The Heir - Catherine Coulter [38]
“I’m trying to become more friendly. Perhaps you would change your mind? Perhaps after dinner?”
He shook his head. “You cannot be Arabella Deverill,” he said firmly. “Perhaps you are her twin sister, long kept in hiding in the attic, beneath one of those forty gables.”
“No, she is still there, in her chains. Have you heard her howling? No, that’s not possible. There hasn’t been a full moon. She only howls at the full moon.” She grinned at him shamelessly. “Now, sir, please come here and sit down. You and I have some serious matters to discuss.”
“What serious matters?” he asked, not moving. “No, don’t say anything. If there are serious matters between us it can only mean one thing. A woman does not woo a man. Besides, I will not speak to you about anything of importance until after I’ve had my dinner.” He gave a ferocious pull on the bell cord.
“My father always said that a man’s stomach was important to him. Not the most important—he would never tell me what that was—but nonetheless, I suppose I must agree that to be at your best, you must have a full belly.”
He could but stare at her. He would marry her and bed her and then, at least, she wouldn’t be so damnably innocent. “Ah, here you are, Crupper. Have the footmen bring out dinner in here this evening. Lady Arabella doesn’t wish to travel all the way to the dining room.”
A few minutes later, the earl looked down at the roast pork and fresh garden peas. “Just as Lady Arabella ordered, my lord,” Crupper said. The smells were delicious.
“You ordered this?”
She nodded.
“I do not particularly care for roast pork, Crupper. Have you other dishes as well?”
“Of course there are other dishes,” Arabella said. “Cook always prepares roast pork for me on Thursdays.”
“Hell, leave the damned pork, Crupper, and forget the other dishes. This will do admirably.”
His lordship’s language was deteriorating alarmingly. Lady Arabella didn’t seem to mind, so Crupper decided he wouldn’t mind either. There were a lot of changes at Evesham Abbey. It was a trying time for everyone. If the earl wanted to curse, it was probably the best for everyone. It was better than him hurling something. As Crupper got older, it was more difficult to duck, and duck he had many times under the former earl’s reign.
Crupper waited until he had very nearly bowed himself out of the Velvet Room before giving his message. “A footman arrived from Talgarth Hall, my lord. Lady Ann and Lady Elsbeth have decided to remain for dinner, not wishing to venture out in this weather.”
So, Justin thought, he would be alone with her. For the first time. He wondered if she would try to bolt. No, not likely, particularly given the strange way she was acting since she’d come downstairs. He remembered to say, “Thank you, Crupper.”
There was no conversation for ten minutes.
Finally, Arabella said, “Is the roast pork to your liking, sir?”
He was eating like a pig. He couldn’t very well say that the damned pork irritated his stomach. “It’s passable,” he said, and took another big bite. Then he dropped his fork to his plate and sat back in his chair, his arms folded over his chest. He had given her the upper hand—rather she’d taken it and not given it up—and now she was in control, not he. He was obliged to laugh. He remembered thinking that she was admirable upon one occasion. He could not but admit to it again.
“Have you been rehearsing all week for this evening?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
She did know, and he knew that she knew, but he said easily, “Well, you have avoided me, probably hidden under the stairs whenever I came too close. It’s only reasonable that you’ve used your time this week to prepare your performance for this evening. Have you decided just how you would deal with me?”
He’d gotten her fair and square, but she wasn’t ready to throw in her hand just yet. She slowly laid down her fork and leaned back in her chair, mimicking him, cocking her head to one side. “You know, sir, the cleft in your chin is really quite attractive. I wondered at first if I would ever