Page 22 of Plucked By the Orc

“Condition?” Was that a flash of panic in his dark eyes? She couldn’t imagine she stirred in him the same sensations as he did in her. Did she?

“Orcan food,” she said. “And ale and all that. I want to experience how you sup in the Hidden Realm. Cuisine of your choosing.”

“Chef Laurent has a most troubling time trying to replicate our meals,” Duncan said. “Besides that, I don’t know if they are palatable to humans. Are you sure you wish to sample them?”

“Please, your grace.”

He drew in a swift breath. “If this pleases you, Miss Gabbert, I shall make the necessary arrangements for a proper meal in the Orcan style, and I will tell you whatever you wish to know about the Hidden Realm. I suppose you’re right. It could be useful for your continuing instruction.”

“And who knows? Someday, I may want to write a book about you and your lot.”

“Not about flowers? Weren’t they a ‘mite more cooperative’ than people? Or even orcs, I gather.”

“You remember what I said! And here now, I was thinkin’ you didn’t even remember my name that day.”

“I remember, indeed. You see, in my world, we have a tradition regarding flowers. When a woman marries, her husband bestows her with the name of a flower. To celebrate her beauty. But in your case, you need no husband to do so. Your parents were wise enough to grant you a name equal to your lovely appearance. Most suitable.”

“Now, I like the sound of all that,” she said softly.

She wanted to hear more, but Duncan suddenly busied himself with fussing over his cravat. She didn’t know how a blush might appear on an Orcan chap, but then again, he wouldn’t as much as look at her.

“I shall talk to Chef Laurent. Perhaps dining together is a sensible idea, after all.”

“And you’ll converse with me like a real person? Iris Gabbert, that is. Not the lady you’re trying to change me into.”

The comment made him smile again. Maybe he’d finally developed a taste for it.

“You are clearly your own woman, Miss Gabbert,” he told her. “I’m only changing a few details on the outside.”

Chapter Eight

“Orcan meals are far simpler affairs than those of the English,” Duncan told her as he sat across from her the following evening. Duncan’s massive head cleared a vase of pansies set out for their meal. Several of the maplewood table’s leaves were removed so they wouldn’t need to shout at one another. And Duncan’s breadth took up nearly twice the space she imagined a human gent might occupy.

She caught herself wondering how large a bed a gentleman like Duncan Higgins must require. A warm blush stained her cheeks.

To take her mind off such notions, Iris looked around. She had herself a good look at the formal dining chamber on her first day in Duncan’s townhouse, but she’d never had the pleasure of dining here before, preferring to eat in the breakfast room or the servants’ hall while Clemons and Mrs. Thompson bustled about. It was less lonely than eating in her room.

This evening, she admired the matching chairs and the tapestry on the wall, embellished with the same coat of armson his notebook: a chevron with solemn wolves on their haunches.The sturdy, masculine look of the space was softened by the pansies and the flickering candlelight from a silver candelabra. To the side of her place setting, a menu had been handwritten for her on delicate parchment as though she were an honored guest.

Iris sat straight as she could manage, a task made easier with the quilted corset bound around her abdomen. Thankfully, Mrs. Thompson hadn’t pulled the ribbons too tight when she’d helped her dress, but Lord, was it a bother.

She touched the tiny amethyst at the base of her throat, still tucked underneath the fabric of her bodice. Memories of her mother and father in better times arose, the three of them sitting down together for a hearty meal at a proper table. But she kept those recollections to herself. She feared sharing them might somehow diminish their magic.

But she thought Mum must have been in heaven smiling at the sight of her daughter, hair done up in a high chignon, and wearing an evening gown a deep shade of imperial blue with a lace hem and puffed sleeves. This was another dress borrowed from Mrs. Thompson’s daughter’s stash. Iris only wished she had one of her namesake flowers to tuck behind her ear to compliment the look.

“Do you provide everyone with this preview of their meals in the Hidden Realm?” Iris said, tapping the menu lightly.

“Err … no.” Duncan toyed with one of the three sterling silver forks next to his plate. “Best if we stick to human etiquette even as we sample Orcan dishes. It will be good practice.”

“I never thought anyone needed to see a menu when the platters of food are right before them.” She eyed the silverware placed on either side of her plate. Iris had grown accustomed to making do with a spoon and perhaps a two-tined fork were she lucky, but thetonkept an assortment of silverware to boggle themind. “No more than we need three forks and a pair of spoons to eat.”

“You favor the simple and the pure. In that respect, you have the heart of an orc.”

“High praise indeed,” she said. “Coming from the likes of you.”

He didn’t meet her eyes but fretted over the linen folded neatly over his large porcelain plate and matching bowl, rimmed with severe chevrons rather than an intricate pattern of primroses or bluebells as she might expect on a lady’s dinnerware.

“Let’s get on with it then,” Iris told him.

---