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“Neither am I, at least not for food.” His gaze lowered down her tiny body. “But you are the one who is always chiding me to display more concern for my servants. Do you truly wish to hurt Madame LaSalle’s delicate sensibilities by refusing the feast she has spent the entire day preparing?”
Her dark eyes flashed. “Your concern seems to conveniently appear when it suits your purpose.”
“It is at least a beginning, is it not?”
She ducked her head to hide her expressive face. “If you say so.”
Philippe swallowed his impatience with an effort. Gripping her chin, he gently forced her countenance upward. “Raine, please look at me.”
Grudgingly, she met his searching gaze. “What?”
“Must you battle me every moment of every day?” he demanded. “Can we not for once enjoy a peaceful dinner?”
“Our battles are not always my fault. It is not as if you are a particularly congenial gentleman,” she accused.
“We have already established that I am arrogant and boorish and utterly without redeeming qualities. That does not mean, however, I cannot be a charming dinner companion when I choose,” he said dryly. “I have even been known to dine with kings and queens without being tossed into the nearest dungeon.”
In the shimmering moonlight a reluctant smile tugged at her lips. “That is rather difficult to believe.”
Something that was dangerously close to relief rushed through Philippe. It was absurd, but he could not deny he had harbored a fear that he had wounded Raine beyond forgiveness.
Threading her arm through his, Philippe tugged her firmly back toward the cottage.
“Why do you not allow me the opportunity to prove my claim?”
She heaved a small sigh as they stepped through a side door and made their way to the dining room.
“You really are impossible, you know.”
Philippe flashed a devilish smile. “Without a doubt.”
They entered a room that was nearly overwhelmed by an ornate walnut table and matching sideboard. Jean-Pierre’s taste in furnishings was nearly as hideous as his taste in art. Hiding his grimace, Philippe forced himself to spare a smile for the hovering housekeeper.
For whatever ridiculous reason Raine found it important that the servants feel as if they were properly appreciated. On this night Philippe was willing to indulge her wishes.
“Ah. Madame LaSalle, it smells delicious,” he murmured. “Roasted lamb?”
A startled blush of pleasure touched the woman’s round cheeks. “Oui, with my own rosemary sauce.”
“How did you possibly know it was my favorite?”
“Is it?” The woman fussed with her apron, attempting to hide her smile. “Well, I believe that a gentleman should always have a hearty dinner, and there is nothing tastier than lamb on a cold winter night.”
“Yes, indeed.” Philippe ignored Raine’s startled glance as he escorted her to the table and seated her. Taking his own seat next to her, he glanced toward the servant. “I think that will be all for now, Madame LaSalle.”
“Yes, of course.” With a hasty curtsy the woman scurried from the room and Philippe smiled smugly as he filled Raine’s plate with the various dishes spread across the table. “There, you see? I am not entirely without charm.”
She rolled her eyes. “When it suits your purpose.”
Philippe filled his own plate before pouring them both a glass of the rich burgundy. At least Jean-Pierre could always be depended upon to keep a respectable cellar.
“It has been my experience that most people employ charm when it suits their purpose, which is why I prefer a more direct approach.” He deliberately held her gaze as he took a bite of the lamb. “And why I prefer others who speak their mind.”
“Are you implying that I have no charm?”
Philippe gave a short laugh. “You have charms enough to bring men to their knees, as you well know, meu amor.” He studied the pale features that should only belong to an angel. “It is little wonder your father felt compelled to keep you hidden behind the walls of a convent. You would have created chaos in that tiny village.”
Tasting of the delicate soufflé, Raine gave a small shrug. She was remarkably indifferent to her astonishing beauty.
