“That is very helpful,” he finally managed. “The men were of an age—with me?”
“Oh yes, quite ancient.” She grinned. “A bit older than you, I think.”
An answering smile tugged at his mouth. "And at least one was an expert horseman. Do you think you could recognize either man?”
A considering light gleamed in her eyes as she pursed her ruby lips. No, not ruby as he’d first supposed. A juicy summer raspberry, all the more enticing, set off against a complexion of rich cream.
“No. Maybe. He had beady eyes and a hard voice.”
“What is a hard voice?”
She shook her head, as if unsure. Then she glanced his way. Her eyes widened, and she cleared her throat.
He jerked his gaze from her mouth.Good God. How long had he been staring at her mouth, for the love of the saints?
Sterling concentrated all his attention on his plate, on sliding a mound of fish onto his fork, and cursed the tell-tale heat coursing up his neck.
Chapter 5
He had been staring at her mouth.
She’d noticed, mortified, sure she had somehow wound up with a morsel of food on her chin.
But then he’d noticed her noticing, and the subsequent ruddy flush that splashed over his face, coupled with his near-panicky expression, told her he’d eyed her for another reason entirely.
Hedidthink her pretty. Or at the very least, he enjoyed the sight of her mouth. The knowledge made her almost giddy.
The maid, Nell, he’d called her, accompanied not by the odd Babette, but a man dressed in butler's attire, chose that inopportune moment to enter the dining room, cutting her triumph short.
The two set about clearing dishes, then offered after-dinner drinks and dessert. Milk chocolate pudding. She loved chocolate, though she knew better than to express such a gauche sentiment. Not to mention Mother always warned her of the dangers of eating excessive sweets. Bad for the waistline, shealways said. And the teeth. A pretty smile could accomplish much.
On the other hand, she also held that most men preferred a woman with some substance.Not all bone and no flesh,she’d murmured with a sniff when Annabelle lost too much weight for her liking.
Surely a small pot of chocolate couldn’t hurt?
Her host started to decline on both their behalves, the ungracious cur. At the last minute, however, he recanted.
“You know, scratch that. I rather fancy a sweet tonight. Please bring it in and then take yourselves off to bed. I can deliver the dirties to the kitchen.”
He’d served them dinner and now meant to clear the plates himself? Just so long as he did not expectherto wait on him.
The dessert arrived, filling the air with the rich scent of cocoa. Sighing with pleasure, she picked up her spoon and dipped it into the thick, still-steaming chocolate. She slipped a dollop into her mouth and nearly moaned. Dinner had been acceptable. Nothing to rave over. But this? She spooned up another bite.
She probably ought to ask about their departure tomorrow. She set her spoon aside and then contemplated the bowl. It was actually a tiny portion. She might as well finish it off.
Moments later, scraping the spoon along the dish’s edge, she chanced to glance his way—and found his amused, dark gaze fixed on her.
She set the cutlery aside with as much dignity as she could muster. “Lord Randall, as to our travel plans on the ‘morrow—”
“Yourtravel plans,” he corrected.
She considered the merits of challenging him, and decided against it—for now. He had just furnished her with chocolate, after all.
“What I wish to know is, at what time will the tide recede enough for us to cross back to the mainland tomorrow?” Shepicked up the spoon and slid it into her mouth, licking off the final remnant.Heavenly.
He leaned back in his chair, openly contemplating her. “The tides follow the usual semidiurnal pattern.” He paused as if he expected her not to understand.
Of course, she understood.
