“I can be patient if I think I might win.”
I couldn’t be mad at the smidgeon of condescension in his tone. Wycliffwaswinning. He continued to prove he’d be gentle in everything.
The truth. I should tell him of what had happened after Adam had died, about Madame Talease. I’d written to her for proof about what Mrs. Johnson had said, proof of what I did remember. Madame’s words on paper were what I needed to tell Wycliff everything.
He helped me into a seat then clapped his hands. Servers in icy-gray mantles, bearing shiny silver trays, came into the room.
As if they were timed to a minuet, one unveiled a plate of roasted oysters in their shells. Another, a fish grilled in herbs. A final dish, a platter of beefsteaks with onions caramelized on top, scented the air.
Crispy rolls that smelled of creamy butter and rich yeast were set in front of me.
“Ruth, I heard you were an excellent cook with choice ingredients.”
I smiled, but I stared at the bread. The crusty golden goodness called me.
A last silver dome lifted, uncovering sliced tomatoes and potatoes.
All hearty dishes with such flavor.
The anticipation made my mouth water, especially the rolls.
“Is this good, Ruth?”
His voice broke the trance of the heavenly fragrance of the fresh-baked bread. I lifted my gaze to him. “Yes, it is.”
I allowed my eyes to fully notice Wycliff, to admire the sheer masculine beauty of the man.
Trimmed beard.
Well-muscled in his dark tailcoat, his crisp white shirt and cravat. His collar reached high on his neck, high like the dandies wore, but he wasn’t enslaved to fashion. Everything seemed normal and in place.
I was glad that I’d worn long sleeves, an evening gown of indigo with ebony embroidery about my waist and hem. I looked a match to his style.
My hope was that I pleased him, for he pleased me.
“Your study looks no different.”
“Is that a problem? It’s very much how the last Baron of Wycliff kept it. The fool, Cousin Nickie, didn’t tamper with it.”
That name burned my insides, but I wouldn’t let him steal this moment. “I like this room, the desk, the settee, the odd marble statue on the desk. Is that woman trying to get away from that marble soldier?”
“Yes. Not the most romantic image, but her shape is quite fine. Your shape is quite fine, too.”
“You know your planned seduction is not winning. You’re not upset?”
He sat across from me and twiddled his thumbs against his napkin. “Is it called seduction if you are legally my wife? I’m curious.”
“I’m not your wife.”
“But you are considering it?”
I dipped my chin and studied my empty plate. “Of course I am.”
“I’m not the diligent barrister. I might fight injustice during the day, but I’ll be home fighting for my family, you and Christopher.”
“That still does not explain all of your teasing and romantic gestures.”
“Can’t a man be romantic?”
