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He refilled their glasses before coming to stand near as she mixed a pinch of coriander and parsley with garlic butter for the potatoes once they were cooked. He gently brushed a wisp of hair from her forehead, his touch feather-light, and Rosalie felt the contact shudder through her body.
‘Could you check how the steaks are doing?’ Her voice was breathless and she heard it with a dart of despair. She had to get a handle on all this. The trouble was she was a bunch of contradictions where Kingsley was concerned, she admitted silently. Part of her wished she had never met him, and the other part was beginning to wonder how sh
e had managed for so long without him in her life. And that was dangerous.
She pounded the butter to within an inch of its life before she became aware that Kingsley was looking at her thoughtfully. ‘Is that better?’ he asked softly.
‘Is what better?’ she prevaricated carefully, the tell-tale burning in her cheeks causing a feeling of acute irritation with both Kingsley and herself. Why did she have to blush so easily? It was such a give-away.
‘Now you’ve worked off some of that excess frustration, do you feel more relaxed?’ he asked with aggravating composure.
She glared at him. ‘How are the steaks?’
‘Well and happy and demanding to be eaten.’ He walked over to her. ‘So why don’t you hobble off like a good girl and sit down and I’ll bring everything through?’
The glare intensified. ‘I’ve got to drain the potatoes and—’
‘I am more than capable of doing that. You’ve done all the hard work, now it’s my turn.’ He handed her her glass of wine. ‘Concentrate on getting to the patio with that without spilling it, okay?’ He picked up the salad bowl and then the smaller one holding the dressing. ‘Vamoose, woman!’
She really couldn’t do anything else. By the time she had limped through to the sitting room, which led to the patio area, Kingsley was already on his way back to the kitchen, smiling at her with an unsettling blend of amusement and softness as he passed.
She was glad he wasn’t with her when she walked onto the patio because she groaned out loud. He had set a corner of the table intimately for two, two candles burning in small star-shaped crystal holders and a vase of richly perfumed white roses between them. A small scalloped tablecloth covered the area of the table they were sitting at, and he’d used Beth’s best plates—white china edged with platinum—and silver cutlery.
The sky had provided its own magnificent backdrop to the scene, its dusky blue streaked with tumescent crimson and violet and enriched with bands of gold, and the scent of jasmine and honeysuckle vied with the heavy perfume of the roses to create a riot on the senses.
She stood staring for a moment or two, the soft indigo dusk beyond the table warm and fragrant, and then slowly made her way to her seat. So much for distance.
Kingsley reappeared in the next moment with the potatoes and wine, looking at her with shadowed eyes. He refilled her wineglass, which had been almost empty, before he went back to the kitchen with the plates for the steaks, but he didn’t speak and neither did Rosalie. Not until he was back and sitting beside her. Then she said, ‘This is the way summer evenings should always be,’ raising her wineglass as she added, ‘To the new hotel and the continuing success of Ward Enterprises.’
He gave a phantom of a smile as he lifted his own glass. ‘To the most beautiful quantity surveyor I’ve ever seen and getting to know each other.’
He noticed the withdrawal in her eyes his words brought forth but he didn’t comment on it, gentling his voice still further as he said, ‘Let me serve you.’ And then he released her gaze, reaching out and picking up the bowl holding the succulently coated potatoes.
They talked of inconsequential things as the meal progressed and within minutes Rosalie was wrapped in his easy mood. He set out to make her laugh and he succeeded, creating a lazy, relaxed atmosphere enhanced by the sleeping garden and the whispering stillness of the velvet night. The moon rose, the sky becoming a dark canopy pierced with tiny flickering lights, and the rest of the world outside the garden melted away.
It was Kingsley who cleared away the dishes, returning after a while with a board containing a selection of cheeses and crackers, and another holding green and red grapes, after they’d agreed they were too full for one of Beth’s rich desserts.
He handed her a cup of coffee with thick whipped cream floating on top, similar to the one he’d made earlier in the day, but this time there was the taste of orange liqueur along with the fragrant spices.
‘This is delicious,’ Rosalie murmured as he sat down beside her again, one arm draped casually on the back of her chair. ‘Where did you learn to make coffee like this?’
He shrugged ‘I don’t remember.’
She stared at him. There had been something, just the faintest something that told her he was lying. He remembered all too well. Rosalie straightened in her chair. ‘It was her, wasn’t it?’ she said flatly. ‘The woman you mentioned last night, the one where you got your fingers burnt?’
He didn’t prevaricate further. ‘Yes, it was.’
‘Why didn’t you say so?’ she asked quietly.
‘Because I didn’t think mentioning another woman would add to the evening,’ he said bluntly.
‘Do you mind talking about her?’
He removed his arm from the back of her chair, settling back in his seat and folding his arms as he looked at her quizzically. ‘Which means you think I do,’ he observed softly. Then he shrugged. ‘The answer is no, not now. Not for a long time.’
She knew it wasn’t fair to ask because she wasn’t prepared to reciprocate regarding Miles, but she couldn’t help herself. ‘What happened?’ she asked quietly.
‘Maria was Italian and worked at one of my father’s hotels. We were in love, or so I thought. What I didn’t know was that I was one of many. She liked nice things, you see, and where she had come from—in a particularly poor area of Naples—a beautiful girl could make a lot of money very quickly in the age-old way. Shocked?’ he asked softly.
