“Some wine?” the man who’d shown them to their table inquired once Caleb had helped Mary take her seat and he’d lowered himself to the opposite chair.
“Do you prefer red or white?” Caleb asked Mary.
“Red, I should think.”
Caleb nodded his agreement. “One bottle of Ch?teau Lafite please, Mr. Jarvis.”
“Excellent choice, Your Grace.” Mr. Jarvis handed them each a crisp piece of parchment containing the menu and went to see about the wine.
“May I make a recommendation?” Caleb asked as soon as they were completely alone.
Mary looked up from the list of delicious foods. “Of course.”
“The lamb was excellent last week when I came to ensure that the standard was still as good as I remembered. For dessert, I suggest trying the profiteroles.”
“Are you fond of sweets yourself?” she asked, setting the menu aside.
He quirked his lips and deliberately held her gaze for an extended moment before quietly saying, “I am fond of you.”
Caleb appreciatedthe color rising in her cheeks, further accentuated by the candles which afforded her with a lovely pink glow.
“That is not what I was asking, Caleb.”
“I rather think it was,” he said. Her blush deepened as she timidly dropped her gaze. He loved flirting with her, making her lose her composure, and seeing her nerves reveal the profound effect he had on her.
Mr. Jarvis returned with the bottle they’d requested and filled their glasses. He then took their order of food before leaving them alone once more. It was hard to believe it was only a little after noon. The muted lighting seemed to trick the brain into thinking it was late in the evening, which was one of the things he’d always enjoyed when coming here. Not only did the place have excellent food and an atmosphere fit for seduction, it also allowed for the nonexistence of time since the hour was always the same here, morning, midday, or night.
Caleb picked up his glass and waited for Mary to do the same. “So what do you think so far?”
“You were right,” she said, clinking her glass against his. “Itisunlike anything I have ever experienced before. I love the mood.” She twisted in her seat and glanced about, the movement tightening the bodice of her gown in a way that would make any man lose his wits. “The element of respectability mixed with a splash of salaciousness invites a certain lapse in propriety.”
God help him. If she said anything more, he would have her against the wall and to hell with whoever happened to see them. He drank his wine, gulping down half his glass in a desperate attempt to control his baser needs.
“I’ll need to dig a foundation,” he said, latching onto the first non-sexual thought that entered his head, hoping it might cool his ardor.
She knit her brow. “I beg your pardon?”
“For the cottage,” he explained. “How big shall we make it?”
“You mentioned only one bedroom before, and that is sufficient for us don’t you think? If we ever have guests we can put them up in the manor.”
“But what of the children?” he asked her seriously, for it was quite possibly the most important question after asking her if she would be his wife.
“What do you mean?” She tilted her head and regarded him with a puzzled expression, as if he’d just told her he bathed in milk and wore gloves to bed. “We already agreed they would be in the manor as well.”
He smiled at her sweetly and slid his chair so it was perpendicular to hers. Taking a moment, he moved his plate and silverware, too, before leaning into her warmth and murmuring, “I was speaking of our children, Mary.” Running his knuckles down the length of her arm, he listened to the cadence of her breathing alerting him to her full awareness. “We will have at least five, I suspect, so that is a minimum of three bedchambers if we are to be comfortable. More, if you want each child to have his or her own.”
“I…er…”
Mr. Jarvis returned at that moment, saving her from having to respond to his pointed allusion to the passionate marriage he intended for them. Their plates were set before them and Mr. Jarvis excused himself once more. Caleb cut his lamb while Mary did the same.
“Would you like to have a small garden of your own?” he asked. “One separate from the estate’s?”
She chewed her food and washed it down with some wine before answering. “I do not know. It is not something I have even considered.”
“You took excellent care of the roses at Clearview, so I thought you might have an interest there.”
“I do love flowers,” she admitted. “And herbs are very useful.”
