Page 58 of Madcap with a Marquess
His jaw practically hit the floor.
She crawled to the plate of fruit, her fingers finally closing around a plump, juicy peach. And hurled it at him. He raised his hands just in time to protect his face. But at least she’d hit him.
Franny reached for another. The tray slid in front of her—right off the side of the table, crashing to the floor. She glanced up at a glaring Rupert, standing now, leaning over the table, hands poised. Ready.
His teeth were bared, nostrils flaring. Paired with the bruise under his eye and cuts on his face, he was…magnetic. In the most mouthwatering of fashions. Her heart knocked against her ribcage as she arched a brow and started inching toward the trifle, never dropping his gaze.
He shook his head, his face slackening. “No. You wouldn’t.”
“Oh, but I would, Rupert.” She wasn’t sure there was anything she wouldn’t do when it came to this man. When it came to trying to get through to him.
She glanced at the trifle, just within reach. She reached out and grasped the stem of the glassware. A large, firm hand landed on her wrist, halting her. She slowly unwrapped each finger from the stem of the glass and pulled back her arm, but Rupert never let go of his hold.
“You will get off this table. Right. Now.” His hushed words were hard, a warning.
With his assistance, she rose to a sitting position, and he tugged her, none too gently, to the end of the table. The tension in his frame eased slightly, his grip on her wrist loosening. Poor Rupert. There was no threat that could subdue her.
Franny jutted out her chin, holding his gaze. “I don’t think I will.”
She inched the fingers of her free hand along the soft table linen until they encountered a dish. She dipped a finger in experimentally. Whipped cream. That would do.
“Franny…get off the table. Or else I will do it for you.”
She grabbed a fistful of whipped cream and shoved it in his face. He sputtered for a heartbeat. And then the room tilted, and she found herself flat against the table, arms pinned to her sides with thirteen stone of angry male atop her.
“You are impertinent!” he yelled, his face hovering above hers, a glob of whipped cream dripping down his jaw.
She lifted her chin mulishly. “And you are insufferable!”
“Well, you are impudent!”
“That basically means the same thing, Rupert! You can’t use synonyms when insulting someone.”
“Is that so?” He glared at her. “Well, you’reinsolent!”
“Ahhh!” The exasperating oaf!
She thrashed wildly, but there was no hope for it with her arms restrained against the table, with the heavy weight of him straddled over her.
Franny turned her head from side to side and her gaze caught on the plate of cherry souffles, fresh cherries decorating the platter. She extended as far as her neck would allow and managed to grab a cherry with her teeth.
His eyes stretched wide. “What on earth—”
She spat the cherry straight in his face.
31
Franny
Rupert’sentirebodywentrigid, and Franny stopped breathing. The small glob of whipped cream dropped onto her cheek, its wet plop echoing through the chamber.
“Leave us.” Rupert’s command was deathly soft.
From her periphery, the emerald-green-and-gold of the footmen’s livery flickered by, the servants scurrying from the room. Rupert’s hands flexed on her arms, and her attention snapped back to him. On his near-black eyes, on the tempest swirling there. She shivered.
Click.
The door shut, leaving them with just the tick of the ornately carved freestanding clock in the room.
