Dreaming of You (The Gamblers #2)(84)

Sara frowned, knowing how difficult it was to find employment in London. Many of the prostitutes she had talked to had once been maids dismissed by aristocratic employers. Cast out in the streets, they had no choice but to sell themselves. “I couldn’t dismiss anyone just because I’m not accustomed to being waited on,” she protested.

Derek was amused by her dilemma. “Then it seems we’ll have to keep the servants.” He gave her an encouraging smile, handing her a glass of wine. “You’ll have more time for your writing this way.”

“That’s true,” she said, brightening at the thought.

They consumed the supper at a leisurely pace, while the level of wine in the bottle dipped lower and the fire on the grate burned to hot red coals. Sara had never eaten such a delicious meal in her life: succulent lobster and quail meat baked in pastry, and chicken br**sts rolled in crumbly batter, fried in butter, and covered with a rich Madeira sauce. Derek kept urging her to try different morsels: a bite of potato soufflé dabbed with soured cream, a spoonful of liqueur-flavored jelly that dissolved on her tongue, a taste of salmon smothered in herbs. Finally replete, Sara collapsed in her chair and watched him as he left to stoke the fire. “Do you eat like this all the time?” she asked contentedly, dabbing her spoon in a delicate almond-flavored custard. “I don’t understand why you’re not fat. You should have a belly the size of the king’s.”

Derek laughed and returned to the table, pulling Sara into his lap as he sat down. “Thank God I don’t…or I wouldn’t be able to hold you like this.”

She curled against his hard chest and sipped from the wineglass he held to her lips. “How did you acquire such a talented chef?”

“I’d heard of Labarge’s reputation, and I wanted the best for my club. So I went to France to hire him.”

“Was it difficult to convince him to leave with you?”

Derek smiled reminiscently. “Almost impossible. The Labarges had worked for the family of a French count for generations. Labarge didn’t want to break tradition, not when his father and grandfather had been employed by the same family. But everyone has a price. I finally offered to pay him two thousand pounds a year. I also agreed to hire most of his kitchen staff.”

“Two thousand?” she repeated in amazement. “I’ve never heard of a chef being paid so much.”

“Don’t you think he’s worth it?”

“Well, I enjoy his dishes very much,” Sara said earnestly. “But I’m from the country. I wouldn’t know good French food from bad.”

Derek laughed at her artlessness. “What do people eat in the country?”

“Root vegetables, stews, mutton…I make a very good pepper pot.”

Slowly he stroked the rumbled cascade of her hair. “You’ll have to make it for me someday.”

“I don’t think Monsieur Labarge would allow it. He’s very possessive of his kitchen.”

Derek continued to play with her hair. “We’ll go to a cottage I have in Shropshire.” A smile crossed his face. “You’ll put on an apron and cook for me. I’ve never had a woman do that before.”

“That would be nice,” she said dreamily, lowering her head to his shoulder. But the mention of the cottage had awakened her interest. After a moment she looked up at him with a question in her eyes.

“What is it?” he asked.

She seemed to choose her words carefully. “Mr. Worthy once told me that you own a great deal of property. And everyone says you’ve made a fortune from the club. I’ve heard people claim that you’re one of the wealthiest men in England. I’ve just been wondering…” She hesitated, recalling Perry’s admonition that it wasn’t a woman’s place to ask about finances. “Oh, never mind.”

“What is it you want to know? How much I own?” Derek read the answer in her abashed expression, and he smiled wryly. “There isn’t a simple answer to that. As well as my personal holdings, there are estates, mansions, and tracts of land deeded to Craven’s in payment of gambling debts. Also a yacht, jewelry, artwork…even some Thoroughbreds. Those things aren’t strictly mine, since they belong to the club…”

“But the club belongs to you,” she finished.

“Exactly.”

Sara couldn’t resist probing further. “What do you count among your personal holdings?”

Derek had the grace to look slightly embarrassed. “Four estates…a terrace in London…a chateau in the Loire Valley—”

“A chateau? I thought you didn’t like France!”

“It came with excellent vineyards,” he said defensively, and resumed his list. “A castle at Bath—”

“A castle?” she repeated in bemusement.

He made a gesture as if it were nothing. “It’s in ruins. But there are wooded hills with deer, and streams full of fish—”

“I’m sure it’s very picturesque,” Sara said in a strangled voice. “You needn’t go on.”

His eyes narrowed on her. “Why do you look like that?”

Sara nearly choked on a mixture of laughter and dismay. “I’ve just begun to realize how wealthy you are. It’s rather frightening.”