To Diantha’s irritation, he did not look in the least like he had lain awake much of the night, as she had after he left her room. He must have pomaded his hair just before joining her, for no wave marred the smooth dark strands combed back from his forehead.
Without the necessity of conversing with him, her awareness of his appearance increased. She tried to focus on her plate, but could not resist a glance in his direction. His hands, although large, handled his knife precisely as he spread foie gras on a slice of bread. Memories of their caresses sent shivers over her skin.
Out of the corner of her eye, she watched him lift the tidbit to his mouth and heard the delicate crunch as his teeth bit into the thick crush. His tongue flicked out to lick a crumb off his upper lip. She swallowed, unable to look away.
She had noticed the firm mouth from their first introduction. Now, knowing the touch and taste of his lips, she found herself wondering if she would ever experience them again. No, she admitted asheat coiled deep within her. She wanted to feel them again, to kiss that full lower lip with its miniscule cleft echoing the one in his chin.
A soft chuckle interrupted her reverie. To her utter mortification, she realized she was staring at him. His eyes darkened and a smug smile played across the mouth she had just admired.
Furious at her weakness, she dropped her gaze to her own plate. Only when the footmen presented the fruit course did she recall the matter of the morning’s correspondence.
She broached the subject as she neatly quartered a fig with her knife and fork. “Some letters arrived this morning from persons I am unfamiliar with, your lordship. If you would be so kind as to go through them and tell me if you recognize them, I could then dispose of those trying to encroach.”
“How would anyone know our direction?” His brows furrowed in confusion.
“Did you not read the newspaper articles announcing our presence at this house?” She cleared her throat. “I fear my mother provides information on my family’s whereabouts on a regular basis.”
“Good God! I trust I am not going to spend the rest of my life reading accounts of my comings and goings in the newspapers.” He gave her an accusatory glare. She clenched her hands around the silverware, reminding herself to keep her temper.
“Indeed, I share your hope. Such intrusions are monstrous!” The words came out more vehemently than she expected. She took a breath to calm herself. “However, the immediate task is to be sure we do not inadvertently snub your friends.”
“Very well.” He snapped out the words before finishing an apricot. She took a breath. One more unpleasant subject remained for her to bring up.
“Will you be dining at home this evening?” She kept her gaze on the table.
“I shouldn’t think so.” He answered carelessly. “I’ve been invited to dine at the Jockey Club by an old acquaintance, and then we shall probably go look in on the Opera.”
Her fingers spasmed in her lap. The ornate new home of the Paris Opéra had been under construction since 1862. Interrupted by France’s ill-considered war with Prussia in 1870 and the resulting uprising in Paris, it had only opened this year. Having gawked in fascination at the construction site during her previous stay in the city, it vexed Diantha to no end that her husband would see the finished building first. Very likely he would pay attention only to the dancers in thecorps de ballet, while she sat at home alone.
Her teeth gritted in an effort not to turn into a screaming virago. “If you are finished, perhaps we might adjourn to the morning room now.”
There, they quickly dealt with the last of the correspondence. To her surprise, he did not leave immediately. Idly, he plucked a note out of the desk.
She tensed, hating the way he picked up her letters. “That is from a friend of mine.”
Her anger must have shown on her face, for he put it back with an embarrassed cough. “Forgive me.”
“I plan to answer my own friends first.” Still fuming, Diantha tucked the letter farther back inside the desk. She raised the drop-leaf front and challenged him with a look to open it.
He merely lifted an eyebrow. “As you wish, my dear.” With a mocking bow, he turned to go.
“Kieran.” He paused at the door. “I would appreciate it if you would apprise me of your evening plans earlier in the day. I have already ordered dinner for two, which I shall now have to cancel.”
He turned on his heel, brows drawn together. “Trying to keep tabs on me? As I said before, I will not be spied on.”
She struggled for words. “I have never heard anything so ridiculous in my life! I only desire to make our stay in this house as easy as possible. Surely you could announce your plans before you disappear for the morning.” She disregarded the fact that she had spent the morning hiding from him.
“No, madam, I cannot tell you my plans in the morning, because I am not accustomed to deciding where or how—or with whom—I am spending my evening until much later in the day.” He drew near to her during his speech, but she stood her ground.
“You weren’t married before.” As soon as the words left her mouth, Kieran stiffened. She braced herself for whatever he might say next.
“True, I wasn’t.” He considered her speculatively. “I could send my excuses to my friends, under one condition.”
“Which is?” She could smell the faint scent of sandalwood soap emanating from his body, he was so close.
“I will dine with you this evening if you in turn will resume our physical relationship.”
She drew back as though slapped. “Certainly not! I will not be coerced!”
