Salmon followed the soup. “Caught here in the river on the estate,” he said. “My chef makes an excellent sauce.”
She tasted it. “The sauce is superb.”
“Laura…”
She looked up. “Yes?”
“I’m sorry for bringing you here. Profoundly sorry. I hope you believe me.”
Laura put down her knife and fork. “I don’t regret it, Brendan. You came into my life at a time when I was at my wit’s end. I shall go back to that life, a little stronger, after I’ve been able to view my situation from a distance.”
“Am I to believe that? Or do you wish me to feel better?”
“It’s true. I have come to terms with reality.”
He frowned. “And what might that be?”
“I shall spend the rest of my life at Longworth.”
He thumped the table, causing the cruet set to fall over. “Nonsense. You must marry. Many men would want you for their wife.” His reaction was not because he thought her wrong, but because he was urging her to marry while selfish enough not to want to see her with any other man.
Laura calmly restored the silver cruet set. “I don’t wish to marry someone I don’t care for, just to have a roof over my head.”
Brendan huffed out a humorless laugh. “So you plan to sink uncomplainingly into spinsterhood?”
“I would have liked to be a mother. But it isn’t as bad as all that. I have my horse, my cat, the garden, and my books.”
That wasifRobert hung on to Longworth. Brendan had never felt so helpless. If only…but no, he must not think of it. The life she spoke of was better than an existence with a man who could lose his mind and turn violent at any moment. What if he hurt her? And what if they had children? He would never leave a child alone in the world, as he had been.
But what Laura saw as her future was wrong. There would be a very good reason why she hadn’t married. It wasn’t just her beauty or her kindness and gentle nature, which made her special. It was her courage and determination to overcome anything life threw at her. She would make a success of marriage, but he hoped she would marry a man who appreciated her.
After the dessert course, a fragrant delicate syllabub, Brendan rose from the table. “Shall we have coffee in the drawing room? Or go directly to the billiard room?”
“Let’s begin the game,” she said. “I enjoy it and haven’t played for some time.”
He drew back her chair. While engrossed in the game, he might keep control of these rampaging emotions and send her safely to her bedchamber when it was over. Alone.
They entered the billiard room. He came in here sometimes to play. The dark-paneled room was a man’s domain with its leather sofas and emerald-green, velvet curtains at the windows. His favorite spirits were on a tray. Before the fine green baize table, they chalked their wooden cue sticks. Laura chose the yellow ball, and he chose the white.
He glanced at her. “Shall we agree on fifty points to win the game?”
When she assented, he stepped back to allow her to take a shot to see who broke first. Laura bent over the table, giving him an enticing view of her creamy bosom in the low-cut gown. Unfair! He tamped down a groan as she focused and hit her cue ball. It ran the length of the table, hit the cushion, then rolled back toward her and settled six inches from the baulk cushion.
“Well done.” Brendan’s attempt to get his mind off Laura failed. Her perfume, the pleasing shape of her slender body in the clinging gown, was a distraction. He struck the white ball, which fell short by a foot.
“I get to break, sir.” Laura smiled impishly.
He raised an eyebrow and adopted a stern expression. “You are remarkably confident, Miss Peyton.”
“Ha! And you don’t think I should be?”
“Why don’t you show me?” He grinned as he placed the red ball and his cue ball into position.
Laura worked the angle, then shifted to take her shot. Her ball struck the red and rolled against the cushion. “Oh, bother.”
“Bad luck.”
His cue ball struck the yellow before rolling into a pocket. “Darn,” he muttered, then he retrieved it. A shot he would make nine times out of ten, not that miserable effort.
