Stranger in My Arms(20)

Disconcerted by the teasing glint in his eyes, Lara twined her fingers in a knot. “If you would care to retire, I’ll have a supper tray sent up to your room.” “You’re suggesting I go to bed early and alone?”

His short grin both mocked and flirted with her. “I was hoping for a better offer than that. I believe I’ll go to the library and write some letters.”

“Shall I send your supper there?”

He shook his head briefly. “I’m not hungry.”

“But you must eat something,” she protested.

He regarded her with a smile that caused an odd, sweet flutter in her stomach. “It seems you’re determined to feed me. All right, we’ll have supper in the family parlor upstairs.”

Thinking of the cozy area located so near to his bedroom, Lara hesitated and shook her head. “I would prefer the dining hall down here.”

He scowled at the notion. “I would lose my appetite. I’ve seen what Janet did to the room.”

Lara smiled ruefully. “An Egyptian motif is the latest craze, I’m told.”

“Sphimes and crocodiles,” he muttered. “Serpents carved in the legs of the table. I thought the main hall was bad enough. I want everything restored to the way it was when I left. It’s a damned strange homecoining when I can’t recognize half the rooms here.

Turkish tents, Chinese dragons, sphimes… It’s a nightmare.”

Lara couldn’t help laughing at his aggravated expression. “I thought so too,” she confessed. “When I saw what they were doing to the house, I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry… Oh, and your mother had a dreadful fit! She actually refused to set foot here again.”

“I suppose that’s one argument for keeping the place as it is,” he said dryly.

Lara held her fingers to her mouth, but her merriment seeped out, the sound echoing against the marble walls.

Hunter grinned and took her hand before she had time to react.

Clasping it lightly, he rubbed his thumb in her palm. “Come upstairs and have supper with me.”

“I’m not hungry.”

His hand tightened over hers. “You need to eat more than I do. I’d forgotten how tiny you are.”

“I’m not tiny,” she protested, tugging at her hand in the vain attempt to retrieve it.

“I could fit you in my pocket.” He drew her a step closer, smiling at her discomfiture. “Come upstairs.

You’re not afraid to be alone with me, are you?”

“Of course not.”

“You think I’ll try to kiss you again. Is that it?”

Lara glanced around the entrance hall, afraid they would be overheard by a passing servant. “I don’t care to discuss-” “I won’t kiss you,” he said gravely. “I won’t touch you. Now say yes.”

“Hunter-” “Say it.” A spurt of annoyed laughter escaped her. “All right, if it is so terribly important that we share a meal together.”

“Terribly,” he said softly, his teeth flashing in a triumphant smile.

[despite the changes Lord and Lady Arthur had made, they had kept the cook, for which Lara was grateful. The cook, Mrs. Rouille had been in the employ of the Hawksworths for more than a decade.

Using French and Italian techniques, she prepared foods with a finesse that rivaled the best chefs in London.

Lara had become accustomed to the simple meals she had eaten in her cottage, or the pepper pots brought by a cook maid who had occasionally come from the village. It was a delight to sit down to a meal prepared at Hawksworth Hall once more. In honor of Hunter’s homecoming, Mrs. Rouille had prepared his favorite meal: spit-roasted partridge garnished with lemon, accompanied by creamed eggplant, boiled artichokes, and a steamed macaroni pudding covered with butter and shaved cheese.

“Oh, how I’ve missed this!” Lara could not help from exclaiming as the first course was brought to the table in the private parlor. She inhaled the heady aroma of fine cuisine and sighed. “I must confess, the greatest hardship was having to do without Mrs. Rouille’s cooking.”

Hunter smiled, his face bathed in golden candle light. It should have softened his countenance, but no trick of light or shadow could blunt the hard, elegant edges of his cheekbones or the insistent jut of his jaw. It disconcerted her to see her husband’s face this way, so familiar and yet so altered.

Lara wondered if she had ever looked at him this closely, for this long, when they were married. She couldn’t seem to avoid his gaze, so intense and restlessly searching’, as if he were trying to learn every secret turn of her thoughts.

“I should have brought you some of the shipboard fare from my voyage home,” Hunter remarked’.

“Salted dried meat, dried peas, and grog. Not to mention tough cheese and sour beer, and an occasional helping of weevils.”

“Weevils!” Lara exclaimed in horror.

“They infested the hardtack.” He laughed at her expression. “We learned to be grateful after a while. they carved perforations in the biscuit, which made it easier to break apart.”

Lara made a face. “I don’t want to hear about the weevils. You’re going to spoil my supper.”

“I’m sorry.” He attempted to look contrite, reminding her of the mischievous boys at the orphanage. “We’ll change the subject, then.”