Her Reluctant Groom (5 page)

“
It was torturous,” he said, scowling. “The first time I copied it, I nearly fell asleep three times while doing that tedious task.”

Emma giggled. “Then why didn't you just have a servant do it?”

He blinked at her. Why hadn't
he
thought of that? For nearly four years he'd made himself miserable copying Caroline's dreadfully boring biology notes. “I have no idea.”

She shook her head. “It was a nice thing for you to do. I hope you know she really appreciated it.”

“
I know she did,” he said uncomfortably. Praise was something he’d never been fond of accepting. “Tell me, Emma, how long have you been staying with Caroline and Alex?”

“
A while,” she said, dropping her gaze to the floor.

He sighed. “You're not going to tell me anything, are you?”

“
No.”

Marcus bit back a grin and ran his hand through his hair. Emma had always been stubborn. She had been the day they met when she was three and he was seven, and she still was now at seven-and-twenty. “It's of no account. I'll just write to Caroline and ask her,” he said as casually as if he were talking about the weather.

She snorted. “She won't tell you.” Her voice was strong, confident.

“
I think she will. She owes me a favor, you know?”

Emma shook her head ruefully. “And you'd use your favor asking something as ridiculous as that?”

Marcus nodded.

“
You're cracked.” A devious grin took her lips. “Anyway, she won't tell you.”

“
And why are you so confident?”

“
Because I know you won't really ask her.”

He crossed his arms. “What makes you think that?”

Shrugging, she looked him straight in the eye. “You don't care enough about me to bother to ask.”

You have no idea how wrong you are.
“You never know, I just might ask.”

She frowned at him. “Ask if you wish, but she still won't tell you. Her promise to me trumps any favor you might ask of her.”

He scowled. Caroline was so loyal it was nearly sickening. “I wager I'll get it out of you yet.”

“
And how do you propose to do that? Withhold Drake's response until I tell you?”

“
If I must,” he agreed. “But that wasn't my first choice.”

“
And what was your first choice?” She licked her red lips in the most innocently seductive way.

“
You'll just have to wait,” he said huskily. “My plan won't work if I tell you what it is.”

She rolled her eyes. “You're wasting too much energy on something frivolous.”

“
To you, perhaps,” he allowed. “To me, it's not so frivolous.”

“
Why's that?”

He stretched his legs out and casually crossed his ankles, simultaneously willing the butler to announce dinner before he revealed too much. “I find it curious you're not with Louise and Hampton in London.”

Emma's long, slender fingers pinched the fabric of her skirt so tightly that when she let it go, she'd left dozens of little creases in her skirt. “I just decided I needed some time away.” Her tone gave nothing away. Unfortunately for her, her stiff body language gave away enough.

“
Emma,” he said slowly, softly. “Does your need for time away have anything to do with your sudden interest in becoming a governess?”

Her green eyes sparkled, and not in a good way. “Please, leave it alone, Marcus.” Her voice could only be described as a harsh whisper.

“
All right. But please remember if you need anything, you can come to me.” He'd told her as much earlier, but he knew his words had been in vain. He'd have to tell her again and again with the hope that eventually it would take root in that thick head of hers.

She didn't acknowledge his offer of help, not that he'd expected her to. Instead, she glanced down to inspect the hem of her gown and sat quietly until Chapman came in to announce dinner.

Standing, Marcus offered her his arm. “May I escort you down?”

“
Always.” Emma lightly placed her fingertips in the crook of his proffered arm. “It smells good,” she commented as they neared the dining room.

He inhaled. “Yes, it does. Although, after our tea this afternoon, I'll be cautious about what I drink tonight.”

“
How could she possibly ruin lemonade?”

“
Trust me,
she
could.”

“
Do you know this from experience?”

“
Yes. As the bitter tea we had this afternoon can attest, she's fairly new to the trade of cooking. I don't think her former employer asked her to do much besides make biscuits, roasted chicken, kippers, and coddled eggs. I'd wager our dinner will have all four of those dishes. Oh, and custard with a strawberry on top for dessert.”

She eyed him askance. “That's not what you ordered, is it?”

“
No. But I ordered her to make the best meal she could. And since those are the only dishes she can make that are decent, I wager that's what we'll be eating.”

“
All right, my lord, I'll take your wager,” she said cheekily. “I honestly doubt she'll be serving biscuits and coddled eggs at dinner.”

Marcus stopped walking. “And what shall we wager?”

“
What can you stand to lose?” she asked, grinning.

“
What do you want?”

She twisted her lips and tapped a long, slender finger against her cheek. “I don't know,” she admitted at last.

“
Would you like a new gown?”

Her green eyes went wide like he knew they would. “No! Nothing so valuable.”

“
Why not?”

“
I have nothing nearly as valuable to offer you,” she explained, breaking eye contact.

He placed his free hand under her chin and tipped it up toward him. “Does that matter? You seem confident you're not going to lose, so wager anything you wouldn't mind giving me.”

“
I don't have anything,” she said with a hard swallow.

In her eyes, he read the truth. Something terrible had happened between her and Louise, and she truly had no real possessions. None of the tangible variety, anyway. That must be why she was so willing to accept a gown from him, even if it was the furthest thing from proper for an unmarried lady to accept such a gift from a man who wasn’t her father, brother, or protector.

“
What of a kiss?” he asked suddenly, the tips of his ears burning as unease settled over him. She'd never be willing to kiss him. He was a fool to have asked. “Never mind,” he mumbled, trying to hide his slip. “Just forget the whole thing. I forfeit. Tomorrow, I'll send for the village seamstress.”

“
No,” she said adamantly, shaking her head. “I accept your wager, Lord Sinclair. If you lose, I'll have a pretty new gown, and if I lose, you'll get your kiss.”

He stared at her. Unable to respond. Unable to move. Unable to think. She was willing to kiss him if—no,
when
—
she lost. “That’s quite a bargain, Miss Green.”

“
Shall we?” she asked, gesturing to the open dining room that was less than four strides away.

He nodded. “Of course.”

The dining room at Ridge Water was gigantic by anyone's standards. When Marcus ate alone, he'd sit on the end seat. It felt like it was a mile between him and the chair across from him at the other end. He hated it. He hated the solitude and loneliness that came with it. He'd attempted to rejoin Society several times since his accident. But every time he tried, he was met with either queer looks and disparaging remarks, or snide and mocking comments about how he'd ruined his entire life when he was barely eighteen. Thus, he continued to live as a recluse and hadn't ventured to London for anything other than urgent business for more than five years.

Before Caroline married and Olivia left, the three of them would take their meals at one end of the table. He'd sit on the end and they'd sit on either side of him. Occasionally Emma would stay for meals and would sit next to Caroline.

Tonight there would be a bit of a different seating arrangement. He'd ordered the footman who’d laid out the table to put the two place settings right across from each other. He just hoped the man understood he meant across the table widthwise and not lengthwise. If not, they would both be eating their meal in solitude or have to shout to be heard by the other. He grimaced. Neither of those options sounded particularly appealing.

Blessedly the footman had understood Marcus’ directive, and two settings were across from each other near the end of the table closest to the door. “Let me get your chair,” Marcus murmured, shooing the slightly shocked footman away.

Emma sat down and waited while Marcus took his seat and nodded for the footman to serve up the first course.

John, the recovering footman, stepped out from the corner and brought over to them a small platter with a big, shiny silver dome on top. He held it out between them and slowly lifted the top to reveal a warm plate of biscuits.

Marcus shot Emma a triumphant smile and swiped a biscuit.

Emma stared at the plate of offending biscuits.

“
Go on, take one,” Marcus encouraged, grinning.

“
I just can't believe it,” she muttered, picking up the one closest to her.

John put the serving plate back on the sideboard and brought over two little dishes. One dish was filled with butter; the other contained strawberry jam.

Rolling her eyes and mumbling under her breath, Emma picked up her knife and slathered some strawberry jam on the top of her biscuit.

Three bites later, Marcus motioned for the serving of the second course.

John walked back over to them. This time with a much larger dome-topped platter. He removed the lid to reveal two bowls filled with what looked to be salad.

Emma smiled sweetly as she took her bowl and set it down in front of her.

Marcus slipped his off the tray and peeked at Emma as she stared blankly at her salad. He tried to keep his grin in check as he picked up his salad fork and speared a piece of slimy, brownish lettuce. A minute later, she pushed the bowl away. “I believe I'll wait for something a bit more nourishing.” She glanced at the remaining five covered dishes.

Next, John brought coddled eggs, followed by turtle soup, then kippers, which was chased by broiled duck breast.

“
Hmm, what do you suppose is under the last dome?” Marcus asked an impatient-looking Emma.

She shifted in her seat. “Roasted chicken,” she said flatly.

He frowned. Did she find the thought of kissing him to be that repulsive? “Do you want to cry off?”

“
No.” She exhaled. “But what about a double or quits?”

“
I'm listening.” He put his elbows on the table and leaned forward.

She wet her lips. “No matter what that last dish is, if I'm able to drink this entire glass of lemonade I'll get two gowns, and if I can't—” she shrugged— “I'll give you two kisses.” She held up two fingers and shook them for emphasis.

Marcus glanced at their lemonade. Neither of them had so much as touched their glasses. Judging by how bad the tea was earlier, coupled with how terrible every other dish served tonight was, neither of them had wanted to hazard a sip of their lemonade. And a hazard is what it would be, he was certain. More than three times in the past week alone, he'd snuck down to the kitchen to make his own lemonade.

“
Sounds interesting,” he mused, pushing his glass closer to her. “But if this is to be a true double or quits, then everything is to be doubled and you should have to drink both glasses.”

“
I accept,” she said with a gulp. She looked at the glasses of lemonade, then to the last course that was still under the dome. “Do you mind if I drink this now? I'd like to use the roasted chicken to get the taste out of my mouth afterward.”

He crossed his arms and chuckled. “Whenever you're ready, Miss Green.”

She picked up the first glass and brought it to her parted lips. She paused for a second, then tipped her head back and guzzled the liquid torture in the most unladylike fashion he’d ever witnessed. She brought the empty glass down with a hard
thwack
and glanced at the other while she wiped her sourly twisted mouth with the edge of her napkin. She glanced up at him and smiled weakly, blinking back the tears that had formed in her eyes from the sour lemonade. Without looking away, Emma picked up the second glass and proceeded to drink every drop in another long, continuous, guzzling gulp.

“
You win,” he conceded with a dim smile, motioning for John to bring over the chicken.

Emma put her glass down and allowed John to serve her some of the chicken breast. “I'll not cost you too much,” she said quietly.

He put his fork down. “I'm not concerned about the cost of the gowns. You may have any type of gowns you'd like.”

“
Thank you for your generosity,” she said solemnly, stabbing a piece of her chicken.

Marcus nodded and ate his chicken. There weren't many dishes his temporary cook could make, but roasted chicken was certainly one of them.