LITMIR.BIZ

       CHAPTER FOUR

      JOHN DIDN’T KNOW if Grayson’s entrance into the main saloon to announce that dinner was being served had been fortunate, or if it had been the worst timing in the history of Affectionate Old Family Retainers. Probably the former, as John hadn’t known what in bloody blazes he was going to do next, once he was looking so deeply into Emmaline’s glorious eyes.

      He had wanted to kiss her. No, he had needed to kiss her. He would kiss her before this night was over. As a man who had spent many years at war, he knew that opportunities were just that, and often fleeting. For too many years of his life, he’d put his own wishes aside in the name of the Better Good. Now it was time for him to think about what John Alastair wanted.

      And he wanted Lady Emmaline Daughtry.

      Curiously, knowing this, he was finding it best suited to his purpose to keep his true identity hidden just a little while longer. He wanted Emmaline to see him as Captain John Alastair, accept him that way...perhaps discover feelings for him that way; the simple man, the man she could be concerned about if he had to pay for his lodgings at the local inn.

      He also wanted to know more about the late duke and his two sons, but would she find it as easy to confide in him if she realized his true rank? Emmaline had been shocked by the news of their deaths—anyone would have been shocked at the suddenness of it—but John felt certain he’d also seen a measure of relief in her eyes.

      Having experienced much the same feelings when he’d opened the letter from Warrington Hall, informing him of his father’s departure from this earthly coil by way of collapsing after a hard ride on one of the local tavern wenches, John wondered what sort of man the late duke had been. What sort of brother he’d been to Emmaline. Obviously not a beloved one.

      John sensed that applying to Grayson for enlightenment would get him nowhere, but he had higher hopes of Mrs. Piggle, and planned to speak to the woman in the morning. In the meantime, he would not press Emmaline for details, not knowing how painful it might be for her to share them with him.

      This decision left him free to concentrate on Emmaline herself, which was what he’d much prefer to do in any case.

      He entered the cavernous dining room with Emmaline on his arm, only to see that their places had been set at opposite ends of a table that could easily serve as a bowling green. Once he’d assisted her to his chair and Grayson had withdrawn his disapproving face, John picked up his gold charger plate, utensils, serviette and wineglass and carried them all down the length of the table, placing them to Emmaline’s right.

      “This way we won’t have to shout at each other,” he said as he sat down. “And I might add that I cannot think of more pleasant company than you in this, my first meal in months in which I won’t have to worry about my wineglass sliding off the table as the ship cuts through the waves.”

      “Grayson will not be pleased,” Emmaline told him as a young girl entered, two bowls of soup balanced on a tray. “He’s quite the stickler for propriety.”

      “Among other things, yes, I can see that propriety would be one of his sticking points. Does that worry you?”

      Emmaline cocked her head slightly to one side, as if considering the question. “No. No, I don’t think it does. Thank you, Mary. It smells delicious.”

      “Yer fav’rit, milady. Cook remembered. All yer fav’rits tonight. All whats yer likes best, right here.”

      “Yes, I believe you’re right,” Emmaline said, sneaking a quick look at John from beneath her lashes, a delightful flush coloring her cheeks.

      The soup was country thick and flavorful, or so John remembered it later, even though the rest of the courses were eaten without him tasting them. He was much too well-occupied answering Emmaline’s intelligently probing questions about his service in the Royal Navy, much too enthralled by the way the candlelight danced in her golden hair, the grace with which she patted her lips with the snow-white serviette...the way she listened to him as if he was reciting words he’d brought down from some mountain on stone tablets.

      He did remember the dessert course, because it seemed that Emmaline’s favorite sweet consisted of a simple dish of strawberries and heavy cream. Whenever some of the cream clung to her upper lip, and she surreptitiously employed the tip of her tongue to swipe it away, John began to wonder if taking himself off to the inn the next morning could be seen as in the way of cruel and unusual punishment for a man who definitely had another destination in mind.

      At last the meal was over, and John suggested they take a stroll in the gardens now that the rain had disappeared and a setting sun still lent enough light for a pleasant inspection of the grounds.

      Good Lord, he sounded so stiff, didn’t he?

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