Page 42 of Her Wicked Duke
She smiled tightly. “Yes. Quite.”
“And why did you not mention her to me?” Elizabeth asked.
Alexander was annoyed at her exposing him before everyone. Anne tried to ignore the slight sting that came with knowing that Alexander may have left her out of the conversation he and his grandmother had had purposefully.
“We had not yet danced, at that point,” he answered lightly. “We only talked in passing.”
“Inpassing,” Anne echoed, smiling knowingly at him.
More like in pressing, the way you backed me up against the wall.
But that reminder took her back to that moment in Christian’s study, where he backed her up against the door, his breath fanning her neck. She flushed hotly, picking at her bread.
“What are your intentions toward my daughter, Alexander?” Matthew asked, his tone somber. “I do hope you didn’t only befriend my son to grow closer to Anne.”
“Oh, how romantic if he did!” Annette giggled.
Anne wished the floor would open up beneath her feet and swallow her up. Perhaps she could jump out of the window and sneak away. Perhaps she could just drink her mother’s wine and then retire to her room under the pretense of being intoxicated. Anything but not remaining at that table.
“I assure you that my intentions are honorable.”
The way Alexander’s eyes bored into hers made her know that every word of his statement was a lie. He was not honorable.
Discretion and pleasure. Devious intentions.
Those were his promises.
And most of all, Anne hoped his intentions remained less than honorable.
It was during the main course that everything began to go downhill. As the Marquess bit into the meat, he grimaced, muttering to himself. But then, the grumbling only got more frequent and louder.
“Who approved the meat?” Matthew muttered.
But it was clear the question wasn’t directed at himself.
“Matthew…” Annette warned, her tone gently pleading.
Anne watched the two of them, her heartbeat quickening.
Please, not today.Not another argument. I have played mediator too much. Please. Today is about Alexander and I.
But there was nobody to hear her pleas, only her mother’s soft pleas as her father tore the meat to shreds with his fork and knife.
“This is barely edible. Your Grace, I can only apologize for?—”
“Matthew.” Annette’s voice was sharper, her hand flat on the table. She could not raise her voice in the presence of guests, but her eyes conveyed enough.
Matthew grimaced, shaking his head and throwing his napkin down.
“In France, the food is always exceptional,” Elizabeth commented, nodding haughtily as if to say,I told you so,despite being around people who were not trying to challenge her opinion. “Fishermen would be out with the rising sun, catching only the best fish to serve. Make no mistake, the French have it so much better than us. The women are free to show their bosoms, and the men do not have to guess if they like them?—”
“Grandmother!” Alexander cried.
“Oh my,” Mary mumbled.
Anne stared down at her plate.
“And the men kiss the women in public, whether they are married or not.” Elizabeth looked accusingly at Alexander. “Andthey do not fawn over a life of solitude because women are there, anyway. France is so much more free than Britain.”
