Page 11 of His Scandalous Lessons
So when she showed up at the dining room, Caroline quickly ushered her to the seat beside Richard. “This arrangement will no doubt puzzle the servants, but let’s play as if we’re at a dinner with other guests present. Anne, pretend Richard is a man you find intriguing and wish to learn more about.”
Richard raised an eyebrow as he settled back in his chair. Without anyone seated across from them, the table was rather lopsided. “Are these my lessons, or yours?”
“Oh, do excuse me. I forgot that you were an expert in the art of small talk.” She sipped from her wine and waved an encouraging hand. “Please continue.”
Richard shook his head and focused on Anne, who was staring down at her food with an intense, concentrating expression. He wondered if she were nervous. How strange that a woman brave enough to come to his home in the middle of the night should be flustered at the thought of a mere dinner conversation.
“All right, Anne,” he said. “Treat me as you would any normal dinner conversation. Where did you grow up? London?”
She look a breath and turned to him, though her eyes remained downcast. “In Dorset,” she said. “We lived at my father’s estate there before he went into politics. He’s the MP of Dorchester.”
“Do you miss it?”
“Not at all. My father loves London.”
Richard frowned. “And you? Doyoulove London?”
Her cheeks pinkened prettily. Was that unintentional, or part of a performance? He couldn’t tell. “Of course,” she replied. “I think it a very fine place. The weather, especially, is—”
“And I think,” Richard interrupted mildly, “that you’re lying.”
Thatcaught her attention. Her wide brown eyes flashed up at him in surprise. “I beg your pardon?”
“Richard,” Caroline said sharply, signaling for the servants to bring the next dish. “For god’s sake—”
“My lesson,” he reminded Caroline. To Anne: “Now, are you telling me the truth or are you telling me what youthinka man like me wants to hear?”
Anne made a frustrated noise. “People like London. Alotof people like London.”
“You said your father likes London, not you. And no one — and I meanno one— likes London for the damn weather.”
“Fine.” She threw her hands up. “I loathe London. It’s terrible. It’s smelly and dirty and crowded and ugly. Are you pleased now?”
“No. Back to the lesson. I’m no longer Richard. Do you miss Dorset?”
Eyes back to the food. A small sliver of a bite from her fish. He hadn’t been paying attention, but how much had she eaten? It didn't seem like much at all. No wonder she was so slight.
“Yes,” she said with a sigh. “I miss Dorset.”
That longing in her voice was real. No one could feign that sort of yearning, even the cleverest of liars. “What do you miss?”
Another small bite, slow and deliberate. “It was so warm there in summer. The gardens on the estate were especially lovely.”
Richard felt as if he were in the middle of an inquisition, not a conversation. He gritted his teeth. “And did you have any hobbies? Riding? Gardening? Anything?”
“Some days, I would go shopping for the prettiest fabrics. I enjoy shopping for fabrics and ribbons, new hats and shoes. I ought to tell you about this hat I bought—”
“That’s enough.” Richard put down his fork with a clatter and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Stop there. Don’t talk.”
“Richard,” Caroline hissed.
Anne flushed with embarrassment and shoved her chair back from the table. “Excuse me,” she said shakily. “I find I’m more tired than I thought. I’ll just...”
She strode out of the room without finishing. Richard felt like the biggest arse.
Caroline shook her head in disgust. “You are thebiggest arse.”
“I know.”
