Suddenly You(37)

As she had come to discover about him, Jack Devlin was fond of provoking and teasing her as long as she had all her defenses up. When she revealed the least hint of vulnerability, however, he became surprisingly kind. “You’re a woman of property, fair of face, with abundant wit and a good reputation…why in God’s name would any man refuse you?”

Amanda searched his face for signs of mockery, but there was only an alert interest that disconcerted her. “I am hardly some siren who is able to lure anyone she chooses,” she said with forced lightness. “I assure you, sir, there are indeed some men capable of refusing me.”

“They’re not worth having, then.”

“Oh, naturally,” Amanda replied with an awkward laugh, trying to dispel the disturbing sense of intimacy that blossomed in the air. She allowed him to seat her at the pretty mahogany table, set with green-and-gold Sevres china, and a silver cutlery with mother-of-pearl handles. A green glass butter dish adorned with elaborate pierced silverwork reposed between their plates. The cover of the butter dish was topped with a whimsical silver handle molded in the shape of a cow. Despite Amanda’s preference for elegant simplicity, she had not been able to resist acquiring it when she had seen it at a London shop.

Devlin sat across from her with an air of comfortable familiarity. He seemed to relish being here, about to have supper at her table. Amanda was perplexed by his open enjoyment. A man like Jack Devlin would be welcome at many tables…why did he prefer hers?

“I wonder if you’re here because of a desire for my company or a liking for my cook’s talents,” she mused aloud. The cook, Violet, was only in her twenties, but she had a way of preparing hearty, ordinary food that made it exceptional. She had acquired her skills by working as an assistant to the cook in a large aristocratic household, making extensive notes on herbs and seasonings, and writing down hundreds of recipes in an ever-expanding notebook.

Devlin gave Amanda the slow smile that never failed to dazzle, a wry unfolding of humor and warmth. “Your cook’s talents are considerable,” he acknowledged. “But your company would season a crust of bread to make it fit for a king.”

“I can’t fathom that you find me so enjoyable,” she said tartly, trying to stem the rush of pleasure that his words brought. “I do nothing to flatter or please you. In fact, I can’t think of a single conversation we’ve ever had that hasn’t resulted in some dispute.”

“I like to argue,” he said easily. “My Irish heritage.”

Amanda was instantly fascinated by the rare reference to his past. “Did your mother have a temper?”

“Volcanic,” he murmured, then appeared to laugh at some long-held memory. “She was a woman of passionate beliefs and emotions…for her, nothing was half measure.”

“She would have been pleased by your success.”

“I doubt it,” Devlin said, the amusement dispersing to a quiet flicker in his eyes. “Ma didn’t know how to read. She wouldn’t have known what to make of a son who turned out to be a publisher. Being a God-fearing Catholic, she disapproved of entertainment other than Bible stories or hymns. The materials I publish would probably have inspired her to come after me with an iron fry pan.”

“And your father?” she couldn’t help asking. “Is he pleased that you’ve become a publisher?”

Devlin gave her a long, measuring stare before answering in a cool, rather contemplative tone. “We don’t speak. I never knew my father, except as some distant figure who sent me to school after my mother died, and paid the tuition.”

Amanda was aware that they were treading on the edge of a past filled with pain and bitter memories. She wondered how much he would trust her, and if she should persist in questioning him. It was a fascinating thought, that she might have the power to entice confidences from this self-possessed man that other people could not. Why should she even dare to think that she could? Well, his presence here tonight was proof of something. He did like her company—he wanted something from her—though she couldn’t decide precisely what that might be.

Surely he wasn’t here merely because of sexual interest, unless he was so desperate for a challenge that he had suddenly found sharp-tongued old maids to his taste.

Her footman, Charles, came to serve them, deftly setting covered glass and silver dishes before them. He assisted them in filling their plates with succulent beef and buttered vegetables, and poured wine and water into their glasses.

Amanda waited until the servant had left before she spoke. “Mr. Devlin, you have repeatedly avoided my questions about your meeting with Madam Bradshaw, and put me off with mockery and evasion. However, it is only fair, in light of my hospitality, that you finally explain what was said between you and her, and why she engineered that ridiculous meeting on the evening of my birthday. I warn you, not one morsel of apricot jam pudding will be set on your plate until you do.”

His eyes gleamed with sudden enjoyment. “You’re a cruel woman, to use my sweet tooth against me.”

“Tell me,” she said inexorably.

He took his time, leisurely sampling a bite of the roast beef and downing it with a swallow of red wine. “Mrs. Bradshaw did not believe you would be satisfied with a man of lesser intelligence than your own. She claimed that her only available men were too callow and dull-witted to suit you.”