Her cheeks puffed out in frustration. “I cannot say what I think.”
“Why?” he prodded.
Ellie’s gaze dropped. “Because there is an inner blockage in my chest, built on years and years of conditioning. I cannot be rude to anyone despite the very persuasive urge to call you some very choice names.”
“If you so desire, I may be able to help you break out of that box your stuffed shirt aunt and uncle has drummed into you,” he said, but then turned to the oven. “But only if you ask nicely.”
CHAPTER 4
“Ask nicely for you to turn me into what, exactly?” Ellie asked cagily.
She watched as he drew the pot out and rested it on the table, then retrieved the platter of potatoes. The fragrant smell of rosemary and garlic made her mouth water.
“A wicked girl, meant for wicked things,” he said, shifted, and smirked. “What else could there be?”
“No—” she gasped. “God no.”
“You want to be a trollop then?” he asked casually. “I can teach that too, only you would need some rouge, gauzy clothes, and some oils.”
Ellie felt stung, unsteady, and disoriented. How could he talk so easily about such scandalous things, in the presence of a lady, no less? “Please stop talking.”
Trying to do something normal, she looked around for the place settings; her skin felt rubbed raw at being forced to be civil with a man she wanted to wallop over the head. She had the platters on the white tablecloth, and the Delftwarecharger and plates were in premium condition.
She didn’t know exactly what to feel at the moment.
Dorian carried the food to the table and sat across from her, then produced a bottle of wine and poured out two glasses. Setting one before her, he waved to the helpings. “Help yourself.”
Ellie visibly hesitated while she looked at the food. Swirling his wine, Dorian let out a long-suffering sigh. “It is not poisoned, you know. You saw me make it.”
“I know.” She shook her head. “I am just… flummoxed that you made all this—” her expressive eyes flicked up “—and I wonder if I should be dining with my enemy.”
He cocked a boot onto his other knee. “Am I truly your enemy? I did save you from an unpalatable marriage after all.”
“Only to use me later on,” she countered quickly. “You saving me was only a means to an end.”
“And that end must have you alive and well,” he finished. “So, eat.”
He watched as she cut into the succulent bird and pried a piece onto her plate, dressed it with the roasted potatoes, and began eating. He waited until she daintily ate a portion before reaching over and ripping a leg away to bite into it directly.
She choked. Grabbing a serviette in the moment, she covered her mouth before finishing eating. “You have a plate in front of you. Must you eat like an animal?”
He slid a finger into his mouth and sucked. “Who is to judge me?”
“Me.”
“Your judgment means nothing to me,” he finished the leg and dropped the bone onto the plate. “I fear I have offended your sensibilities.”
“Repulsed, more like,” she murmured, her eyes falling to her own plate.
Reaching for a fork and knife, he cut into the meat. “Believe me, Evelina, until you have spent some time in the stews, you do not know what repulsion is.”
Her utensils clattered to the table, shock resounding on her face. “Stews? How can you be a lord of the ton and live in the stews?”
Tempering his smirk, Dorian pressed his wine to his lips. “The very same way I am not in the underground, but I want to be the king.”
She stared at him, “You are a veritable enigma.”
“I hope so,” he replied. “If I had been as transparent as some wanted me to be, I’d be long dead by now.”
