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‘Thank God for that,’ she said, smiling up at Ben. ‘I’m freezing.’
CHAPTER FOUR
SMILING UP AT HIM, complaining about the cold, Luce seemed relaxed for the first time. As if this was any usual date, not a peculiar arrangement to help an uptight woman cut loose. And she remembered him. That was a start. He wasn’t sure he could have made it all through dinner without knowing.
Ben pushed open the door to La Cuillère d’Argent and let Luce walk into the warmth first. Her face brightened in the candlelit restaurant, and she glanced back at him with surprise on her face.
‘I’m overdressed,’ she said, taking in the rustic wooden tables and chairs. There weren’t many other people eating there, but those who were wore mostly casual clothes.
‘You look perfect.’ He smiled at the waiter approaching. ‘Table for two, please?’
Seated at a candlelit table in the window, looking out at the people hurrying past, Luce stripped off her coat and asked, ‘How did you know about this place?’
‘Not what you were expecting?’
She shook her head, and Ben knew what she was thinking. She’d expected somewhere impressive, somewhere fancy and expensive—somewhere that would make her feel kindly towards him when he paid, possibly impressed enough to take him to bed when they got back to the hotel. Somewhere like The Edge. Somewhere that said, I’m Ben Hampton and I’ve just inherited half of a multi-million-pound hotel chain, and I still have time to flatter and treat you. Aren’t you impressed?
But that would have defeated the object of the evening. He wanted Luce to relax, and he knew she wasn’t the sort to be impressed by or enjoy over-priced, over-fiddly food. Too practical for that, with her epic ‘To Do’ lists and her martyr complex. She’d probably feel guilty the whole time, which wouldn’t help his cause at all.
No, he needed somewhere cosy and intimate, somewhere he could actually talk to her, learn about her life since uni, find out what made her tick. This place was perfect for that. Ben blinked in the candlelight as he realised, belatedly, that he wanted to know her. Not just seduce her or entertain her. He wanted to know the truth of Luce Myles.
Of course seducing her was still firmly part of the plan. He just didn’t mind a little small talk first.
‘Have you been here before?’ Luce asked, scanning the wine list. ‘Do you live in Chester?’
Ben shook his head. ‘Just visiting to check on the hotel. But I came here with my mother years ago. She was born in France, you see. Knew every great French restaurant in the country.’ It must have been fifteen years ago or more, he realised. ‘I checked while you were in the bath to make sure it was still here, actually. It really has been a while.’
‘What does it mean?’ Luce asked, staring at the front of the menu, where the restaurant name curled across the card. ‘“La Cuillère d’Argent”,’ she read slowly.
‘The Silver Spoon,’ Ben translated, tapping a finger against the picture under the words—an ornate piece of silverware not unlike the ones on the table for their use.
‘I like it,’ Luce announced, smiling at him over the menu.
Ben’s shoulders dropped as a tension he hadn’t realised he was feeling left him. That was wrong. She was the one who was supposed to be relaxing. He was always relaxed. That was who he was.
‘Good,’ he said, a little unnerved, and motioned a waiter over to order a carafe of white wine to start. He rather thought he might need it tonight.
They made polite conversation about the menu options, and the freshly baked bread with olive tapenade the waiter brought them, before Luce asked, ‘So, if you’re just visiting, where is home these days?’
Ben shrugged. Home wasn’t exactly something he associated with his stark and minimalist penthouse suite. And since he hadn’t been to the cottage in Wales for over a year, and the château in France for far longer, he was pretty sure they didn’t count.
‘I’m based out of London, but mostly I’m on the road. Wherever there’s a Hampton & Sons hotel I’ve got a bed for the night, so I do okay.’
Across the table Luce’s eyes widened with what Ben recognised as pity. ‘That must be hard. Not having anywhere to call home.’
Must it? ‘I’m used to it, I guess. Even growing up, I lived in the hotels.’ A different one every time he came home from boarding school, after his mother left. ‘I’ve got a penthouse suite in one of the London hotels to crash in, if I want. Fully serviced and maintained.’
