Haven turned to leave, hoping to make it up the stairs without tripping on her dress. She’d made it to the first step of the ornate staircase, but escape was out of reach.
“Haven, dear, where are you going? Dinner is waiting.” Millie grabbed her elbow, effectively nixing her escape.
She looked down and recalled from all the Regency romance novels she’d read that she couldn’t wear her daywear to dinner.
“But I’m not dressed right,” she stammered, praying to God she could escape to her room so she could put her emotions back in a neat little line.
“You’ve been plopped into our time, bashed on the head, starved, and badgered, I believe you are entitled to wear whatever you want to dinner.” Millie cast a look at Logan who’d just emerged from his study. His expression was impassive, but his body tense. A muscle worked in his jaw.
He nodded.
“I agree.” His gaze roved over her, lingering for a moment on her exposed bosom. “You look fine.” She’d been in the business long enough to know when a man was issuing a double entendre.Heat rushed over her skin. The air warmed, and her bodice tightened as if her breasts swelled.
Holy hell, this man is a piece of work.
“Thanks.”
The duke bowed stiffly and led the way to a set of doors she assumed opened into the dining room.
“This way, dear.” Placing her hand on Haven’s back, Millie escorted her into a large ornately decorated room. The ceilings were high and framed with scrolling dark wood, and the white plaster was painted with an elaborate banquet scene complete with cornucopias, overflowing wine goblets, reclining people, and more food than any person could eat. The crystal chandelier hung low, and was lit with dozens of candles, shining brightly and invitingly.
Millie led her to the seat on the right of the head of the dining table, next to the duke. Set for three, the long table looked ridiculously empty.
How in the hell did one sit in a high-backed chair in a dress with so many goddamn layers?
Once the duke sat, he signaled for the footman to serve. The food from the afternoon still sat on the tray in her room, so she hoped to God whatever they put in front of her would be edible—by twenty-first century standards, anyway.
She inhaled a savory scent seconds before a footman placed a shallow bowl of steaming water in front of her. From the smell of it, it was soup, but from the look of it, it would lack in the taste department.
She couldn’t be rude, so she picked up the spoon, which she hoped was the correct spoon, and dipped it into the liquid. The tepid broth was as weak as it looked, and it tasted like celery and cabbage. Despite the lack of flavor, she devoured every drop, hoping her stomach wouldn’t revolt against the onslaught.
Once they’d emptied the bowls, footmen magically appeared to remove them, replacing them with plates of food straight out of a magazine. It looked too beautiful to touch, but more importantly, she had no idea what any of it was.
Tired of being the culinary clueless, she inquired, “It looks delicious, but what is it?” Two sets of puzzled expressions turned her way. “I’ve never seen this before.”
Please, Lord, not mutton.
The duke cleared his throat. “Duck and leeks in brown gravy. It’s one of my aunt’s favorites.”
“Oh.” Having devoured hours upon hours ofThe Food Network, she knew duck and chicken were similar. Duck she could handle. Leeks? Maybe.
The duck? Delicious. Leeks? Interesting. She would’ve preferred roasted potatoes and corn on the cob, but she couldn’t be picky when they didn’t even have to feed her in the first place.
Dinner was stilted and quiet, the silence broken only by clanking silverware.
After the footman cleared the third dish, he sat down a small bowl of pudding. It looked scrumptious, and just the thing to satiate the nagging craving for something wicked she’d been fighting off since the confrontation in the duke’s study. Trembling at the memory of heat, awareness, and discomfort, she picked up her spoon. The pudding was the consistency of whipped cream and tasted of vanilla and lemons.
Yum.
Millie and the duke ate with delight. Licking her spoon clean, Haven nearly gasped at the duke’s piercing gaze as her tongue made short work of the cream. Warming to the roots of her hair, she put the utensil down and willed her breathing to slow. For someone who shook their ass in front of hundreds of men a night, she was annoyingly self-conscious.
The uncomfortable warmth spread when she glanced over to Millie. Millie’s sharp eyes missed nothing. Rising from her chair the old minx exclaimed, “Come dear, we will leave Logan to his port while we adjourn to the parlor for some tea and conversation. There is much I would like to ask you.”
She rose from her seat and followed Millie from the room.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Haven took a seat beside Millie on a plush looking settee and tried to adjust her dress without popping the seams. Fighting the urge to readjust her boobs confined within the frustrating frock, she grimaced.
