It occurred to him, then, she thought his thanks owed to the meal. For some perverse reason, he let her error stand.
She began serving him, doling out cold roast chicken, sliced cheese, and pickled vegetables onto his plate before seeing to her own needs. He watched in silence, trying to detect anything familiar about her movements, her manner towards him. Nothing came. He took a large swallow of wine. The rich, smooth finish struck him in an instant.
Setting his glass on the white tablecloth, he asked, “You say you purchased this villa with your own money?” He picked up his cutlery and waited for her to do the same before slicing up a bite.
“Yes.” The way she said it, the tilt of her head and slight dimpling, told him she was rather pleased with herself, too.Charming.
“You seemed disgruntled earlier when I assumed your parents funded the purchase of our villa and your lifestyle during my absence, which, I’m beginning to understand, is quietly lavish.”
She’d forked up a bite of something and now her hand hovered in the air, as her mouth formed a perfectO. She looked for all the world like a miscreant who’d just been caught pilfering the cookie jar.
“From where does your money spring? You’re not an inveterate gambler, I hope?”
She set her fork aside, laughing, the sound soft and tinkling like agarden fountain. He found himself smiling in return as he stabbed his fork into a bite of cheese.
Ducking her head, she replied, her voice almost shy. “It’s a secret, known only to a select few.”
She had his full attention now. “Even from me? I say, that’s not really done, is it? A wife keeping secrets from her husband?”
Her lips were parted, slightly, as if she couldn’t quite decide how to respond. She had a very fine mouth. Plump lips, the upper slightly more so than the lower, and boasting a slight upward tilt he found rather enticing. Despite her nonrevealing bodice and spectacles and forthright, in-charge manner, she had a feminine softness about her that appealed to him very much.
He propped his elbow on the table, resting his chin in hand, and leaning closer to get a better look.
Roses. She smelled of roses. Come to think of it, he’d noticed that in the carriage in his near delirium. He’d dreamt of a rose garden, he was almost sure. He wondered if she bathed in rose water. He wouldn’t put it past his little wife with her unapologetic taste for the finer things in life.
A sudden image of her, chestnut curls piled atop her head, her body, naked and shapely, stepping into a steaming tub, its surface littered with rose petals, filled his mind. His loins tightened in an instant, and in the next, an odd jolt ofwrongnessfor lack of a better word, shafted through him.What the devil?
He sat back and picked up his wine to take another long drink.
“Is something wrong?” Concern etched every syllable.
Annoyance pricked him at her too-keen watchfulness. He’d had about enough of that. He sent her a warning scowl, which she appeared to ignore.
“I am fine. Listen,George,” he watched her for a reaction at the shortening of her name—and got one on his first try.
She looked utterly bemused. Evidently, he did not refer to her assuch. He logged the observation and went on. “I hope you do not intend to hover over me like some hired nursemaid. I am perfectly well. I amnotan invalid. I simply have temporarily lost my memories. Do I make myself clear?”
Throughout his lecture, her posture stiffened, tempting him to regret his harsh tone, though he chose not to. He would not accept mollycoddling. He was not a weakling.
“Quite clear.” In a deliberate fashion, she removed her spectacles, folded them, and set them aside, like a man preparing to issue a challenge. Then she faced him.
Good God. If she meant to mesmerize him, she was off to a fine start. She regarded him stonily, through wide-set eyes, fringed with thick, black, curling lashes. Her irises were the color of molten silver, rimmed with a charcoal so dark it could be black.
Unblinking, she spoke, articulating each word. “I would like to make something clear, as well.”
“Do you even need those things?” He gestured toward the wire-framed glasses.
She blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“Just now, you took those off to look me in the eyes, as if the spectacles themselves got in your way of doing so.”
She looked undeniably flustered. “They do help, especially at night, with correspondence and such, primarily.”
“But you don’t really need them, do you? Then why wear them?”
Her lips firmed. “We are straying from the point, my lord.”
“Oh. Pardon me,” he said with blatant sarcasm, lounging back in his chair. He was having fun, he realized, teasing her. He could not remember the last time he’d enjoyed himself.
