She took another, and upon gauging Lord Stratford’s reaction, took a third. When he nodded in approval, she breathed a sigh of relief. Butthreetarts! How would she ever choke them all down?
As she picked around them, enjoying the sausage, the coddled eggs, and the lovely lemon cake, Colin leaned down and whispered, “Here. He’s not looking. Break off a big piece of one and place it inyour serviette.”
With her eyes carefully trained on Lord Stratford, who was deep in conversation with Ashton, Anne broke off a chunk of one tart and quickly placed it on the cloth in her lap. When Stratford turned back, his eyes lit. “I see you’ve tried one. My compliments to your cook, Daughter. These are delicious.” He took a bite of one of the four tarts on his plate.
Each time someone engaged Stratford, Anne broke off another piece and placed it in her lap. Soon her serviette was overflowing with pieces of gooseberry tart.
Colin leaned down again. “Now, mine.” He pointed to his own lap.
Oh, goodness. Could she really reach downthere? Her face flamed. When Stratford began arguing with Burwood over something extraordinarily silly, she broke off a larger chunk of the last tart. Her hand shook as she tucked her hand under the tablecloth and moved toward Colin’s lap.
Her gaze still focused on Stratford lest he catch her in her duplicity, she became a little too eager to divest herself of the offending piece of pastry, and she brushed against Colin a little too roughly.
Colin’s hand caught her wrist. “Easy, Anne. Let’s save some things for tonight.” He removed the piece of tart from her hand. “Next time, simply hand it to me.”
Several covert—and less embarrassing—attempts later, only one-half of a tart taunted Anne from her plate.
Lord Stratford had devoured all four of his. He snapped his fingers at a footman. “Bring the viscountess the plate of tarts.”
Anne failed to withhold a moan.
Across the table from her, Bea spoke up. “Anne isn’t the only viscountess here, and I have yet to try one of those. Surely, you don’t mind, do you, Lady Manning?”
“Not at all.”
Bea—bless her—took the two remaining tarts, and Anne vowed to corner her later and promise her anything in thanks.
Lord Montgomery frowned at his wife. “I thought you didn’t like gooseberries?”
Bea took a bite of one of the tarts, then scrunched up her nose. “You are quite right, Laurence. But Stratford has spoken so highly of them, I thought perhaps I’d been mistaken.”
“Well, if you’re not going to eat that second one?—”
Before Stratford could finish what Anne presumed would be a request to either give it to her or him, Bea took a bite from the last tart.
“What are you doing?” Stratford glared at Bea.
“I wondered if the other would be different. Experimentation, dear Stratford.” She winked at Anne.
Lord Montgomery let out a laugh, and Anne wanted to hug Bea.
Regardless, she felt a little guilty deceiving her new father-in-law, so she waited until he looked her way and then took a bite from the remaining half tart. No offense to Honoria’s cook, because everything else was delicious, but Anne forced a smile as she chewed and tried to distract herself from the taste.
At least Stratford appeared pleased, but Anne worried she might have to face gooseberry concoctions any time she and Colin called upon his parents.
With breakfast over, Colin motioned to a footman, whispered something, and the man nodded, a sly grin spreading across the footman’s face.
“Leave your serviette on the chair,” Colin whispered as he rose.
Finally free from the torturous tarts, Anne slipped the pastry-laden linen onto her seat.
Taking Colin’s arm, she gave it a squeeze. “Thank you.”
“For what? My arm or the tarts?”
“Both, I suppose, but mostly the tarts.”
The deep, rumbling chuckle once again reverberated against her skin and sent gooseflesh rising.
