“Yes, Lin. Thank you.” Chauncey sipped at her tea. “The cakes are delicious. And all the other delicacies you’ve made for me. I appreciate it.”
Lin paused a moment, then gave her a wide smile. Her teeth look like polished pearls, Chauncey thought. “The ladies left,” Lin announced.
“Oh?”
“Mr. Saxton take Miss Stevenson to ride this afternoon.”
Chauncey spilled her tea, wincing as the hot liquid scalded her palm. Lin bustled about, wiping her hand in a soft cloth, all the while thinking happily that the lady did want her master. She was sure of it now, and couldn’t wait to tell Lucas.
Chauncey didn’t curse until Lin left her alone.
12
Delaney forked the bite of braised chicken breast into his mouth. He could heard himself chewing, for it was the only sound in the room. Chauncey hadn’t spoken above two words to him since he had come in with their dinner. He fancied he knew the reason for her snit, and was amused by it, and inordinately pleased.
“Don’t you care for the peas?” he asked. “They’re fresh from Lin’s garden.”
Chauncey didn’t raise her eyes from her still-full plate. She had formed three little mounds with the peas. “They’re very . . . green,” she said.
He cocked a mocking brow at her. “Green as in jealous green?”
She carefully laid her fork on the plate, wishing she could fling the peas in his miserable face. Jealousy be damned! She was frustrated, furious with him because she didn’t know what to do, and he saw it as jealousy. She had no experience in the intricacies of men’s minds, and had obviously chosen the wrong way to behave toward him. Did he really believe her jealous? His show of conceit put her back on firm ground, and she said amiably, “You are an arrogant swine, you know.”
“That’s better. You become quite tongue-tied when you’re angry.”
“At least it’s a real emotion! I begin to wonder if you ever feel anything, beyond a joke, that is.”
“Ah, Chauncey, ripping up at me? You behold a simple man who thought only to enjoy your company during dinner.”
“You are so damned slippery!”
“But food is one of life’s pleasures, my dear. I was but trying to explain it to you.”
She regarded him closely and said abruptly, “You’ve a scar on your upper lip.”
“The result of a slippery ax my father gave me for Christmas when I was eight years old. I have other scars, in more interesting places.”
“You would doubtless be pleased to recount your bravery in the making of each one.”
“Only if it would secure your admiration and soften you up a bit.”
I can’t and won’t be soft around you! she wanted to yell at him. Instead she stifled an elaborate yawn and asked, “Did you enjoy your ride with Miss Stevenson?”
His mobile left brow shot up again. “Odd, isn’t it, how I guessed you knew about that?”
“Oh, and you feel I am jealous because of it?” Take that, you cad, she thought, watching his eyes gleam with her unexpected retort.
“Penelope is a rather . . . careful rider. Not hell-bent like you. Of course, she has kept her body intact as a result of her prudence.”
He was toying with her, like a big lazy cat with a rib-bandaged mouse. The vivid picture that brought to her mind doused her ire at him and made her giggle.
“That’s better. Will you share the jest with me?”
Why not? she thought. Nothing else seemed to work. “I imagined you a big furry cat pawing about a poor, helpless little mouse, one with bandaged ribs.”
He grinned at her. “I wonder if there were no bandages which of us would be viewed as the cat?”
The mark hit home and she bit down on her lower lip. “I don’t toy with you,” she said stiffly.