Page 18 of My Dark Duke

“Did you expect me to hide you away in some fall-down terrace in St Giles?” Sebastian arched an eyebrow. “I am wounded, Miss Smith. I promised you the best - and I am a man who always delivers his promises.”

He had not meant for his words to sound quite so loaded, but as he finished speaking, he realised the double entendre. Miss Smith realised it too, for her plump lips parted slightly and her expression turned more guarded.

Dash it, Sebastian thought, as he offered her his arm - he would have to go slowly. She was like a doe; beautiful, but easily startled and likely to bolt.

In the dining room they found the table set for two and laden with silver platters. Sebastian’s seat was at the top of the table, with Mary’s to his right. He pulled out her chair and gestured for her to sit.

“I am afraid I am not entirely certain what it is we will be eating,” he said, as he uncorked a bottle of wine and poured her a generous glass. “But I am sure it will be edible; Gunter’s provides only the finest fare.”

“After suffering through Mrs Harrod’s mutton stew, I can eat anything,” Mary answered, her tone amused.

Sebastian set to work, lifting the lids off the platters to reveal what hidden delicacies awaited them. Venison steaks, dressed in rich gravy, potatoes roasted in goose fat, a Soupe à l'Oignon Gratinée to start, and what looked to be syllabub for dessert.

He ladled out two bowls of the hearty broth for them both and took his seat.

“Eat up,” he commanded; she was worryingly thin, to his eye.

“Yes, Your Grace,” she answered, with mild impertinence and a discreet roll of her eyes.

Sebastian stifled a sigh; he had been told on numerous occasions that he could be rather high handed. He would have to rein such impulses in around Miss Smith, if he wished her to relax in his presence - for a while, at least.

The soup was delicious; buttery and rich. Sebastian was gratified to see Miss Smith finished her serving, and when both their bowls were empty, he plated up the main course.

“Do you often entertain here, Your Grace?” Mary queried, as she speared her venison with a fork.

“If we are going to become intimate, Miss Smith,” Sebastian answered, “you might address me less formally. In private, you may call me Sebastian. In public, Thorncastle will suffice. As to your query: no, I have never entertained her. I leased the house just this morning, for your sole pleasure.”

“Do you have many such establishments across town?”

Though she had posed the question lightly, Sebastian could not help but feel a stab of irritation at her presumption that his reputation was warranted. That she was merely one of the many mistresses he kept to satisfy his raging libido.

A few years ago, perhaps, her assumption might have been correct, but not now. The rage and anger which had consumed him for much of adulthood had left him; he had made peace with his past. There were no ghosts left to haunt him and he no longer sought solace in hedonism.

“I do not,” Sebastian stated, feeling almost prim. “My reputation is based on the actions of a man who no longer exists. I had thought myself done with women, Mary, until my eyes alighted upon you. You rekindled a flame I thought long extinguished.”

He let his words sink in, before changing the subject, “Do you always ask this many questions at supper? It can’t be good for your digestion.”

“If we are to be intimate,” she answered, not falling for his ploy, “then I wish to know something of you. You cannot expect a lady to fall into your bed, merely because you demand it.”

“Chance would be a fine thing,” Sebastian agreed, offering her a rather wicked grin.

She frowned primly and he found himself charmed by her naivety; most women would not make him work so hard at seduction - for they knew how rewarding it would be to have him as a lover.

“I should like to know more about you,” Sebastian decided, as he stood to clear the plates and serve dessert. “You said you hailed from Kent; which part exactly?”

“Just outside Maidstone,” she answered, shifting her gaze to her lap. “A small village; you would not know it.”

“Try me,” Sebastian offered, as he set a glass of elderflower and strawberry syllabub down before her. “I have an estate near Dover, I often pass through Maidstone on my way there.”

“Oneof your estates, Your Grace?” Miss Smith teased. “How many do you possess?”

“I will not seek to bore you with talk of my lands,” he replied, well aware that she was trying to distract him. He recalled her slip of the tongue the previous night, when she had mentioned her father’s death, and how quickly she had changed the subject then. Was Miss Smith hiding something? “That type of talk is what my man of business is for. Is there a particular reason why you are so reluctant to share the name of your hometown, Miss Smith? Or do you simply wish to remain mysterious?”

“The latter,” she stated, lifting her eyes to his. “What if I decide to return there one day? I should not like to think of you arriving to look for me; I would be known forever more as a fallen woman.”

A strange, primitive feeling of possessiveness overcame him at her words. He did not at all like the thought of her disappearing on a whim, forever out of his reach.

“I hope that you are not intending to run away?” he asked, as he reached over to top up her glass. “You have not yet seen what I can offer you.”

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