Page 107 of Aurelia

She took a sip and grimaced, but then took another before setting down her glass. Her forehead furrowed at the food Roland had set out for them, all of it expertly prepared by his kitchen at Crewe Castle. When she looked up again, he saw disbelief in her wide hazel eyes. “Walter had all this here?”

“He had it here today,” Roland said dryly.

“You sent this over.”

“Yes,” he said. “May I fix you a plate?”

She stared, as if she could see the contents of Roland’s mind if she looked long enough. He could have told her that such mind-reading took years of experience with the opposite sex. But she was certainly welcome to try out her skills on him. In fact, if Roland had his way—and he usually did—his mind would be the only one she ever became adept at reading.

“I will take that as a yes,” he said, loading a plate with grapes, three little finger sandwiches that looked to be watercress, cucumber, and finely sliced ham, one of the cheese and salmon pastries his cook was famous for, and a cream cake with spun sugar swirls so delicate he didn’t understand how they’d not broken in transit.

She took the plate without speaking.

“Would you like some tea? Or I have wine”—he gestured to the bottle he’d opened while she’d been changing. “And there is a keg of homebrew from the Laughing Hen.”

She seemed to be experiencing some sort of internal struggle and Roland waited, curious, to see how it would resolve.

***

“I will have some wine, please,” Aurelia finally said.

I must be mad to request a beverage that will only scramble my already scrambled wits.

You just want an excuse to be bad, a wryly amused voice accused. If your wits are scrambled by wine then your decisions are not really your own, are they?

The earl’s voice cut into her musing. “This is cozy, is it not?” He lowered himself onto the settee beside her, his long body too big for Walter’s modestly sized furniture.

She ignored his question and asked, “How long do you think this storm will last?”

They both looked out the room’s only window, which was currently being lashed with wind and rain, the sky having gone a dark slate gray.

“It might blow over in an hour. Or we might be stranded here overnight.” He picked up one of the decadent-looking cream cakes and took a bite, rolling his eyes ceilingward in exaggerated ecstasy. “These are delicious. You really must try one.”

“I will eat my meal, first.”

He wiped the cream and sugar from his full lower lip with the pad of one finger and then sucked it clean.

Aurelia felt faint.

He chuckled. “You look so disapproving, Miss Burton, as if I were a naughty schoolboy in need of discipline.”

She snorted at the improbable image.

“There, that is better. Although I have developed a soft spot for that stern scowl of yours.”

She ignored his comment and asked, “Do you seriously think this storm might last into the night?”

“It has been known to happen.” He popped the rest of his cake into his mouth and chewed, clearly unbothered by the thought of an overnight stay on this tiny island. Together.

“If I spend the night here with you—alone—people will talk, my lord.”

“People always talk. That is one of life’s tedious constants, Miss Burton. And the subjects they enjoy talking about most of all are those people who lead interesting lives. So, you tell me, would you rather lead a dull, boring life whose only reward was gossip, or a vibrant, sensually rich life and tolerate a bit of envious carping?”

“Those of us who are not lord of all we survey must pay heed to all that envious carping,” she retorted.

He laughed. “I like that: lord of all I survey.” He smiled, his eyelid drooping. “Especially considering who I am surveying right now. Am I your lord, Miss Burton?”

Aurelia pursed her lips, refusing to look away from his piercing gaze.