Page 57 of How to Ruin a Duke
Edith was torn between pleasure at the thought of another meal, dismay that Emory should again have evidence of her straitened circumstances, and—how lowering—pleasure at the simple sight of him.He was a connection to a better time, and as high-handed and imperious as he could be, he was also a gentleman.
He held doors for her.
He escorted her home when he’d no obligation to do so.
He’d thought to bring her food, and he’d arrived on foot—no carriage, even in the rain, which meant no coachman, grooms, or footmen on hand to speculate about the purpose of the call.
“We can eat at my desk,” Edith said.“I don’t keep the fire in the kitchen lit, so the front parlor is the warmest room in the house.”
His Grace did not peer around, wrinkle his nose, or otherwise indicate that a shabby little sitting room in any way offended his sensibilities.He passed Edith the sack of food, which weighed nearly as much as his coat had.
“I have another suggestion.”He lifted the side table, carried it into the parlor, and set it down before the loveseat.“That should suffice.”
Edith was too interested in the food to scold him for moving furniture without first asking permission.She withdrew a loaf of bread—still warm—and a crock of butter.A larger crock held beef stew seasoned with basil.The duke had also brought a wedge of cheese, tarts, what looked like a shepherd’s pie, and—bless him—a flask of tea.
“The tea has sugar in it,” he said.“I hope that will serve?”
“I’ll find us some cups.”Though all Edith had were mugs and they didn’t match.
“No need for that.We’ll share.Shall we sit?”
She took one side of the loveseat, he took the other, a cozy arrangement with a man of his proportions.The chop shop, bake shop, or pub where he’d procured this feast had sent along utensils and bowls, and in a few moments, Edith was consuming the best beef stew she’d ever tasted.
“Wherever did you find this?It’s delicious.”
“I have my sources.Try the tea.”He uncorked the flask and passed it to her.
“I’m to drink from the flask?”
“That’s the usual approach.Tally ho and all that.”He tore a portion of bread from the loaf, buttered it, and sopped it in his stew.
Edith tipped the flask to her lips, the hot, sweet tea a benediction on such a dreary day.She passed the duke the flask and felt slightly naughty to be sharing it with him.One small step past the bounds of formality reassured her that a few choices yet remained to her, however modest the resulting indulgence.
Emory tossed back some tea as if parlor picnics were a frequent item on his schedule.
“Still hot,” he said, buttering another chunk of bread.“I cannot abide tepid tea.”He passed Edith the bread reinforcing the sense of casual intimacy.
More than the tea and the food, the duke’s unexpected companionability made the meal a pleasure.Nobody warned a lady that poverty was a lonely undertaking.Edith did not call on those who had known her as the duchess’s companion.One didn’t presume, in the first place, and her wardrobe was no longer up to that challenge in the second.
“I’m told one usually consumes buttered bread,” the duke said.“Preferably while the bread is fresh, but save room for a pear tart.”
“I adore pear tarts.”
“One suspects you have a sweet tooth.Your secret is safe with me.Don’t let your soup get cold.”
“Not a chance of that happening.Have you discovered who wroteHow to Ruin a Duke?”And why would a man who could dine at the finest clubs or command his own French chef to prepare him delicacies choose instead to share this meal with Edith?
Now that the worst of her hunger was sated, the odd nature of the call itself troubled her.
“I have not found the author yet, but I might be getting closer.More soup?”
Edith could have consumed the entire crock but that would leave nothing for supper.“A pear tart would serve nicely.”
Emory sliced her a wedge of cheese and held out the basket of tarts.“Before we discuss specifics relating to the book, I have a proposition to put to you.”
Edith had picked up the flask, the pewter warm against her hand.Her insides, however, went queasy and cold.
“A proposition, Your Grace?Aproposition?You come here when I am likely to be alone, bringing me much needed sustenance.You pretend to enjoy a meal with me, merely so that you can offer to do more damage to my good standing than any book has done to yours.”She shoved the basket back at him.“Please leave.”
