Page 7 of If the Duke Dares
Bah, of course she wouldn’t mind him sitting there. She had to be flirting.
Acton slid into the chair.
She eyed him warily. “I’ll be finished soon.”
He sent her his most provocative gaze. “When you finish, perhaps I’ll persuade you to keep me company. Unless you need to dash upstairs for some reason?” Such as a husband or children. Perhaps she was only alone here in this room.
“I do not. Though, I am tired from traveling. Aren’t you?” she asked before picking up her wineglass.
“I’m quite refreshed after a hot bath. The innkeeper has taken very good care of me. You are traveling alone, then?”
She snorted, then wrinkled her nose before she lifted her hand to briefly cover her mouth. “That is a presumptuous question.”
“That you found amusing, I think. Or perhaps that was a sound of offense. If so, I offer my deepest apologies. I confess I am embarrassingly curious about you.”
Once again, her stunning eyes met his. “Why?”
He shrugged. “A beautiful woman traveling alone is curious.”
Her eyes had widened the slightest degree when he’d called her beautiful. Did she not like to be complimented? He’d met a woman like that once. She’d found flattery empty and preferred when a man showed what he thought of her instead of telling her. Acton had worked hard thereafter to demonstrate his soaring opinion of her attributes.
“It oughtn’t be. I’m a widow on my way to visit family. Since you’re being unabashedly inquisitive, I’ll do the same. Where are you going?’”
“Home, actually.”
“And where is that?”
He narrowed one eye at her. “Are you equally curious about me, or just giving as good as you get?”
“Probably the latter.” Her mouth tried to smile, but she wouldn’t let it. Why not? Perhaps she was newly widowed and didn’t think she ought to show amusement. That would explain the laugh that had come out as a snort. She’d tried to stop it. “You’re avoiding answering my question.”
“Not on purpose. Home is near Stratford-upon-Avon.”
A serving maid brought Acton’s dinner and the bottle of wine. She poured Madeira into his glass and deposited the bottle on the table before dipping a brief curtsey on her way out.
“A curtsey for you?” Acton’s companion asked. “And the innkeeper called you ‘sir.’ Are you nobility?”
“Er, yes.” He usually proudly proclaimed his title, as his father had taught him to do, but in this private dining room alone with this beautiful woman, he wanted to be just a man. He picked up his wineglass. “To making new friends.”
She gave him a dubious look as she plucked up her glass and gently tapped it to his. “Friends? It’s a trifle early to make such pronouncements, isn’t it? Perhaps we won’t get on at all.”
Acton laughed before sipping his Madeira. “I’m confident we shall.” He gave her one of his most dazzling smiles. “So confident, in fact, that I’d make a wager on it.”
She arched a brow. “How would that work?”
“I’ll wager a pound that by the end of the evening, we’ll be laughing and jesting so much that our cheeks hurt. That will mean we are friends.”
“A pound?” she looked at him as if he were daft.
Acton realized that was excessive. “A shilling?”
She shook her head. “No wagers.”
Was that because she didn’t like to gamble, or because she couldn’t afford it? Acton took in her simple costume, a dark brown traveling dress buttoned to her throat, and her lack of adornment. She wore no jewelry, not even a comb in her hair. No wedding ring either. Didn’t widows typically wear those?
“Who awaits you at home?” she asked. “Your wife?” There was an edge to the question, as if she expected an affirmative answer and had therefore judged him a cheat.
Acton swallowed a bite of roast beef and took a drink of wine to wash it down. “She might be, actually. Not that she’s my wife. Yet. I’m to meet someone to see if we will suit.”
