Page 29 of Some Like It Wild
The duke cleared his throat with a harsh bark. “I’d stand if I could, girl. But since I can’t, you may as well sit.”
He watched from his wheeled chair—his skin sallow but his eyes unnaturally bright in the glow of the candlelight—as Connor escorted her to a chair midway down the table, then returned to the place directly opposite hers. Given the size of the table it was fortunate the room had good acoustics, Pamela thought. If not, they would have all had to bellow at each other.
Lady Astrid dredged up a wan smile. “You should both be honored. It’s been months since my brother has felt well enough to join us for supper.”
Pamela stole a puzzled glance at the long rows of empty chairs that lined either side of the table. Since there was no one else there, she could only assume that Astrid’s “us” was equivalent to the royal “we.”
She felt a twinge of dismay. Although she wasn’t exactly looking forward to coming face to face with her mother’s murderer, she had hoped to be presented with a more promising list of suspects. Lady Astrid certainly didn’t look the sort to dirty her lily-white hands by burning someone to death.
Before she had time to pursue that grim thought, a quartet of footmen appeared, each one bearing a steaming china bowl of haddock soup.
They had barely finished delivering them when Connor picked up his bowl and brought the rim to his lips. Oblivious to the horrified stares of the footmen and Lady Astrid, he took a deep sip of the broth, then sighed with satisfaction.
The duke pounded on the table like an overgrown baby, his lips curving in a doting smile. “Just look at that, Astrid! He has a healthy appetite. I’ve always admired that in a lad! Heaven knows I had a host of healthyappetiteswhen I was his age.”
Connor slowly lowered the bowl, suddenly realizing he was the object of every eye in the room.
“Oh, I’m sure he’ll be in keen demand at every soiree and supper party,” Lady Astrid replied, her thin lips pursed in a moue of distaste.
Unable to bear the woman’s smug condemnation or the flush slowly creeping up Connor’s throat, Pamela defiantly picked up her own bowl and took a loud slurp of the soup. Lowering the bowl, she beamed at the duke. “My compliments to the cook, your grace. ’Tis a delicious broth.”
“Yes, it is, isn’t it?” the duke agreed. He reached for his spoon, then waved it away with an impatient gesture and scooped up his bowl in both hands. They were trembling so violently that one of the footmen had to rush forward to help him steady the bowl before he spilled its contents in his lap. He did not stop drinking until he’d drained it dry.
Lady Astrid was gaping at them as if they’d all lost their wits. But when her brother lowered his empty bowl to glower at her, she put down her spoon with a defeated sigh and picked up her bowl. After a delicate sip or two, she set the bowl aside and dabbed at her lips with her napkin. “I don’t wish to spoil my appetite. I do believe I’ve had quite enough for one evening.”
Judging by her pained expression, she was talking about more than just the soup. They sat in awkward silence while the footmen whisked away their bowls and returned with the main course.
While one of the footmen filled their wineglasses, another servant circled the table with a silver tray, carefully placing a plump slab of braised trout on each plate. Pamela licked her lips, terrified the delectable aroma was going to make her stomach growl.
Judging by the voracious glint in Connor’s eye, he was probably even more famished than she was. His brow furrowed as he surveyed the bewildering array of forks, knives and spoons grouped around his plate. He finally selected the most threatening-looking knife in the bunch and prepared to stab the piece of fish with it.
Pamela delicately cleared her throat. As he glanced up at her, she chose the small fork nearest her plate and used it to tuck a bite of the succulent fish between her lips. Connor hesitated for a moment, then laid aside the knife and followed suit.
“My son has already told me about the kindly couple who took him in after”—the duke hesitated, his face clouding—“after he lost his mother. But he thought you might want to explain how you happened upon him.”
Pamela wondered what Connor would do if she blurted out, “Oh, he was robbing my carriage at gunpoint.”
Instead, she smiled brightly and said, “Well, as he might have already told you, I’d followed up every lead and exhausted nearly every avenue in my search for him. It never occurred to me that I would find him studying for the clergy.”
“The clergy?” both the duke and his sister exclaimed in amazement.
“The clergy?” Connor echoed, choking on a piece of fish.
“That’s right.” Pamela clasped her hands together beneath her chin as if in devout prayer. “I finally found him at the abbey in St. Andrew’s, studying the commandments of God and living like a monk.”
The dangerous set of Connor’s jaw warned her he was currently contemplating breaking several of those commandments, starting withThou shalt not kill.
“A monk, eh? Well, he certainly didn’t inherit those tendencies from his father.” The duke took a thoughtful sip of his wine. “I never thought we might have an archbishop in the family.”
“Then your hopes won’t be dashed, your grace,” Connor assured him, “because I’ve decided to set aside my studies so I can devote my full attention to learning the duties expected of your heir. And to pleasing my darling bride, of course.”
He lifted his wineglass to Pamela, the smoldering look he gave her over its beveled rim leaving little doubt as to just howfullandpleasinghis attention could be.
She inclined her head, hoping the flickering candlelight would hide the heat rising in her cheeks.
“Just how soon do the two of you hope to wed?” the duke asked.
“June,” Connor said at the exact same moment Pamela blurted out, “Late December. Of next year.”
