her lap.
Right back to being a lady.
“Your cook is amazing. My mother’s friends in Mayfair would be fighting over her if they got a taste of these eggs.”
But then she met his stare from across the table. “Did you know her from before…?”
Before anyone ever thought of calling him King…
“She came with the estate.” More than one employee had remained when the previous owner moved out. “I didn’t mind keeping them on to help with my incoming shipments.”
“What comes in?” she dared to ask. “What is it exactly, that you… smuggle?”
Leopold was becoming quite accustomed to her questions. They came with the air of someone who was endlessly curious but not used to the luxury of being able to ask for information whenever they wanted, someone who was testing the bounds of a newfound freedom, like a baby bird leaping from a tree for the first time. It was oddly endearing, that burgeoning boldness.
“Silks. Artifacts. Lace. Spices.”
“Not tea?”
He snapped his head up. “Not tea. Never tea.”
“They don’t mind that your work is… illegal?”
“No one gets hurt, and I pay well,” he said. “That tends to erase any misgivings.”
“And you trust them?”
“For the most part.” Leopold glanced up from his food. “To a certain degree, I have no choice. But I’m always wary, because…” He circled his fork in the air. “People are, on the whole, selfish creatures.”
He’d believed she was like all the others. But was she?
Time to change the subject.
“Do you have enough yarn? For your crocheting?” The words didn’t feel as strange on his tongue as he’d expected. Which ought to serve as some sort of warning to himself.You’re losing your edge,a voice in his head taunted as he sat making meaningless conversation like a bloody gentleman.
To silence it, he picked up a sausage using his fingers and then tore a piece off with his teeth.
Her brows shot up but she didn’t comment.
“I imagine you think crocheting is a frivolous activity—that its only purpose is to keep ladies busy.” She shrugged, bringing his attention to her shoulders—delicate, but stronger than one would imagine.
He liked the gowns Mrs. Billings had selected for her, that they had reasonably sized sleeves rather than the monstrosities on the one he’d ruined.
He liked seeing her move freely.
Hell, she’d carried the weight of society’s expectations her entire life. No wonder she’d gone skipping across the grass now that she was finally free of it.
And, in all honesty, keeping her busy meant less distraction for him.
“It does, though, doesn’t it? Keep you busy that is?”
She frowned. “Yes, but it isn’t frivolous.”
“So you make what, scarves? Blankets?”
“Sometimes.” She hesitated. “But I really like making toys—stuffed little animals—to send to… foundling hospitals…” Her enthusiasm trailed off.
