“Considering the seating plan for my sister’s wedding breakfast one more time.”
He glanced over her shoulder—and his eyes widened. “That’s a lot of people to accommodate.”
“Less than it could have been,” she muttered softly. “My father had a great many friends he wanted to invite at first.”
He leaned a little closer and studied the arrangements she was making. Seating guests and organizing parties were matters best handled by wives. However, he didn’t think he’d ever viewed such detailed notes before. He was impressed by Rebecca’s meticulous attention to detail.
There was a page of notes for every servant. A timetable for the bride and family. Nothing was to be left to chance, it seemed. When he spotted his own name on a page assigned to a particular servant, he pulled the sheet toward him. On it, Rebecca had made a note regarding his preferences for certain types of drink at different hours of the day.
He hadn’t known he was so predictable. It was accurate—or had been until today. “You are organizing absolutely everyone.”
She tensed.
“I am in awe of your forethought,” he promised.
“Really?”
Since that single word was drenched in sarcastic tones, he hastened to explain. “Indeed. There is nothing worse than suffering the company of someone you routinely disagree with.”
“I don’t want to sit by you, either.”
Adam laughed but pointed to a different name on her chart. He leaned close to whisper in her ear, “Lord Farrington bores me to death, and you’ve put him way over there. I cannot thank you enough!”
“You’re welcome.”
“You truly are a gifted hostess.” He drew back and set his hands on the chair back. “Ever considered managing your own family?”
“I am.”
He chuckled. The woman was impossible. “I meant have you considered taking on a new household. A husband.”
Her head lifted, chin jutting out. “No.”
“Shame,” he murmured. He was disappointed. “I’m sure a man could grow accustomed to the idea of being managed so well if there were other compensations to be had.”
Her brow furrowed, even if she kept her eyes on her papers. “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”
Adam pursed his lips, and then leaned closer again. “Sex, Becca. Hot, sweaty sex that lasts till dawn. Surely you remember how good it felt?”
Her lips parted, and she bounced to her feet. They were eye to eye then, but Rebecca was stuck between him and the table. She seemed at a loss for words.
Or had she no idea that sex could be so good? She had married an older fellow, a man well past his prime, after all, so perhaps she didn’t.
“You should not speak to me like that,” she finally said, cheeks turning a fiery red. Excitement or anger, Adam couldn’t tell yet.
“What can I say, you bring out the devil in me. Figuring out what you want, what you desire, is going to be a challenge.” He grinned.
“I desire you to find another to torment.”
“But I like you,” Adam confessed, and saw her eyes go wide with shock at his words. It was true. She fascinated him. “Invite me to your bedchamber tonight and find out if I can meet your high standards under the covers.”
Her lips compressed into a tight line briefly and then she scowled. “I would never invite a scoundrel into my bedchamber.”
Scowls could be attractive on the right face Adam discovered then. Rebecca Warner was no shy, biddable widow, eager to impress him—a wealthy earl. She had this fierce inner fire that rarely saw the light of day but when it did he was enthralled by her vibrancy. When she spun around, he leaned close to whisper, “Who needs a bedchamber? Any wall will do when the impulse strikes. One night soon, you should give me a chance to make you happy. After ten any evening would suit me very well. I’ll be waiting with breathless anticipation for your signal. In the meantime, I’ll keep you company.”
The duke had said proximity was important.
Adam collected his book, settled into the same chair he’d occupied last night, and began to read. If not Rebecca, then some other lady would warm to him eventually. For now, he would practice on the most appealing lady to hand.