“Two lumps of sugar and a splash of milk if you would.”
The corners of her lush lips tilted up slightly.
He made a point of looking around the room as if searching for something. “Are you traveling alone?”
A deep rose crept up into her face. Though, under the circumstances, that wasn’t surprising.
“Sometimes one cannot order the weather to suit one’s convenience.” Her voice was tight as if she did not approve of either his question or the weather.
Her long, slender fingers showed no indication of a wedding ring. A fleeting memory of seeing her before niggled at him once more. How could any red-blooded man forget that glorious hair, gold glinting with burnished copper in the candlelight? On the other hand, the hair he remembered. It was her name he’d forgot. Her brows, a little darker than her golden curls, arched perfectly over eyes that tilted slightly upward at the corners. He’d never seen a more beautiful woman.
He wished he could make out the exact color of her expressive eyes, but the light was too dim.
Blue. That was encouraging. Now if he could only remember the rest. Damn the devil. He had seen her before, but where and when, and why couldn’t he remember? His gaze was drawn to her mouth, deep rose and a little wider than what was considered fashionable. What would it be like to taste her, to feel her soft lips on his and where had that desire sprung from?
Grace’s heart was in her throat by the time Worthington joined her. In the short time he had been gone she’d changed her mind a dozen times at least about inviting him to join her.
Mattheus, Earl of Worthington.
Grace allowed her eyes to trail over his perfect form, adding to her still-clear memories of him. He was tall and broad-shouldered, his jacket was cut to perfection. His cravat perfectly tied. He had always been so well dressed. She never thought she’d see him again, or if she did, he probably would be married with several children. Come to think of it, even though he wasn’t wearing a ring, he could still be married . . . Oh, he was speaking.
“Miss . . . ?”
When she did not give him her name, he looked at her curiously. Grace walked over to the bell-pull, giving a sigh of relief when a few moments later Mr. Brown’s daughter entered the room.
She’d have to do better than that if she wanted him to . . . well . . . She fought the blush rising in her cheeks. “Please take a seat. I shall enjoy the company.”
There, that was much better. Remember you are five and twenty, not eighteen.
This was not going to be as easy as Grace had thought it would be.
Worthington took a sip and his almost-black brows drew together. “This is extraordinarily good tea for an inn.”
“It is my blend. I travel with it.” She only had it this time as a treat for her elderly cousin who professed to love Grace’s tea, but would never allow her to leave the canister.
Now what was she to say? With the exception of her vicar, it had been so long since she had spoken with any non-family-member male and those had not been pleasant discussions. “Have you family that will worry about you?”
“Only my sisters and stepmother and they do not know when I plan to return home.” He took another sip of tea. “I imagine your family will be anxious.”
They would be frightened to death. She should have been home long before now, but her cousin was lonely and had needed the company. “A bit.”
“Do you have far to travel?”
Grace studied him over the rim of her cup. She had thought there’d been a spark of recognition in his eyes, but it was clear he did not remember her. That was not surprising. It had been several years since they had seen each other. He had probably danced with thousands of ladies since her one dance with him. In any event, she did not want him to know who she was. It would only complicate her already overly complicated life.
“Within a day,” she finally answered. True, but misleading. She had to turn the course of this conversation to a safer subject. “What do you think about the progress of the peace treaty?”
A small smile formed on his well-molded lips. “That the process has gone on far too long and that the new French government is not as strong as it needs to be.”
Mr. Brown tapped on the door, then entered with another of his many daughters. “Come to clear the tea away, if you’re ready.”
Grace tore her gaze from Worthington’s mouth. Oh, my. If she’d thought he was mesmerizing before, it was nothing to what he was doing to her insides now. She had to pull herself together. “Yes, please. We shall dine at six.”
Mr. Brown bowed. “That’s perfect, my—”
She gave the man a sharp look.
“Ma’am.”
