She released his arm slowly before helping herself at the banquet table.
Alexander sat at the head. “The window was my mother’s idea.” His gaze became lost for a moment. “Contrary to the queen, my mother loved Brighton. We spent wonderful days in this house. I had my parents for myself. No official engagements, no meetings in Parliament, and no dinners I wasn’t allowed to go to.”
“You miss them.”
He hesitated before nodding.
She sipped the tea gingerly, fearing she might throw up, but her stomach settled the more she drank. She ate a buttered scone and finished a good portion of eggs. For once, she could eat everything she wanted, how much she wanted, without Mother stopping her. The dark red jam had to be delicious on one of those soft slices of bread, but Mother’s words echoed in her mind with a passion, and her doubts returned.
“Are you feeling sick?” Alexander tilted his head to stare at her.
“The jam looks tasty.”
“More than looks. It’s marmalade, actually. Cook made it with fresh blood oranges from Sicily. The scent of the fresh fruits was intoxicating. And Cook is an expert in making preserves. Try it.”
Sugar makes your teeth rot.
“I shouldn’t.” She wished Mother would leave her alone.
“Why?”
“My mother always says a lady never indulges, especially at the table.”
“A slice of bread with the best marmalade in the world isn’t an indulgence. It’s a necessity.”
She chuckled, and he laughed, too.
The worry and tension lifted from her chest. He had the power to make her feel free to do what she wanted. It was the best feeling in the world.
He offered her the jar. “You’ll fall in love.”
Funny he should mention that.
She spread a generous dose of the red-orange marmalade on a piece of toast and bit into it. It had the perfect balance between sweetness and bitterness with a distinctive orange flavour that teased her senses and would cheer up a mortician.
A little moan escaped her. “Heaven.”
His gaze turned smouldering, and his boyish smile became predatory. “I’m glad you like it.”
She licked a drop of marmalade from her lower lip, and he followed the gesture with keen interest. Another flutter started in her belly, but of a different type. For maybe the first time, she felt desirable, which, combined with the sense of freedom she experienced with him, made for a powerful combination. But knowing she’d attacked him last night dampened her enthusiasm.
She put down the delicious slice. “What do you think of me now?”
“That you tried to be someone you aren’t for too long, and that’s dangerous.”
“I wonder who the real me is. The one who follows the rule or the fury who stole your foil?”
“Maybe a bit of both.”
She sighed. “So I’m a deranged woman deep down.”
He gently put his hand over hers. “No. What I mean is that you need to be yourself more often and do the things you like.” His thumb stroked her knuckles, and a shiver went down her neck.
He removed his hand, frowning. “I’m sorry.”
“About what?”
“I don’t want you to think I’m taking liberties with you because of something you did when you weren’t yourself.”
