Page 57 of Madcap with a Marquess
“Did you venture outside today, Rupert? It was the most glorious day.” She sliced off a piece of the meaty heart of the artichoke on her plate. “I had a lovely walk around the pond.”
She glanced at Rupert, still staring down at his plate. Not deigning to answer her. Not deigning to look at her. She popped the artichoke in her mouth and chewed vigorously as she glared at him. Ah, she could choke the man!
All meal, he’d denied her attempts at conversation. Avoided her all day. Except for the constant check-ins by the servants where she was required to report her well-being so they could relay it back toHis Lordship. Franny was happy to tell him how she was doing her bloody self. She supposed it was a good sign he’d shown up to dinner at all. She almost laughed and hastily took a sip of wine to drown her hysteria. How sad was that? A good sign her husbandeven showed up. This tense affair was progress. Pathetic.
If she could just get him to look at her, then she could apologize.
It wouldn’t hurt if he apologized, either.
She stabbed the last piece of partridge on her plate with her fork. What a mess they were—the self-important and the senseless. Her being the latter.
She swallowed the partridge and reached for her glass of claret. She swirled it and watched her husband. She had attempted to broach many topics of conversation. He hadn’t answered a single one. And now the servants were clearing the table and readying it for the final dessert course. Not a single word the entire meal.
I cannot do this right now.
Her heart deflated. In her rash behavior, spurred by her own hurt, she had wounded him. More than she had any idea she was capable of. But now she knew—learned in the worst way possible—that she hadn’t imagined there was something between them. Whatever she felt, he felt it, too. If she could only get him to speak to her. The question was, did she stand down and try again at their next interaction, whenever that may be, or did she start pushing the only way she knew how?
“Did you attend to any pressingbusiness matters today?” she asked, only a hint of a barb in her voice. A slight push. Was she really supposed to hold back for an entire dinner when he was acting like an unbearable arse?
Rupert glanced at her finally, and her heart crawled up her throat at the storm in his brown eyes, at the unnamable emotions battling there. Then they died before her eyes, everything from his gaze to his features going flat.
The servants filled the endless length of the table with desserts. A beautiful spread of fresh fruits was laid near Rupert’s end of the table: deep red cherries and crimson apples nestled amongst velvety burnt-orange peaches. Raspberry tarts, a variety of biscuits, and small glass bowls filled with toppings of whipped cream and dipping sauces followed.
Absolutely delicious. And she had an appetite for none of it. The last item, a magnificent trifle in a stemmed crystal dish, was set out and then silence fell heavily over the room, the absence of clinking China and movement of servants deafening.
“I almost went for another swim today,” she said casually, picking up a shortbread biscuit. She made her decision. She’d tried being polite. Now she was going to poke. And poke and poke and poke. Until he broke. “But I couldn’t possibly disgrace you in such a way again.”
Rupert’s eyes flashed with life, lips tightening. And…he promptly looked down and served himself a piece of raspberry tart.
Argh!Where was a hard object to throw when she needed one?
She played nice, and it did nothing. And clearly, no matter what she said, he was going to ignore her. She was making zero progress acting the demure, respectable lady. Acting like Franny always seemed to get his attention. Was it really that surprising she was defiant?
Poke, poke,poke.
She stood.
His gaze flew to hers. She walked along the side of the table and stopped before the beautiful fruit display, a handful of paces from Rupert. He watched her. Warily.
As he should.
She picked up a peach and chucked it at him.
He ducked to the side, the peach whizzing by his ear.Damnation.
“Did you just throw a peach at me?” he asked, mouth agape.
She flashed a sweet smile, loving his wide-eyed shock, that handsome slack-jaw.
“Yes,my lord,I did.”
She reached for another one, but Rupert lunged forward, lying out flat against the table. He grabbed the fruit tray, dishes clattering, and pulled it out of reach.Justbefore her fingers landed on a piece of fruit. She quickly scanned the table and darted for the platter of biscuits, but he was too quick. Once again, her fingers met with only air.
He smiled stupidly smugly at her and leaned back in his chair, his waistcoat covered in smashed raspberry tart. He thought it was that easy?
Oh, Rupert. You poor, overconfident fool.
She grinned, a face-splitting, gleeful grin, and his smile faltered. She rucked her skirts to the knee and climbed onto the table.
