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The remark made Annabel wonder how much the marchioness learned of Romulus and her past interactions. Possibly nothing, as there was not anything public about them. “You are quite correct.”
“Had you and my nephew met before, I reckon?” Aunt Charlotte had her full attention on Annabel.
“You are going to scare the lady with your prying questions, aunt.” Came the unnerving man’s deep voice from b
ehind her. The sound caused her whole body to prime up, her heart racing with his presence.
“Romulus Fabien, don’t you dare chide your elders!” His aunt said in a teasing manner.
In an effort to recuperate from the impact he always caused her, she did not turn to him. Instead, maintaining a bland smile to the older woman, her hands serenely joined in front of her.
“I would not think of that, beloved aunty.” He delivered in the same tone.
And Annabel wished he treated her with this lightness, his rugged features going a tad softer, making him even more hypnotic, when she at last readied herself to face him.
“You just did, you rapscallion!” Fondness in her voice and eyes.
“We do not want to appal the delicate lady, do we?” Disdain all over him, he neared her and took her gloved hand to bow over it. “Lady Winchester.” His voice went an octave graver.
A sweltering reaction ran through her, as if she had drunk a cup of hot tea in one gulp. “Your Grace.” She replied weakened, her eyes lowering to his hand on hers.
Aunt Charlotte’s sharp scrutiny did not miss any detail of the exchange.
Offering one arm to each lady, Romulus took them to the tastefully set table. After the women had sat, he sat at the head, having them to each of his sides.
Footmen served the wine and the first course, which made Anabel realise she was hungry. She concentrated on the food, leaving the conversation to aunt and nephew.
The night outside was fresh, and it told of rain. In the hall, the fireplace exhibited a cosy fire added by the light of the candelabra.
“What brought you to this part of England, Lady Winchester?” Lady Derby asked after a sip of wine.
“I came to visit Tintagel, my lady.” Though the food tasted delicious, tension underlay in her with the proximity of the Duke. “But I have not travelled there yet, for my carriage is still to be fixed.” She slipped a meaningful glance at the blasted man, who simply acted as if he had nothing to do with it.
“I did not imagine there were so lousy craftsmen here.” Lady Derby took a delicate bite of fish.
“Not lousy, aunt.” Romulus explained with cynical, calm detachment. “You see, the wheel broke down so seriously.”
“You don’t say.” The marchioness showed genuine concern.
“One wonders how it got so wrecked.”
Nervousness dominated Annabel. He inspected that, too. The man left nothing to chance, did he?
She drew a saccharine smile. “I do hope it is mended soon, so that I can realize my dream of seeing where the Arthurian tales begun.”
“Oh, they will mend it in due time, I am sure.” His solicitous response hid an undertone of command, conveying she would leave when he saw fit.
Over my dead body! She mentally retorted. She would not give him the power to decide for her.
At that moment, their stares collided, his unmoving, hers headstrong, without noticing the amusement in his aunt’s stance.
Not willing to give away even more of their conflict, she diverted hers to the plate.
A long silence ensued, peppered only by the crack of the fire and the clink of silverware on porcelain plates.
“You should take the lady to ride, Romulus.” Aunt Charlotte suggested innocent. Too innocent for anyone to give it any credit.
Now, this was something Annabel did not need: a matchmaker aunt for her and a man she must despise. She did not need that at all!
