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“You should have said so right away.” He gestured for the footman to replace her plate with another dish. She breathed in deeply and delicately put a small piece of the new dish into her mouth. The earl studied her carefully while she chewed. Julie’s mouth went dry under his intense perusal, and her throat closed, making it hard to swallow.
“Too dry,” she said, as she finally managed to get the food past her throat and took a large sip of her wine.
“Would you like anything else?” Clydesdale asked, his tone all politeness.
“No,” she choked out past her still dry throat. “I’ll have more wine, though.” She raised her glass, and it was immediately refilled.
“I am glad you find the wine to your liking.” The earl relaxed in his chair, still watching her.
“I don’t,” Julie said, irritated. Would the man just leave her alone? “I’ve had much better.” She noticed that a few people beside her were paying attention to their conversation.
Clydesdale regarded her quizzically. His intense gaze was still unsettling. “Have you?” he asked, idly toying with his fork, rolling it between his long, masculine fingers, as if contemplating stabbing her with it.
Julie lowered her gaze to the gesture before meeting his gaze again.
He smiled coldly, as if he’d read her thoughts. “This is port from Douro Valley; the best money can buy. As for the food, Chef Badeaux is the best chef on this side of the English Channel. We brought him from France ourselves and paid him a great deal. So, I know it is not his talent that is causing you trouble.” He narrowed his eyes at her mouth. “Maybe the problem is in your tongue—”
Julie’s eyes widened exponentially at that statement. It was improper to refer to ladies’ body parts directly, but so far, the earl hadn’t acted properly at any point.
“Too bitter.” With these words, he turned away, leaving her gaping after him.
Julie quickly schooled her features and gulped thebest wine money could buy, drowning the dry tickle in her throat. Her hunger evaporated like a puddle on a hot, sunny day. She felt decidedly uneasy. The surrounding voices blurred until she heard a single, distinct voice ring out over the din.
“… the Americans are asking for it!”
Julie turned to Lord Bingham, who sat to her right. His face was red, presumably from too much wine, his eyes glinting with excitement.
“They did this on purpose, I tell you. That captain of theirs just shot at our sloop, which was small and defenseless, we—the lords—should not let it stand and press our government to do something about it.”
“They think that just because we are at war with Bonaparte, we are too busy to avenge theLittle Belt,” another lord chimed in. He was young and eager to put his tuppence worth into the heated conversation. “But we can do both, kick Boney out of the Continent and show the Americans who they are dealing with.”
What were they talking about? Julie frowned in thought.Little Belt Affair?Julie read the papers almost reverently, trying to glimpse the battlefield John was on. Hoping to read that the war had ceased, and the soldiers were on the way back home. During one of those times, she’d read about theLittle Belt, the sloop attacked off the coast of the United States, which led to several deaths. The affair was under furious debate in Parliament, or so she’d read, blaming the Americans for firing upon a ship on purpose.
Lord Bingham seemed quite pleased with the young buck’s agreement. “Absolutely,” he said, looking smug. “We should show them who they are dealing with.”
More of the vigorous assertions ensued, hot-headed arguments mixed in with false patriotism by men who would never go to war themselves. Julie felt sick to her stomach.
“Don’t you think one war is enough?” The words left Julie’s mouth before she could consciously restrain herself. She could never make herself listen to people talking about the war in such a cavalier fashion. Especially young fops who slept soundly at home, while her John had been on the front lines for years. “Considering, none of you—” she waved her hand about the table “—are actually going to fight.”
Clydesdale cleared his throat next to her. Did he mean to silence her thus? She pretended not to notice.
“Now, see here, young lady,” Lord Bingham said in a patronizing tone, “it’s not a woman’s place to talk about war and politics. This is the lords’ business.”
“No, of course not, I shouldn’t let my delicate sensibilities impede a nice supper conversation about murder, now should I?”
Bingham fumed, going red in the face.
“That’s enough, Julie.” Julie intercepted her father’s furious gaze. He looked as if he was ready to murder her himself. “It’s not your place to talk to the lords like that! You will apologize.”
“Fine.” Julie breathed in slowly. Clydesdale was staring at her intently. What she said next would probably seal her fate. A memory of John overwhelmed her clouded mind. “I apologize,” she said, feigning meekness. “Killing my countrymen in endless, useless wars should not be my concern.”
She knew her tirade wouldn’t bode well for her later. Her father looked like he was about to explode. Everyone at the table grew quiet, and women started fanning themselves vigorously. The men were probably disgusted by her behavior, or at least she hoped that was the case.
“My Lady—” Bingham began, looking strained.
“It is a complicated matter,” Clydesdale interjected smoothly. He looked at her with an inexplicable twinkle in his eyes. “But perhaps you are right, My Lady. The supper table is not the best place to discuss issues unfit for mixed company. We should switch the subject to more appropriate topics.”
Julie regarded him quizzically for a moment. He didn’t seem put out by her behavior, but then again, she couldn’t quite guess at his thoughts. She chewed worriedly on the inside of her lower lip and turned away. Had she driven him away or not? No matter. She still had another plan.
