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Just as she snapped her mouth closed, Mr. Bertrand winked and tilted his head toward the sideboard. "Shall we break our fast, Miss York?"
Relieved to have time to puzzle out this strange conversation, she nodded. But her relief faded a bit when he picked up a plate and gestured her ahead of him.
He was on his best behavior, it seemed, and meant to serve her breakfast. A lovely effort, except that gentlemen were notoriously stingy when it came to filling her plate. She was a lady. Her appetite was meant to be dainty.
It wasn't.
But she look a deep breath and pasted on a smile because ladies did not snatch plates from gentlemen's hands in order to get another ration of bacon. She could always sneak back for more when he went riding with the other men.
He stood still next to her, both hands holding the plate at waist-level. She glanced toward the kipper fork.
"Please," he murmured, nodding his head toward the dish. "I wouldn't presume to know your tastes just yet. Allow me to play footman." He held the plate out to clarify.
Marissa's heart beat fast in surprise as she carefully served herself one kipper and then a tiny spoonful of stewed apples. When she reached the bacon, she slid two slices onto the plate, then darted a look at him.
Mr. Bertrand raised an eyebrow, offering that same secret smile. As if he knew her.
Or perhaps that was just the way a smile looked on a mouth so unfortunately wide.
Marissa bit her lip and added three more slices, staring at the blunt thickness of his thumb as she did so. When she looked up again, his smile was wider.
What an odd man. She served herself more generously with the remaining dishes.
He followed her to the table, delivering her plate with a little bow before he filled his own.
When a footman approached with tea, Mr. Bertrand requested coffee instead. "Would you prefer coffee, Miss York?"
Would she? She started to say no, but paused when her tongue touched the roof of her mouth.
Half the male visitors preferred coffee, but all the ladies drank tea. She'd tried a sip of coffee once, and it had been awful. Bitter and harsh. She hadn't liked it... and yet she wanted it again, if only to be daring.
Marissa glanced to her steaming cup of respectable tea and shook her head. "No, thank you."
Disconcerted by his smile, Marissa took a bite to buy herself a moment of quiet. She was supposed to be getting to know this man, yet every moment with him left her more confused.
She did not want to like him. He was taking advantage of an awful situation. He was unattractive and strange. She would not like him just because he offered her an extra portion of bacon and a sip of a daring drink.
Her aunt excused herself before Marissa was halfway through her plate. "Have a lovely morning, Aunt Ophelia," Marissa called out loudly. The half-deaf woman waved an irritated hand.
They were alone.
Marissa decided to be up-front, because she was simply no good at prevarication. "Mr. Bertrand, this is obviously a delicate matter. I find it difficult to address, and yet I have no choice, due to my own... poor choices."
His voice remained as calm as if they were speaking of the weather. "I assure you that you may speak freely. I'm quite aware of the circumstances and am entirely unfazed by them."
"But... I don't understand you. How can that be?"
"Miss York, your brother may have told you that my father is the Duke of Winthrop? As lofty as my father's title is, my mother is not the most respectable of women."
"Well, I assumed ..."
"She is a paid companion."
"To whom?"
"To whichever gentleman she deigns to love at the moment."
"Oh!" she yelped. "I thought... oh, I see."
