This unexpected, powerful desire for her was a gift. He might not be able to offer her his heart—he had nothing, less than nothing, to give—but honest, unfettered desire was, in Luke’s view, a far better substitute.
She wiped her plate clean with a crust of bread and gave a satisfied sigh. “Thank you, Lord Ripton, that was delicious.”
“Luke,” he reminded her.
The landlord, beaming, removed the dishes and replaced them with a bowl of walnuts, a plate containing two kinds of cheese, and a dish of quince paste. He also brought the bottle of homemade brandy and two more glasses.
Luke poured himself a glass of the brandy and, when she nodded, a half glass for her. The landlord left them alone. Luke sipped the drink and cracked open walnuts for her, and Isabella made little morsels with a slice of cheese, topped with quince paste or walnuts.
The rain had died down, but wind whistled around the eaves. The fire in its small iron box threw out a surprising amount of heat. They were warm, replete, and relaxed.
Next step: the seduction of his wife. He stared at her mouth, slick with hot, spicy liqueur.
She passed Luke a slice of hard cheese topped with half a walnut. “When we go to England, will we go straight to your home in the country?”
He forced himself to concentrate on conversation. It, too, could seduce. “London, first. I have a house on Grosvenor Square. You’ll need new clothes, from the skin out. An orgy of shopping. You’ll enjoy that.” He shouldn’t have used the word “orgy.”
She gave him a doubtful glance. “Mmm. Will Molly be there?” She nibbled on a slice of sheep’s cheese topped with quince paste.
He watched her eat it. Salt-sweet, soft, and addictive. He swallowed, then realized she’d stopped chewing and was looking at him with an expectant air.
“Eh? What was that again?”
“Molly,” she prompted. “Will she be in London, too?”
“Yes, finally.” He found himself telling her about how Molly had had quite a lonely time of it while their mother was in mourning and Luke was away at school, and how, while Luke and his friends were away at the war, Molly had written to them all—cheerful, funny, affectionate letters that lifted their spirits.
“You’re very fond of her, I think.”
“Of course, she’s my sister.”
She glanced away, suddenly silent, and he knew she was thinking of her own sister. Dammit. It wasn’t the same thing at all.
“Molly’s my baby sister,” he told her, trying to gloss over the awkward silence. “I am less close to my older sisters. They’re both quite bossy. Thankfully, they have husbands and families they direct most of their energies toward.”
“You said at the convent that Molly is to make her come-out soon.”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“And is there to be a ball?” A tiny jewel of quince paste quivered at the corner of her mouth.
Luke stared at it hungrily. “Of course, on her birthday, April 4th. She and my mother have been planning it for months.”
“It’s not very long till April 4th. You might not get back to England in time.” Her tongue slipped out and swept the quince paste away.
Luke answered without thinking. “No danger of that. I promised her faithfully—” He broke off. “There is plenty of time,” he finished stiffly.
But the damage was done.
“That’s your very important engagement, isn’t it?” she said quietly. “Your sister’s ball.” Her eyes glittered.
He knew it was too late, but he found himself saying, “It’s one of several important engagements, but yes, I promised her when she was just a little girl that I’d be there to dance at her first ball. I don’t break promises if I can possibly help it.”
“And a dance with your sister is more important than the safety of mine.” She folded her napkin deliberately and rose. He moved to pull her chair back for her, but she raised her hands and recoiled as if to repel him. Her eyes were burning. “Good night, Lord Ripton,” she said coolly and swept from the room.
Damn, damn, damn!
Luke poured himself another glass of liqueur. There was no point going after her. Luke knew when a woman was so angry, soft words would not smooth over the situation. Especially since he had no intention of backing down.
