The ormolu clock on the mantel chimed a whimsical tune, announcing the midnight hour. As if on cue, a rapping sounded on the door. Odette went to open it, and Andrew came in.
He looked as out of place in the peach and gold chamber as a lion prowling through a pet shop. He removed his hat, setting it down, his eyes smoldering in his godly face. Her heartbeat thundering in her ears, Rosie barely registered the maid’s discreet exit.
Andrew came to her, his arms enfolding her, his mouth descending with crushing force.
She kissed him back with all the pent-up longing inside her.
When the kiss ended, he rasped, “Now there’s a greeting for a man. Miss me, sunshine?”
Since her hands were fisted around the lapels of his greatcoat, she thought his might be a rhetorical question. She smoothed the thick wool back in place. “Perhaps a little.”
“Well, I couldn’t wait to see to you.” He took her hands one by one, brushing his lips over her knuckles. “How ravishing you look.”
Feeling unaccountably shy, she ducked her head. “Thank you for arranging to have your guards work tonight. A clandestine meeting would have been difficult had Papa’s men been on duty.”
“Kent’s men might not be on duty, but I doubt we’re pulling the wool over his eyes.”
“Pardon?” she gasped.
Andrew’s head canted. “Sweetheart, your father is a fine investigator. Your mama is known for her cleverness. I wouldn’t be surprised if they knew I was here.”
“Oh, no!” She panicked like a thief caught in the act. “What will we do? Should you go—”
“Primrose.” His big hands framed her face. “Calm yourself.”
“Calm? How can I be calm? It’s one thing for Mama and Papa tosuspectthat we’re lovers, but for them to actuallyknowthat you’re here… ” Hearing herself, she knew the distinction was ridiculous, yet she’d worked herself up into a state. Then another disastrous thought struck her. “Dear God, do you think Mr. McLeod and Mr. Lugo know as well?”
Andrew stared at her—and burst out laughing.
“What on earth is amusing?” she cried.
“You, love.” Still smiling, he kissed her on the nose. “Some sophisticated widow you are. You so convincingly stated the case for your independence and living on your own that I forgot what an innocent you are.”
“I’m not innocent. You took care of that—remember?” she said tartly.
“Every night, sweetheart. Every night.” His wicked grin dissolved her pique.
Still, she bemoaned, “Just because I’m independent doesn’t mean I want my parents knowing about our affair. What if they disapprove—”
“They know about us,” he said, “and they’re not standing in the way. Why do you think they allowed you to move into this house?”
She blinked as the truth sunk in. “You mean they approve… of us…?”
“Approvemight be overstating the case,” he said dryly. “I’d say they accept the circumstances for the time being and trust that I will keep you safe.” He studied her. “Does their approval mean that much to you, then?”
“I want them to be proud of me,” she said in a small voice.
The admission made her feel vulnerable, like the innocent he’d said she was, and sudden fear swirled in her. Andrew was a worldly and experienced man. What if he found her naiveté unappealing, what if he tired of her, wanted a more sophisticated lover—
“Your parents are proud of you. They love you.” The tenderness in his brown eyes stemmed the flow of her anxiety. He kissed her forehead. “Now I hate to be rude, but I’m famished. Could we continue our conversation over supper?”
Feeling reassured, she nodded.
At the table, he seated her and then himself. He served them both from the covered dishes on the cart: partridge pie with a golden crust, sturgeon cooked with parsley and lemon, and a ragu of veal flavored with truffles.
“That’s too much for me,” she protested when he set the plate in front of her.
“Eat what you want to,” he said.
