“Very good.” With a flick of his long fingers, he indicated the place setting in front of her. “Now, can you explain this to me?”
She barely refrained from rolling her eyes, because she knew he would not appreciate it. Reaching for patience, she told him, “Of course I can. This is what Raoul has been teaching me for the last month and a half.”
“Then you should have no trouble demonstrating that knowledge to me, should you?” He sounded as if he might be reaching for patience too, although for the life of her she couldn’t understand why.
A sigh escaped her before she could stop it. “Raoul and I have gone through table manners, a history of Vampyre customs, and what an attendant should and should not do for a wide variety of events. I just don’t understand why you want to focus on this now, when I know all of it already.”
“Do you, indeed?” he said. His diction seemed to become even more perfect. She wondered if that might be some kind of warning sign, as he cocked his head, his mouth held at a slant. “Then perhaps you can kindly explain how this place setting would differ should an Elf be present.”
Her gaze fell to the place setting. The outside spoon was very slightly out of alignment, and she took her time adjusting it. Finally she had to make the grudging admission. “We haven’t talked about Elven dining yet.”
“I see.” His gray-green gaze glittered as he looked at her. “What about Dark Fae formal dining customs?”
She rubbed her chin, her lips pursed. Then she shook her head.
“The Light Fae?”
“No,” she muttered.
“What about the Demonkind? I do not refer to the Djinn, who naturally do not need to eat and will adapt to the predominant social custom of the occasion, but to the other Demonkind who may be at table.”
Oh, for crying out loud. This was like some kind of modern version of My Fair Lady.
Only with Vampyres.
She made herself breathe evenly for a few moments. “You’ve made your point.”
“Have I? How fortuitous.” As he lounged back in his chair, all the subtle signs of aggravation disappeared. “Then perhaps we should get back to the task at hand, so that I can determine what you have learned before going on to teach you what you haven’t.”
Okay, that went too far. One small part of her mind—the wary part, the sensible part—started to whisper, Don’t say it, don’t say it. . . .
But the rest of her was too exasperated to listen. She flung out her hands and opened her eyes wide. “Who says ‘fortuitous’ these days?”
He just looked at her. The slanted angle of his mouth had returned, as well as the slight snap to his diction. “Apparently, I do. Now, if you are quite through, it might behoove you to remember that a successful attendant is nowhere near this argumentative with her patron.”
The devil took hold of her tongue. There was no other explanation for it.
“Behoove,” she said.
The angle of his mouth leveled out, and his voice turned exceedingly, dangerously soft. “Yes. Behoove.”
She opened her mouth. Shut it. Opened it again. Don’t say it. . . .
Gray-green eyes narrowed, daring her to cross the line.
Then the rest of what he had said sank in.
A successful attendant. Meaning, of course, that she wasn’t a successful one. She wasn’t anywhere near it. She wouldn’t let him bite her, and she couldn’t keep her mouth shut.
Was this what he had meant when he had said that some people couldn’t settle into the lifestyle of attendant, even when they wanted to?
Discouragement sagged her shoulders. With a groan, she bent her head and put her face in her hands. “I’m sorry. I’m failing completely at this, aren’t I?”
TEN
Xavier covered his mouth with one hand as he regarded Tess’s dejected figure. “I don’t know that I would quite say you’re failing completely.”
“Thanks,” she said, her voice muffled. “I find those words so encouraging.”
Some undefined impulse brought him out of his chair. He walked around to her and when he reached her side, he leaned back against the table, crossed his arms and looked down at an angle at her bent head. “Perhaps we should take a moment to recall a frightened young woman I met at the Vampyre’s Ball. Do you remember her?”
Her head lifted, and she looked up at him.
Those large, lovely dark eyes of hers were surrounded by shadows. She looked tired and worried. He smiled. “That young woman could not run for an hour, nor could she hit nine marks out of ten when shooting a gun. And she certainly could not have surprised Raoul so thoroughly, could she?”