The Earl and His Virgin Countess(8)

The sitting room door opened, yet no one emerged. Pushing it wider, he spotted a hidden panel at the other end close. He lifted the tray of food off the trolley and brought it in, placing it on the table in the corner. Miranda had moved and sat on the chaise with her foot propped on a large bolster.

“Feeling better?”

She nodded. “Yes, thank you for asking.”

“What can I get for you to eat? Something light, I think, easy on the stomach.”

Nodding again, she shifted slightly. He imagined she was quite uncomfortable at the moment, both emotionally and physically. After filling her plate with a slice of bread and some fruit, and, pouring her a cup of tea, he considered adding a glass of wine, but decided she needed something solid first. Handing her the cup of tea, he pulled a small spindle table toward her with his free hand.

“Start with this, and if you can keep it down and want more, I can make you another plate.”

Over the edge of her teacup, she looked at the table then back at him. She certainly had the grande dame haughty stare down to an art form. “I don’t expect you are used to serving others.”

“If you mean....” He paused to ensure she paid attention, not relishing having to explain to her again, that unlike her, acting a snob, he was anything but. Madame Evangeline has failed miserably on this match. “I am able to serve myself, if necessary, but I feel it’s more important to put people to work. And as I can afford to pay someone to make my meals and another to serve them to me, that is two more people who can bring money home to families who need them.”

A rosy flush spread across her pale skin. “I beg your pardon, milord.”

“Please call me Andrew.” Placing food on his plate, he filled the last empty spot with a piece of quail. He swirled the red wine in his glass and wished it were something stronger, but, in the end, alcohol in any form was welcome. Nothing about the evening could be described as planned.

“It wouldn’t be proper to call you by your given name,” she said.

“And I suppose coming here to meet with a strange man for a clandestine evening is proper? Did you plan to call me milord while we made use of the large bed upstairs? When you screamed your pleasure, would it be ‘milord’ on your lips?”

Her perfect lips formed an O and then began to tremble. Christ, she’s about to cry. To his utter surprise, she threw her head back and laughed out loud. Not a delicate giggle, but a laugh that started from deep within and engulfed her entirely. Even more surprising: she enchanted him.

Her eyes filled with tears of mirth. He hadn’t taken the opportunity to truly look at her. Tears of laughter streamed down her freckled cheeks, and he gave in. Her reddish hair, a hue that would never make her the envy of the ton, fell in disarray around her delicate face, framing her green eyes. But the fiery color suited her, brought out a rose tint in her lips and cheeks that made her seem more alive.

There was no pretense to her, and certainly she had been less than impressed with him. He doubted, even were he a prince or a king, it would make any difference to her. She hadn’t held back her disenchantment of him, yet apologized honestly when he’d corrected her. This Miranda intrigued him in a way he hadn’t felt in a while.

“You must think me a complete prig.” She wiped the tears away with the back of her hand. An action in no way de rigueur, but which nevertheless didn’t make her appear any less ladylike.

Taking pity on her, he handed her the linen handkerchief from his inner coat pocket. “No, I think you a lady who has been through much this evening.”

She snorted, wiping the tears from her eyes. “Some lady.”

“You appear to be perking up.”

She utterly charmed him with her unfettered enjoyment. Most women of his acquaintance only let men see them in the best light. A lady in public was always dainty and would never laugh until tears poured down her cheeks, and certainly wouldn’t point out her own faults. “Perhaps you would like something more substantial to eat.”

“Yes, please. Perhaps it’s unladylike to admit, but I am starving.”

He smiled, taking her plate. “It’s actually quite refreshing. I grow tired of petite young things who eat nothing and pass out at a drop of the hat.”

“I am neither young nor petite.”

No, she had curves in all the right places. Making sure it wasn’t ignored, his cock twitched as it hardened. “You seem perfect to me.”

“Ha! Far from perfect.” Again her lips formed the tantalizing O before she asked, “Did you put something in my tea?”

“I did not.”

“Then I have no excuse for my behavior.”