Page 20 of His Grace, the Duke
“Excuse me, my lord.”
Rosalie stiffened, as did all three men. They turned as one to see a footman standing in front of the open drawing room doors. If she hadn’t been blushing before, she certainly was now.
“What is it?” barked James.
“Dinner is ready.”
***
Before she quite realized how it had happened, Rosalie was sitting at one end of the impressively long table in the Corbin House dining room. It was decked in full splendor—silvercandlesticks and servers, crystal glasses, artfully designed floral arrangements. Everything sparkled.
Across from her sat Burke and Renley, awkwardly glancing up every few moments, trying to catch her eye. James sat at the head of the table. Behind each of their chairs stood a footman, ready to serve each course. The meal was orchestrated by the ancient butler, who guarded the corner of the room like a gargoyle.
They all sipped their first course of pumpkin soup. It was delicious, but Rosalie couldn’t get over the discomfort of feeling the presence of the footmen looming around the table.
“Well... this is awkward,” Renley muttered, breaking the uncomfortable silence.
Burke and James both paused with their spoons half-raised.
“I know whyIwas feeling anxious,” Renley went on. “But what do the two of you have to be so uptight about?”
Burke scowled as James set his spoon down with a clink, reaching for his wine.
“Did something else happen that I don’t know about?” Renley glanced across the table at Rosalie, determined to get answers.
She shifted uncomfortably on her chair. She was a terrible liar at the best of times. If he looked at her now, surely what he’d see was her mortification. Not that she regretted anything that happened, but shedidhate feeling like she was keeping something from him—from any of them—even unintentionally.
And what Renley didn’t know about last night could easily fill a novel. Starting with the fact that James had kissed her in the library. Passionately. Aggressively. Like a man starvingfor much more than pumpkin soup. And that was before she’d argued with Burke in the music room, an argument that ended with him on his knees, pressing her against the piano, his mouth between her legs.
Her heartbeat echoed in her ears as she remembered the aching fullness, of riding his cock on the sofa... the floor. She glanced up and met Burke’s gaze. The fire blazing in his eyes told her he was thinking about the same thing. She looked pointedly away and he chuckled. She set her spoon aside, reaching for her wine.
Renley missed nothing of the exchange. “Oh hell... somethingdidhappen. What did I miss?”
Burke cleared his throat, adjusting his napkin in his lap. “We have company.”
“Rosalie is not company,” Renley replied.
“He means the staff, Renley,” James clarified in that annoyed tone.
Around the table, the footmen tried not to shift, as if they weren’t listening intently to every word uttered.
“Wilson,” James called.
The butler stepped forward. “Yes, my lord?”
“Have the footmen serve the courses and leave. We shall dineen familletonight, and every night until my brother and mother join us.”
The butler stiffened. “My lord, the presentation of each dish is—”
“We don’t care about presentation,” he countered. “A mince tart is a mince tart whether it is served on a silver tray or a napkin.”
“Of course, my lord.”
In minutes, the table’s end was laden with an oddassortment of trays and plates stacked with each course. There was a tray of cod fillets drizzled with cream sauce, fresh salad, roasted chicken and potatoes, lamb chops with a mash of asparagus and peas, a selection of wedged cheeses, dried fruit, and a two-tiered tray of assorted petits fours. The footmen did their best to fit it all within arms’ reach.
“And the wine, my lord?” said Wilson.
“Leave the bottles on the table,” James replied. “We’ll serve ourselves.”
