Page 74 of Every Rake Has A Silver Lining

The door swung open, and he stumbled forward into her. “Hello.”

Using both hands, she pushed him away. “Ugh! Have you been drinking? You can’t even remain upright.”

“Of course not. It’s only been twenty minutes. I’m as sober as—well, I would say Aunt Kitty, but she’s been known to enjoy her sherry. I simply pressed my ear to the door to listen for your dulcet tones of joy upon my return. I didn’t expect you to be so eager to see me that you would fling the door open quite so forcefully.”

She rewarded him with a bone-chilling glower.

“The food has arrived.” She pointed to plates of steaming food on the table.

“Excellent. I’m starving.”

He held out a chair, and she took a seat, giving him the side-eye. He leaned down, keeping his lips a hair’s breadth from her neck. “Worried I’ll yank the chair out from under you?”

She grunted. “I wouldn’t put it past you.”

They ate in relative silence—well, other than Charlotte complaining the chicken was overcooked and the vegetables were dry.

He swallowed a bite of crusty bread, which, in his opinion, was delicious. “Are you always so critical? I thought you reserved your umbrage for me alone.”

“No. For you especially.”

He chuckled. “Ah. That makes me feel so much better.”

With vigor, she tore off a chunk of bread, then waved it at him. “Do you find everything amusing? It’s most annoying.”

“What would you have me do? This is our meal. Complaining about it won’t make me enjoy it more.” He laid his fork down. “Try to find one thing about it that you like. One thing, Charlotte.”

She stared at her plate, her mouth pursed in thought.

He liked her lips. Very much.

“Well,” she said. “This bread is tolerable. And the butter is creamy.”

Creamy. Like a magnet, his gaze pulled to the exposed skin above her nightrail. Her hair had been brushed and braided for bed, draped lazily over her shoulder, the dark end resting on her left breast. He’d like to be the end of that braid.

“What are you staring at?”

His mind jerked back to reality. “Was I staring?”

She adjusted her nightrail, checking the little ribbon that tied it together at the neck.

He wanted to tug on it and let it fall loose, then he would . . .

“You’re staring again.”

“Can I help it if I have such a desirable wife?” Used on any other woman, his words might have paved a swift path to the bed. But Charlotte? He braced himself for a scathing retort.

She blinked, appearing nonplussed, but quickly recovered. “Empty words.” She poked at the tiny remaining piece of chicken, her gaze fastened to it as if it might regrow its feathers and flap away. “Have they proved effective in the past?” Had she developed the ability to read minds?

Best to keep that bit of information to himself. He wasn’t as daft as she believed. “At the moment, I’m only concerned about their effect on you.”

“None.” She pushed the plate away and rose. “I’m going to retire.”

Energy pulsed through him as she strolled toward the bed.

Her hips swayed, the nightrail swishing against her legs.

He pushed away from the table with such force the chair screeched in protest. With speed he didn’t know he possessed, he set the plates outside the door, then locked it, double-checking the bolt. “I’ll join you.”

---