Arabella’s guileless expression faded. “That won’t be necessary, Marcus.”
“No?”
“She can do much better than this.”
“I don’t know that I am willing to risk it. In fact, if she deliberately planned this unpalatable fare, I don’t want her in my employ any longer.”
His empty threat had the desired effect: Arabella sighed and came to the housekeeper’s defense with a confession. “It was not Mrs. Simpkin’s fault. It was entirely mine. I asked her to alter her recipes this evening.”
Marcus lifted an eyebrow. “You requested that she burn the mutton and spike the wine with vinegar? I suspected as much.” He eyed Arabella in amusement. “Let me guess. You’re endeavoring to make my stay here as unpleasant as possible in hopes that I will give up on our wager.”
“Well, yes,” she admitted with only a faint blush of guilt. “And to spoil the prospect of any intimacy between us.”
“Since starvation is not conducive to courtship.”
“Precisely. But I warned you I would not make it easy for you to woo me. Are you vexed?” she asked sweetly.
Her smile held such satisfaction, Marcus had to grin in return. “Vexed? Not in the least.” Exasperated, perhaps. And most certainly fascinated by the beautiful spitfire and her efforts to evade his courtship. But perhaps he could turn her machinations to his advantage…
He suddenly rose and held out his hand to her. “Come with me, Arabella.”
That wicked smile instantly made her extremely wary. “Come where?”
“You’ll see.”
When he grasped her hand and drew her to her feet, she had no choice but to accompany him. They swept past a bewildered Simpkin and down the corridor, heading for the back stairs.
“Where are you taking me?” Arabella demanded uneasily.
“To the kitchens to find something more palatable to eat.”
“There really is no need-”
“Indeed there is. I insist. You must still be hungry, and I know I am.”
Arabella tried to pull back. “I think I would rather starve.”
Marcus gave a low laugh. “But I would not. Come along, darling. You don’t want to put me to the trouble of carrying you.”
Suspecting that he would make good on his threat if she continued resisting, Arabella gave up gracefully.
When they reached the large kitchens, they found Mrs. Simpkin seated at the long wooden table where the servants took their meals, while the maid scrubbed pots and pans at the sink. The housekeeper rose abruptly, looking startled to see them. “My lord! Is something amiss?”
“I would say so, Mrs. Simpkin. The dishes you served tonight failed to satisfy our appetites.”
“I can prepare another dinner, my lord-”
“That won’t be necessary. You will excuse us, please.”
The housekeeper suddenly looked worried. “What do you intend, Lord Danvers? If you mean to punish Miss Arabella-”
“I am merely going to feed her. Now, pray give us some privacy. Don’t be alarmed, I won’t harm your mistress.”
After a hesitant glance at Arabella, the housekeeper reluctantly left the room, followed by the wide-eyed scullery maid.
Marcus led Arabella to the table and pressed her down onto the bench. “Sit here while I raid the larder.”
She obeyed unwillingly. The warmth of the room, combined with the delicious aromas of herbs and cooking, was somehow pleasant, yet she couldn’t relax as she watched Marcus search the vast room. It was incongruous to see a tall, lithe aristocrat garbed in formal evening clothes foraging in these domestic surroundings, but it was utterly unsettling to imagine what he had in store for her. He was obviously retaliating in response to her tactics.