The chamber door opened again, and the maid entered with the tea tray this time. Hew smiled. “Tell me about your love of tea. When did you realize you—how shall we say it—had a discerning palate?”
“I’m sure there are other things you’d rather discuss. Thank you, Mary.”
The maid bobbed a curtsy and left the room, closing the door with a knowing smile on her face. Hew supposed he wasn’t being very clever, but he wasn’t feeling quite himself either. And perhaps that’s why he said the next thing that came into his head. “I don’t care what we discuss. I just don’t want you to leave.”
Chapter Twelve
How was she supposed to react to a statement like that? It was bad enough that she hadn’t stopped thinking about the kiss they’d shared the other night. The kiss...not only the kiss but also the way he’d touched her. It was humiliating to think that she couldn’t seem to block that moment from her thoughts when Arundel probably had no memory of it. How his teasing now stung. Was she supposed to find it amusing when he pretended to have an interest in her?
“Yes, I’m sure you are fascinated by a spinster who works in a tea shop. Good night, Mr. Arundel.” She started for the door then realized she’d left her tea. She went back and lifted her cup and teapot from the tray.
“Belle.”
Her head snapped up at Arundel’s use of her family’s pet name.
“I do want you to stay. If you’d rather not talk about tea, we could speak of something else.”
Belle opened her mouth to tell him not to call her Belle. She would have told him a half dozen other things as well, but then she looked into his eyes. They were such a pretty shade of blue and filled with what truly looked like sincerity. Was it possible he was not merely pretending to have an interest? It was dangerous to allow herself to hope. She had walled off that part of herself—the warm, soft part that wanted a man to look at her like she was the most important thing in the world. Like her scars didn’t matter. Like he couldn’t live without her.
Belle knew that would never happen. She’d been teased and humiliated too many times. And yet...
She was a flesh and blood woman, and Arundel was an attractive man. She’d liked his touch and his kiss. She wanted more. That was all the more reason to toss him a sarcastic rejoinder and be on her way. But how was she supposed to walk away from a man who looked at her the way Arundel was looking at her now? Men had looked at her with lust before. Men had looked at her with curiosity. But no man save her father had looked at her with the sort of warm affection she saw in Arundel’s gaze.
She would be sorry if she stayed. She knew it. She already liked him far too much, and the more time she spent with him the more she would come to like him. But she set down her tea anyway, pulled the chair Mr. Not-Smith had been using earlier closer to the bed, and sat.
“Fine. I’ll stay.” And then because she felt awkward, she lifted his teapot. “Shall I pour your chamomile?”
He made a face. “Do you really think I will like chamomile?”
She couldn’t stop the smile. “No, but it will be good for you.” She poured him a cup and handed it to him. He looked at the cup as though it were filled with scorpions. Belle poured her own tea and held the warm china in her hands. She could appreciate fine china almost as much as fine tea.
“Won’t you even try your tea?” Belle raised her brows.
“If I drink it, do I receive something more than broth to eat?”
“I didn’t think to ask.”
“Then he didn’t forbid it. I’m starving.”
That had to be a good sign, Belle thought. His fever had broken, and his appetite returned. “Start with the tea,” she said.
With a sigh that indicated he felt he was long-suffering, Arundel drank the tea. He did not sip. He drank about half the cup down.
“Well?” she asked.
“Tolerable. It needs toast. With beans. And perhaps some mushrooms and tomatoes.”
“And eggs and sausage—yes, I know what is served with breakfast. With the staff abed, you’re unlikely to have all of that. I’m sure I can make some toast, though.”
His eyes widened with interest. “Let’s make a foray to the kitchens.”
“Oh, no. You cannot go anywhere.”
“I’m fine. Whatever that quack did, he did well. I feel a thousand times better. I’m tired of lying about.”
“Yes, well, it wasn’t long ago that we arrived, and you fainted on the stairs. I’d rather not watch you tumble down a flight and break your neck. Lady Keating’s servants will not appreciate the extra chore of cleaning up your broken body.”
“Your concern overwhelms me. I won’t faint. In fact, it’s widely known that men never faint.”
