Page 20 of The Trouble with Tweed

“Is she? I’ll speak more clearly, then.”

Michael ordered for them, choosing a tea that he knew Claire favored, as well as an assortment of tea sandwiches and pastries.

“Please ensure there are no chives on the smoked salmon,”’ he added.

“Very good, my lord.” The waiter nodded, took the menu, and departed.

He looked up to find Claire giving him a bemused sort of smile. “What is it?”

“I’m impressed you remember my preferences is all. Not even my own cook remembers to leave off the chives.”

“She’s got eight other people to remember, Claire. For me, there’s only you.”

Forever, he thought, then batted the idea away—she was nowhere near ready for that yet.

“True, though I might be the pickiest in the house.” She huffed a laugh. “There’s a sign that our fortunes have returned, if nothing else.”

“How so?”

“Do you think a truly hungry person cares whether the smoked salmon is sprinkled with chives?” She blushed and took a long time smoothing the cloth napkin over her lap.

“Were you?” he murmured. “Truly hungry?”

“It hardly matters,” she said crisply.

Her brief moment of honesty had flittered away like a frightened bird.

Michael cleared his throat and canted his voice louder. “My mother and Sylvia were quite taken with you, Claire. Mother wants to know when you are available to take tea with her again.”

Claire pressed her lips together as the waiter returned and poured tea into both their cups before leaving the silver pot between them.

Claire’s eyes sparked in amusement as she murmured, “Clever of you.”

He’d not only called Claire by her first name, he’d also mentioned that she’d had tea with his family. Both were important guideposts along the path of courtship. Indeed, Claire might be the only one in the room who didn’t feel the significance of such things, as she thought Michael was only faking his attentions.

“Is the tea to your liking?” he asked. “Is it hot enough to pour from the balustrade if we come under siege?”

She laughed. “So dramatic.”

“Says the lady who likes her tea the temperature of Beelzebub’s backside.”

Claire snorted into her cup and covered it with a ladylike cough, her eyes dancing with shocked mirth as she dabbed politely at her lips.

Michael grinned. Claire was so often serious—especially as of late—that he couldn’t help but feel a thrill of accomplishment when he made her laugh.

“Tea?” he finally prompted, speaking a bit louder, when it was clear that Claire wasn’t going to touch his former comment with the proverbial ten-foot pole. “With my mother?”

“I’d be happy to join her whenever she chooses.”

He canted his voice low enough for privacy. “She’ll be delighted to hear it, as am I. I’m thrilled that my family’s antics haven’t scared you off.”

“As if your family could compare to mine when it comes to inappropriate humor. You should hear Margaret go on about all her scandalous encyclopedia discoveries, as of late.”

He arched a brow. “I wasn’t aware that Margaret was studious.”

“She isn’t. It’s the influence of Miss Rachel Warrington.”

“The sister-by-law to the Marquess of Salisbury?”