Page 94 of While You Were Spying

He stopped a passing footman and took two glasses of champagne, handing her one as they entered the supper room, where they were met with more congratulations. Francesca made valiant attempts to speak with each of their guests, but Ethan dragged her away. He was not in a mood to share.

Picking up a plate of Lady Brigham’s new china, he inventoried the table again, seeking Francesca’s favorites.

“Everyone must think we’re incredibly rude.” She gestured to Lady Ennerdale. The woman was standing with her mouth open, as a moment before Ethan had hauled Francesca from the elderly woman’s side in the middle of her felicitations speech.

“More likely, everyone will think we can’t wait to be alone together.” He gave her a lingering look. “Not far from the truth.”

“You shouldn’t speak so,” she scolded, following him down the length of the table toward the desserts.

He turned his attention from the feast for a moment, raised one of her imprisoned fingers to his lips, and murmured, “I do a lot of things I shouldn’t.”

She took a quick breath and her eyes darkened. He held her gaze a moment longer then began loading the plate with delicacies—strawberries, pineapple, sugarplums, and a slice of cake.

“Good Lord!” she said peering over his shoulder. “I hope you will help me eat some of that.” She was laughing. That at least was a good sign.

He tossed her a grin. “Don’t count on it. I’ll wager your mother didn’t let you eat anything all day.”

She shrugged, and he knew he was right.

“I thought so. No arguments. You’re to eat everything on this plate, including”—he added two of her favorite chocolate tarts—“these.”

He offered the heavily-burdened dish to her, but she didn’t take it. Her face had drained of color and she was clutching her hands together so tightly that the skin where her fingers pressed was stark white. Behind them, someone cleared his throat.

“I see you haven’t lost your taste for chocolate tarts.”

Twenty-four

Ethan stared at BenedictMalevent, the Earl of Roxbury. The earl offered a chilly smile.

“What are you doing here?” Francesca’s voice broke slightly on the last word, and she cleared her throat, putting her small white hand to her neck.

Roxbury took in her every agitated movement. Her former betrothed smiled, outwardly reassuring, but the expression, tight as the man’s posture, added no warmth to his ice-blue eyes.

“I was invited, of course,” Roxbury answered. “I thought you knew.” His tone seeped smugness. The man was obviously pleased that his presence had taken her by surprise.

“Oh.” Francesca scooted closer to Ethan, and though he angled his body to welcome her, he kept his stare on Roxbury.

---