He deserved the chilly reception. Hell, he might be angrier at himself than she was.
You’re one stupid bastard.Devil take it, why had he lashed out at her? She’d only wanted to help Freddy. He sliced the beef with a vicious stroke, letting out some of his pent-up frustration, the helplessness of not being able to aid his own son.
Sylvia had consulted quack after quack in search for the cure. He’d stood by as physicians peddled their diagnoses like tinkers with a barrow of second-rate goods. Some termed Freddy’s falling sickness a “mental defect”; others cautioned against the contagiousness of the condition—ridiculous when no one around Freddy had developed a similar affliction. When one leech had gone so far as to declare the illness “the work of dark spirits,” Gabriel had finally intervened and ejected the charlatan from his property.
He supposed he’d developed a prejudice against the medical profession. As physicians went, he could find no fault with Abernathy, who seemed learned and had more common sense than most. But Gabriel had no intention of subjecting Freddy to further indignities. The cycle of hope and disappointment was too much for a child to bear. Or even an adult.
He must be kept away from others.Sylvia’s decision had been weighted with finality. For his own good and for ours.
He fought back a sudden, unexamined swell ofemotion. He told himself that Sylvia had wanted what was best—for all of them. Her well-bred nature made it difficult to acknowledge imperfections, and when they couldn’t be fixed, she avoided them or swept them under the carpet.
Out of sight, out of mind.Closed doors and brief, scheduled visits with one’s child. That philosophy had worked well for her.
Guilt gnawed at him. He had no cause to think ill of Sylvia, who’d only wanted peace and harmony, a civilized existence for all of them. His grip tightening on his fork, he blamed his reaction on stress. After all, a murderous spy was on the loose—one who was most likely a former associate of Gabriel’s, a treacherous double agent. His son had nearly been kidnapped and suffered another falling spell. And the woman who starred in his nightly fantasies, whose delicate sensuality had been driving him madfor months, was acting as if he didn’t exist.
A man could only take so much. He couldn’t have Thea for a lover, but he found the idea of them being enemies repugnant. Clearing his throat, he fished for an opening.
“Er, how do you find the asparagus, Miss Kent?” he said.
Her head turned slightly in his direction. Her hair had been simply and elegantly dressed, the chandelier’s glow burnishing her honey brown curls. A pair of tortoiseshell combs held those luxuriant tresses in place, and, for an instant, he allowed himself to imagine plucking out those impediments and feeling the silken weight sliding over his palms.
That’s a husband’s privilege, you bastard—one you’ll never know.
Her brows raised. “You care to have my opinion, my lord?”
He winced. He deserved that.
“You must know I do,” he muttered. “If I have given you reason to doubt that, then I must ask your forgiveness.”
She said nothing, lifting a bite-sized chunk of asparagus to her mouth. The green spear slid smoothly between her coral lips, releasing another debauched image: of her on her knees, taking him that way. Of her eyes, sultry gold, looking up at him as her mouth sweetly received his throbbing length…
A shudder travelled through him. He reached for his wine glass.
She finished chewing. “The truth is, I find it rather hard to swallow.”
He choked on his beverage. “Er, I beg your pardon?”
“I don’t like to waste time and effort on something that ought to be simple,” she said calmly. “Food, like company, ought to be easy and comforting rather than a challenge to enjoy.”
Touché. Unfortunately, he was still preoccupied by the outrageously erotic notion of her swallowing what he yearned to give her. Of her willingly submitting to one of his favorite pleasures.God’s teeth.His napkin tented in his lap; if he got any more aroused, he’d be butting the underside of the table.
“Is something wrong with the asparagus?” Looking puzzled, the duchess sampled some from her plate.
“Don’t worry, darling. It tastes fine to me. Then again,” Strathaven said, “there’s no accounting for a person’s appetite. Or lack thereof.”
The duke flicked an amused glance between Gabriel and Miss Kent.
At leastsomeonewas enjoying himself, Gabriel thought irritably.
“Take Tremont, for instance,” his host went on. “He’s abstemious by nature.”
“Perhaps he just doesn’t like asparagus.” Turning to him, Her Grace said, “Would you care for a different vegetable? I’m sure Cook could whip something up.”
“Thank you, Duchess, but I like asparagus,” he said quietly. “I like it very much indeed.”
Thea’s thick gold-tipped lashes lifted. She cast a pointed glance at his plate. “If that is the case, then why have you left it untouched?”
Because my demands would scare you witless. I want to chain you to my bed, have my way with you day and night. And I want you to love it.
