“I want to have a nice dinner with you. That’s all.” Although from that position, standing behind her, he had an enticing view of her décolletage.
His fingers itched to stroke her creamy skin.
He served the soup, being careful not to spill anything. During his family’s hardest years, he’d learnt how to cook and serve. For the first time in his life, he was grateful for that.
She shifted on the stuffed chair. “But…”
“Yes?”
“I thought you wanted to have a tumble,” she whispered the last word.
“I do. More than anything. But we can spend some time together first and be civilised about our deal.”
“I think it’s a great idea.”
From her shaky voice, he didn’t understand if she meant that.
He watched her from his chair when she picked up the spoon as if it were a weapon.
“It’s not poisoned,” he said.
She let out a chuckle. “I’m nervous.”
“So I gathered.” He took his napkin. “Enjoy your dinner.”
She tasted the soup and paused. “It’s delicious.” She sounded as if she expected the opposite.
“Windsor soup. My cook’s speciality.”
“My compliments to your cook.” She took small spoonfuls, pausing often.
“You don’t need to stand on ceremony here with me,” he assured her. “If you’re hungry, enjoy the dinner. You don’t have to impress me. You already have.” He didn’t mean to sound so solemn, but he was nervous, too.
She smiled, and her whole expression changed. She relaxed her posture and enjoyed larger spoonfuls of the soup. The crackling of the fire filled the silence, and he wondered again if he should call the deal off and just have dinner with her.
He poured her a glass of wine, and she sipped it, half-closing her eyes.
“Papa told me you reversed some of your financial actions recently,” she said, drinking more wine.
“I’m a man of my word.” He shared a long stare with her and was glad she didn’t cower.
“Thank you.”
“I did it for you, certainly not for him. But you made me realise I was going too far. Still, I don’t believe in your father’s innocence.”
“That’s the whole point, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
A hint of sadness greyed her voice, and he regretted having brought up the subject. She helped herself to a slice of roast beef with asparagus and boletus porcini, another Cook’s masterpiece. She nodded when she tasted them.
“You like mushrooms,” he said.
“Love them, and these are exceptionally good. We often searched for mushrooms with my siblings in the country.” She let out a little moan when she drank the wine. “This wine is wonderful. What is it?”
“A rare Château Latour 1890 from Bordeaux. Those vineyards had a very cold spring in 1890, but the weather in autumn was excellent, not too cold, and not too dry, which resulted in the best vintage in over three decades. It has a strong…” He chuckled. “You probably don’t care about these details.”
“Quite the opposite. I don’t understand anything about wines, but I’m an expert in what I like. And I like this wine very much.” She took another sip. “Perfection, especially with the meat and mushrooms. What were you saying?”
