Page 17 of Beauty and the Lyon
And of course, Ben would follow suit.
A bouncy young girl with a bright smile brought a tray with their beverages, sparing Rosilee from having to retort to that sour reply. She paused when the duke accepted the tea and pushed the ale her way.
“Is something wrong?” he asked. “You said you were fine with what I ordered.”
“The ale was for me?”
He shrugged. “You look like the sort of woman who chugs them down by the barrel.”
This man! “Is that a compliment or insult?”
His green eyes flashed. “It’s whatever you want it to be.”
Hah! She took a sip of her ale, studying him over the rim of her tankard. There was something about him... his eyes perhaps? They looked so familiar that her heart pinched every time their gazes locked.
But they couldn’t really be familiar. She’d never met the man before. It must just be a trick of the brain. Yes, it must be that.
Her gaze dropped to the tiny cup in his big hands. “And you? You prefer tea over ale? That is rather surprising.”
“I don’t enjoy the effect of drink.”
He didn’t enjoy observing people, and he didn’t enjoy ale.
She had never encountered a man like him before.
A sudden gust flowed through the dining room, and Rosilee lifted her gaze to the doors, where a large silhouette appeared, looming.
No . . .
Surely not!
Baston?
What washedoing here? Had he discovered that she’d left her home? She darted beneath the table, narrowly avoiding knocking over her chair. If she weren’t so panicked, she’d have laughed at the expression of utter confusion on the duke’s face as she went under.
Sorry, but I can’t let him see me!
“Quick!” she hissed. “The blanket on the back of your chair—drape it over your lap!” Rosilee squeezed herself into the narrow space, making herself as small as possible, though his long legs made it almost impossible.
His low voice followed, “What the blazes are you doing?”
“Just do it!” Anything that might provide additional coverage.
The man breathed out a soft curse but did as he was told. The moment the blanket covered his legs, she edged closer, snatching up a part of the fabric to cover herself as she tucked herself between the duke and the wall. Her legs slipped beneath his, the brush of contact sending a flutter of pulses down her spine.
A hiss left his mouth. “Do you mind telling me what the devil is going on?”
“We have a bit of a problem,” she hissed back.
“I can feel that.”
Rosilee shut her eyes.
It couldn’t be helped.
Drat that Baston! Why did he have to show up now of all times? What if he had seen her? Would it result in pistols drawn? Would she be able to escape in the chaos if that occurred? She burrowed deeper into her spot that served as a shelter between her and her foe. Amidst the conversations and clinking spoons and knives that cloaked her sanctuary, her senses strained for the faintest sound of any villainous footsteps drawing near.
There were.
