Midnight Star (Star Quartet 2)

Why, he wanted to ask her, do you appear to want me? He said nothing.

François handed Delaney a bottle of vintage Bordeaux wine. “This will doubtless be excellent, François. Thank you.” To Chauncey he murmured, “All the comforts of London, ma’am.”

When their glasses were filled, Delaney raised his and said, “Let us drink to you, Miss Jameson, and may you succeed in your endeavors.”

She flushed; she couldn’t help it. He is mocking me, she thought, and stiffened her spine. “Indeed, Mr. Saxton. To my success!”

“Why do I feel as though I’m a pig on the way to slaughter?” he remarked, giving her a crooked grin.

“You, sir,” she said severely, “are already wallowing in your conceit!”

“But I shouldn’t order the roast pork, hmm?”

“Perhaps a pig’s jowl would be more suitable.”

“Since we have covered everything except ham, Miss Jameson, I think I will direct you to the fish stew. I think you will find it quite unexceptionable. As to François’s pronunciation of ‘bouillabaisse,’ it is better left unheard.” He handed the menus back to François and gave him their order.

“I bow to your superior knowledge, sir.”

“But not to my superior wit?”

“I believe you told me, Mr. Saxton, that the gentleman in question has less than an ounce of wit.”

“You have hoisted me again, ma’am. It is not what I am used to.” He smiled at her, a smile of genuine warmth. Had he used the same unconscious charm on her father? She felt something harden inside her.

“There are many things, Mr. Saxton, that one must become used to,” she said quietly.

“I feel you are plumbing depths while leaving me to flounder in the shallows. You remind me somewhat of my sister-in-law.”

“Your sister-in-law? Now I am drowning, sir.”

“Her name is Giana, and like you, she is English. She lives in New York with my brother, Alex. She is quite a stubborn, strong-willed little wench, but my brother has her under control now, I believe.”

He was drawing her, but she wasn’t paying attention. His sister-in-law was English, thus his English relations. She sipped from her wineglass. “What was her name, sir?”

“Sir? Since you insisted I accompany you to lunch, ma’am, and in addition you have trusted me with your money, perhaps you should consider calling me Delaney. I am not that old, only twenty-eight to be exact. Not even the exalted age of a loving uncle.”

“What was her name . . . Delaney?”

“Van Cleave,” he said, watching her closely. He heard the tension in her voice and didn’t understand it.

“Van Cleave,” Chauncey repeated thoughtfully. “I am afraid that the name is unfamiliar to me.”

“England is small,

but not that small,” he said. For some reason, he didn’t want to tell her that Giana’s mother was now Aurora Arlington, Duchess of Graffton. Did he expect her to gush over him as did Mrs. Stevenson? No, she wouldn’t do that. Just exactly what she would do, he couldn’t begin to guess.

There was silence between them for some minutes while François served the bouillabaisse. Delaney said thoughtfully, tapping his fingertip on his wineglass, “Everyone wonders why such a . . . lady as yourself is visiting San Francisco.”

“You as well, sir . . . Delaney?”

“Of course. I was given to understand that you not only possessed a beak of a nose but also were a terrible snob. I am pleased that the former is not true. But the latter . . ?”

“Oh, a dreadful snob, I assure you,” she said lightly. “This is quite delicious. I shall doubtless go to the poorhouse with a happy stomach.”

“It is not that expensive, Miss Jameson. May I tell you that you are the first lady to invite me to lunch?”

“Perhaps you should cultivate your charm.”