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Robbins entered the room with a silver platter holding a vase of flowers.

Jake scowled. He was starting to feel like a monster, driven to find Cleo’s former fiancé and beat him to smithereens. Leave him on the floor, driveling apologies.

The footman placed a small vase in the middle of the table. “Snowdrops today,” he observed. “Would you like me to read the card, Miss Lewis?” He offered it to her on a small silver salver.

“No, thank you,” Cleo said. “I believe I know the wording.”

Robbins bowed and retired. Jake was pretty sure that the entire hotel knew the wording of his card.

“Wait until they hear that you brought kippers to my breakfast table,” Cleo said wryly.

“We are likely of great interest,” Jake acknowledged. “My valet tells me that curiosity has grown since I moved to the suite across the corridor.”

Cleo shrugged and looked at the cup of coffee he placed before her. The smell of roasted beans swirled in the air between them. “I will reluctantly admit that kippers are agreeable, but I don’t think I’ll ever like that brew.”

Jake tipped some cream into his coffee and followed it with a teaspoon of sugar. “I spent a month of my life near to death. In the darkest days, I remember thinking that as long as there was coffee to wake up to, I might as well keep living.”

She looked up suddenly. “Was your illness connected to those ferocious scars on your back from the bear’s attack?”

“The wound became infected,” Jake said, nodding. “You may hanker after the experience of cooking by the side of the road, but I found it difficult to brew proper coffee over a fire. The twigs would go out, or a wind would collapse my tripod.”

“I can imagine you in the wilderness,” Cleo said. She smiled—and his body responded just as it did to the smell of coffee in the morning.

With urgency, desire, and utter conviction.

“Damn, you’re beautiful,” he said, the words unbidden.

A teacup filled with coffee paused at her lips, and her eyes widened. “A compliment, a genuine compliment!”

“What’s more, with kippers in front of me.” He waited until understanding filled her eyes. “Cleo, I am no longer interested in Quimby’s.”

She put the coffee down without tasting it. “I see. Is that why you are dressed in black this morning?”

“Am I supposed to wear colors in the daytime as well?” He felt a thump of alarm. It had been a relief to put on clothing that fit his shoulders without making an exhibition of them. “I shall be wearing buttercup yellow tonight, while escorting Merry to Vauxhall Gardens.”

“I shall look forward to seeing that. My grandfather, Byng, and I shall dine with some friends, and attend afterwards,” Cleo said.

Jake narrowed his eyes. “Which friends?”

“The Earl of Lilford and his sister, Lady Lydia. Oh, and Lady Yasmin, whom you met last night. I had a delightful conversation with her over supper, but you had already left by then.”

“Martha Quimby’s breeches were so tight in the arse that I was afraid they would split up the rear,” Jake said. “The coat as well.” He moved his shoulders, remembering. “Not to mention that neck cloth frothing around my neck and scratching my chin.”

Cleo burst out laughing. “I see that you’re wearing a narrow cravat this morning. I can see a stripe of your neck. Gussie would be horrified.”

“Do try the coffee while it’s hot.” He watched as she sipped the drink.

She wrinkled her nose. “I like the smell but not the taste.”

“Too bitter?”

She nodded. He leaned over and put a spoonful of sugar in the cup. “Try again.” Then he watched as she drank. Cleo put it down.

“It’s different from tea,” she said cautiously.

“Exhilarating, where tea is comforting,” Jake said. “When the temperature in the mountains fell to the point at which air bit at our exposed skin, I would brew coffee and my men would cheer.”

“Tell me about your travels,” she said, her eyes on his.