Page 34 of London Dynasty

We followed her across the room quietly. The whole place reminded me a bit of being in a library. There was a sort of hushed reverence in the room as if every soul there had lowered their voice to a whisper out of respect. A small table, tucked in the corner, next to the hearth, waited for us.

“I was going to ask if you’ve been here before,” Spencer said as we took our seats, “but judging from your reaction, I think I have my answer.”

I accepted a menu from the girl and thanked her. “I’m glad the first time was with you.” Spencer’s eyes sparkled in the firelight at my choice of words, and I blushed. “You know what I mean.”

“I do,” he said with mock solemnity, before adding, “but I think you’ll be glad that the first time is with me no matter the occasion.”

I reached for my water with shaking hands and took a quick drink. I suddenly wondered if sitting so close by the fire was a good idea if he was going to insist on getting me hot and bothered.

“I’m sorry,” he said, sensing my discomfort. “I’ll behave. Would you like me to tell you what I like on the menu?”

I nodded, forcing my eyes away from his and opening mine, surprised to find a collection of both Italian and French dishes. I thought of the restaurant’s name, a curious mix of both languages.

“The Foie Gras, obviously. I also love the risotto, and I see the venison is back on the menu. It wasn’t the last time I was here.”

I closed my menu, unable to keep up with him. “Would you order for me?”

“If you wish,” he said.

“I trust you. Surprise me.”

It turned out to be the right choice. Spencer didn’t disappoint and he seemed to take his role in helping me search for my as-of-yet undiscovered favorite food very seriously. First, he ordered oysters on the half shell, which tasted like the ocean on my tongue. Then Foie Gras, which I had serious reservations about, but was surprised to find rich and delicious. Spencer watched me take every bite without much commentary. Instead, there was a sort of quiet contentment that overtook him. I had never seen him like this before. When our main courses arrived, I took a bite of veal and moaned. The dish had been new to the menu but Spencer was certain I would like it. He wasn’t wrong.

“You have to try this,” I said, spearing another bite on my fork and holding it out to him.

Spencer brought his perfect mouth to my fork and slid it off with his teeth, a hungry look in his eyes that had nothing to do with the food or the restaurant. He chewed slowly, his eyes hooded and he groaned a little. “Delicious.”

I looked down at my plate, feeling heat spreading across my chest and up my neck toward my face. The glimpse of what he looked like when he was experiencing pleasure sent my pulse rocketing. I wanted to see that face again. I wanted to be what made him make that noise.

“Try mine,” he commanded, holding out a bite of his filet.

Our eyes locked as I slid it off his fork with my mouth, and a vein ticked in his neck. I was reminded of the dreams I’d had the night before. Like those, I felt keyed up with no relief in sight. Every word, every moment that passed between us seemed to ratchet my desire up a notch while taking me farther away from what I really wanted.

Him.

There was no denying that the music and the wine, the food and the flowers all conspired to remind me that the one thing I wanted wasn’t on the menu.

Spencer’s hand brushed over mine. “Would you like another bottle?”

I shook my head. Any more and I might get drunk. I wanted to be present every moment I spent with him, especially if he kissed me.

“Kerrigan, come—”

“Would you like to see the dessert cart?” Our waitress interrupted us, and I resisted the urge to throttle her for her poor timing.

Spencer inclined his head. “Shall we?”

“I think I’m finished.” I drained my wine glass to prove it.

“The check, please.” He reached into his pocket and produced a money clip, straining to hold the stack of pound notes folded between its prongs. I waited for him to return to what he was about to say before we were interrupted, but he seemed to have forgotten.

I sucked in a breath, almost wishing I had opted for at least one more glass of wine and decided to make the first move. “Spencer.”

“Yes?” he asked, drawing out a hundred-pound note, which was followed by four more.

I watched, realizing what different worlds we were from, and that he didn’t even know it. He had no idea that I’d never eaten french food or tried veal or sat next to a fire with a man at a romantic dinner. He never would know that he’d just given me so many firsts that I’d lost count. Maybe he was simply following the prescribed courtship rituals of society, and I was the one caught up in the romance, dazzled by the candlelight. And somehow, none of it mattered. I knew what I wanted next—what I wanted more than anything. “Take me to bed.”

Chapter Nineteen