“At once, my lady.” The proprietor bowed and withdrew. A minute later, liveried footmen were bringing glasses of water to the table. Sarah accepted one with thanks. Opposite her, the duke took one, shutting his eyes and sipping it.
“Most refreshing,” he declared.
Sarah smiled.
“It is definitely special,” the duke said, casting a sidelong glance at Edward. Edward laughed.
“I suppose it is,” he agreed, sipping his own.
“What do you think?” the duke asked Sarah, making her blink in surprise. Once they had taken their seats at the table, she expected that he would engage Edward and Caroline in conversation. But he was talking directly to her, his eyes holding her gaze as though she was the only person in the room, as theyhad when they had danced together just the previous night. Her cheeks reddened, her heart pounding at the look in his eyes.
“I...” Sarah paused. “I think there is definitely something special about it,” she said, thinking about her reply. “It does taste a little metallic. Does it not?” she asked, sipping the water again.
“It does,” the duke replied, sipping his own water. “Metallic and, well, like stone. That is the only description I can give.”
“I never thought about stone as a flavor,” Sarah said with a tilt of her head.
“Pray trust me, I am well acquainted with the flavour of stone,” the duke remarked with a grin. “For anyone who has suffered a riding mishap sufficient to nearly dislodge their teeth upon the gravel possesses an intimate knowledge of its taste.”
Sarah had to giggle. “When did you have such a bad accident?” she asked, interested.
“When I was sixteen,” the duke told her. “It was my own fault. I was quite certain I was the best rider and that I knew better than anyone, especially my riding instructor. One is like that, when one is sixteen.” He grinned.
“That is true,” Sarah replied. She laughed fondly at the thought of the duke as a sixteen-year-old.
“Quite so. Anyhow, I took my father’s hunting-stallion for a trot around the estate. He was much too strong for me, and I had been advised not to ride him. He had a nature to which my father was accustomed, but I—who had never ridden him before—did not know his temperament, and had no idea of what he might do or of what might frighten him. We were riding past a field where a farmer was sowing seed, and the movement of the fellow’s arm must have frightened the stallion. He took off.”
“No!” Sarah gasped, caught up in the tale. She could imagine the duke as a slim but sturdy sixteen-year-old, his slim face determined, his blonde hair tousled about his face as the stallion ran. She was sure that he had striven to hang onto the reins,his firm jaw clenched grimly as he hung onto the racing, scared creature.
“We ran back to the stables, rather faster than we had exited—I allow myself the small accolade that I managed to guide him just a little towards the path,” the duke added with a grin. “But the ride and the fear were too much for the fellow, and he bucked and threw me off as the gardener came up the drive. I skidded across the gravel and became acquainted with our garden at close quarters.”
Sarah giggled, delighted by the way he said it. “I am sorry to hear it, though,” she said even as she laughed. “You must have been badly injured.”
“Luckily not,” the duke replied, grinning. “Not nearly as bad as it might have been. As it was, though, I was more embarrassed than injured. I had a few scratches on my hands and face that took some weeks to heal. The lads I knew ragged me most mercilessly.” He chuckled, a rueful sound.
“I am sorry to hear it,” Sarah said gently.
“It was not so bad,” the duke said with a soft smile.
Her eyes held his across the table and he gazed into them, smiling at her as though they were the only two people in the room. Sarah’s heart pounded; her body flooded with heat. The rest of the room had receded, the only thing in her thoughts was his eyes and the warmth in his gaze.
“Cake, Your Grace?” the proprietor asked, appearing at the duke’s side. The duke looked at Sarah.
“Does anything tempt you?” he asked, gesturing at the platter that must have arrived on the table while they talked. Sarah blinked in surprise—she had not noticed at all when someone had brought it to them.
“I do fancy a slice of cake,” she replied, her stomach knotting at the thought. She gestured to a slice of what looked like cherry gateau, and the proprietor lifted it onto her plate. Sarah thankedhim and lifted her cake-fork, waiting for Caroline to be served before she sampled the delicious cake.
The taste of the gateau was heavenly—thick cream was slathered onto the outside, and the fluffy, moist cake was replete with cherries. She bit into one, the juice running down her chin. Flustered, she lifted her napkin to wipe it. The duke smiled. His eyes sparkled and she blushed.
“Henry would love that,” he said a little ruefully.
“Where is he?” Sarah asked.
“Outside with his nursemaid. I was advised to let him walk about the town—the tedium of sitting in a tea-house is not the best for him.” He grinned.
“He is an exuberant boy,” Sarah agreed, though part of her wished the soft-hearted little boy was there. He lightened whatever gathering he attended.
They sat and talked and ate and Sarah’s hunger receded, aided by the delicious cake and the restorative water—which, she had to agree with the duke—was something special. After what felt like a few minutes, but which must have been at least two hours, perhaps more, Caroline leaned across to Sarah.
