“This way,” he drawled, almost sounding impatient.
The kitchen was down another flight of stairs, and it was as cavernous and enormous as it was well-equipped. Mentally, she added a tick to the column she was making in favour of holding the Ball at Ravens Manor. A large kitchen like this would easily accommodate the caterers. Her eyes scanned the facilities until they landed on the electric dumb waiters in the center. Undoubtedly they would convey meals to a large banquet room upstairs. Perfect for the function.
“Are you hungry?” Her host asked, his voice muffled by the refrigerator. He was rifling through containers and bottles, and as he bent to pull something out, muscles she hadn’t even known existed rippled on his back. She flicked her eyes back to the dumb waiter. Much safer.
“No, thank you.”
She didn’t see the way Antonio’s lips curved into a sneer of derision. He was used to women who starved themselves to fit into couture. His mother had been one of them, and many of the women he’d taken to his bed, also. Strange then, that he was now so sick of such a stupid vanity. This woman was so slim she looked as though she might blow away in the breeze. If ever he’d seen someone in need of a meal, it was her.
“You will eat,” he said, pulling another tub out of the fridge. “If you want my attention, that is.”
Elizabeth was taken aback. Even during her medical studies, she’d never been spoken to like that. As the lowliest intern at the hospital on Brompton Road where she’d met newly diagnosed Alastair, she’d been met with respect. Never, not once, had she had to deal with such imperious bad manners.
“I said I’m not hungry,” she responded haughtily, tilting her head so that she could stare at him down the length of her nose.
“And I said that you’ll have a meal with me, if you want another moment of my time.” His eyes were steel-like with determination and Elizabeth forced herself to see the bigger picture. The Ball was all that mattered. If she had to put up with this arrogant man, then so be it.
“Are you going to force feed me?” She couldn’t resist asking, moving to the island bench and perching her rear on a timber stool.
“If I have to,” he responded, dropping his eyes to her lips. His insolent inspection should have angered her, but it just made that strange lurching in her tummy all the more noticeable.
“I’ll eat,” she rushed to assure him, watching as his fingers arranged various antipasti on a wooden board.
“We’ll see.” His grin was strange, like he was judging her, or angry with her. It was a dark emotion; one that she, who had been adored her whole life, couldn’t possibly comprehend.
Elizabeth had to start again. She forced a smile to her face, unconscious of how the expression made his gut clench with a strong force of attraction. He lowered his eyes to the ring she wore, reminding himself that his mother had spent her whole life disregarding the vows of marriage. He was not like her. Nicoletta hadn’t cared about anyone, especially not her children. And nor had the men she’d slept with. He wasn’t going to become one of those men to this woman, no matter how damned attractive she was.
“My name is Lady Sanderson,” she began, looping a finger through her pearl choker and fingering the shiny orbs thoughtfully. “And I need your help.”
Antonio raised his eyebrows, curious despite himself. “You need my help?”
“Yes.”
Antonio speared a piece of bocconcini and lifted it towards her. When Elizabeth didn’t take the fork, he pushed it further forward, pressing the creamy morsel against her equally rich looking mouth.
Elizabeth gasped, her eyes wide, and her mouth open, so that Antonio was able to press the cheese inside. It was delicious, but she hardly tasted it. Her insides were churning with a strange mix of emotions, and a moist heat had formed in her most private core. His eyes held hers as she chewed and swallowed the circle.
And despite his best intentions, which really were honourable, Antonio reached across the bench and caught a tiny drip of oil that had escaped from the corner of her mouth with the pad of his thumb. She was quite stunningly gorgeous, he thought, as he ran his thumb along her soft skin, chasing the drop back to her mouth.
“This is quite inappropriate,” Elizabeth remarked, her voice thin as she pushed to her feet.
“I don’t disagree.”
Elizabeth stalked a few paces, away from him, and his seductive near nakedness. “This is a professional matter,” she said angrily, injecting as much coolness into her voice as possible, given she was completely awash with an out-of-nowhere lust.
“And are you professionally desirable, Lady Sanderson?” He asked mockingly, his frustration directed at her as well as himself.
“Stop it,” she implored, once more fingering her wedding ring. “I didn’t come here to be hit on.”
“Then why did you come to my house, looking like that?”
Her frown was infinitesimal. “Like what?”
“Like you’ve just walked out of a fashion shoot. Dressed to impress.”
Elizabeth’s laugh crackled through the electricity that was arcing between them. “Most certainly not for your benefit.”
He shrugged, then lifted a piece of bocconcini to his mouth and bit into it. Elizabeth watched as he ate, grappling with the impact he was having on her.