She joined him at the table, pulse spiking when he pulled out the chair for her before resuming his own seat.
Drawing the steaming teacup he’d filled for her to her lips, she felt his dark stare. It pulled at her until she had no choice but to regard him, equally.
He looked different, somehow. Less assured. Faint smudges underscored his eyes as if, like her, he’d slept fitfully.
Perversely, her spirits lifted at the thought. “Are you unwell, my lord?”
A soft snort preceded the smile that played at his mouth. “Why does your question strike me as hopeful sounding, Lady Annabelle?”
She opened her mouth to deny any such thing, but he went on. “In any case, never fear. I am quite well. You may have noticed that the weather is fine today, as I predicted. The ride to the mainland this morning should prove uneventful.”
“This morning? But won’t the tide be high?”
“I’ve hired a coble to take us across.”
A boat. She had not considered he might take her over the sea. She pushed down the fear trying to choke her and focused instead on his use of the wordus.“Am I to take it you’ve reconsidered joining me?”
He lifted one thick brow. “To London? No.”
She knifed up a sliver of butter and spread it over a portion of the toast.
Lord Randall eyed her plate dispassionately, then abruptly rose.
Assuming he meant to quit the dining hall and leave her as he had thus far shown a marked propensity to do, she bit into her toast and refused to utter the first word of complaint.
But then, he only made for the sideboard.
She told herself she was not relieved.
He returned to the table, slid aside her small bread plate, and settled a steaming plate of food before her.
She blinked at the food. “What is this?”
He reseated himself. “Breakfast.”
She frowned at him.
He shrugged, not meeting her eye. “It will be several hours before we reach the Pilgrim’s Rest. You should eat something more substantial than toast.”
“I’m not hungry,” she said, sounding like a petulant child even to her own ears.
He slid her a vexed look. “A few bites, then.”
She tried to work out what malicious scheme this was, and for the life of her could not come up with one.
“Did you poison the eggs?” she finally asked.
Laughter erupted from his lips. He had a robust laugh, and very straight, very white teeth. He did not have the uniquely attractive golden hair and peach-complected skin of which her family boasted. Nevertheless, she found him exceedingly handsome. Annoyingly so.
She dropped her gaze to the plate he’d set before her and tried without success to staunch an answering smile.
“Lady Annabelle,” he began, his tone almost gentle, “invited or not, you are a guest in my home, and, believe it or not, my desire for you to eat a fortifying meal before our journey is for your welfare, alone.”
A rush of warmth suffused her at the unexpected kindness. She nodded her thanks and picked up her cutlery. After the first bite of eggs, she realized she was hungry after all.
From the corner of her eye, she saw him nod, as if satisfied.
“Now, then. I have a few things to see to before we depart. Kindly be ready to leave for the landing in an hour.” He rose and started for the exit.
