Page 22 of Undercover Infidel
Bastion pulled out my chair with an air of elegance, and moments later, an older woman with kind eyes appeared, carrying a silver serving tray.
“Dr. Sterling, this is Mrs. Thorne.” Con introduced us as she set a plate in front of each of us. “She’s the reason this old place remains standing.”
She smiled, and her cheeks flushed. “Lord Blackmoor is such a charmer,” she said, looking over at me.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” I said warmly. “Thank you for the lovely wardrobe you arranged and for this beautiful dinner.”
“You’re most welcome, Dr. Sterling. I hope everything fit properly.”
“Perfectly, actually. It’s remarkable, given you hadn’t yet met me.”
She took a step back, gave a slight bow at the waist, and motioned to our plates. “Lord Blackmoor’s favorite salad with blue cheese, pears, and walnuts.”
He reached up and took her hand. “While I appreciate the formality, given the occasion, you haven’t called me Lord Blackmoor in years, Helena.”
“Yes, Con,” she replied with motherly affection before giving him an odd glance, then excused herself, promising to return with the next course.
“She seems flustered,” I observed once she’d gone. “Did I say something wrong?”
Con cleared his throat. “Not at all. It’s just that…” He paused, looking uncomfortable. “When arranging your wardrobe, I may have consulted your MI6 file for your, err, vital statistics.”
“My file?” I set down my fork. “You mean my complete dossier?”
His expression confirmed my suspicion. “I simply wanted to ensure everything would fit properly.”
A strange chill settled over me. How many women had stayed at Blackmoor, requiring his staff to arrange for a change of clothing? How many had sat at this same table, enjoying Mrs. Thorne’s special meal? Had this been his approach with Fallon as well? The thought made me ill.
“Are you all right?” Con asked, noticing my changed demeanor.
I set down my napkin. “Actually, I’m suddenly not feeling well. If you’ll excuse me, I think I should retire.”
“Lex—”
“Thank you for dinner.” I rose quickly, avoiding his gaze. “Please give Mrs. Thorne my apologies.”
I fled the dining room, mortification and an inexplicable sense of betrayal fueling my retreat. How could I have been so foolish? Con Carnegie was known for his strategic manipulation of situations and people. I’dallowed myself to become just another woman susceptible to his wily ways.
I was almost to my room when I heard rapid footsteps behind me.
“Lex, wait.” Con’s voice halted me in the corridor. “What happened back there?”
I turned, struggling to maintain my composure. “Nothing. I’m simply tired.”
“That’s not it.” He stepped closer, eyes searching mine. “Something changed. Tell me what’s wrong.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It matters to me.” His voice softened as he reached up, gently cupping my cheek. “I wish you’d talk to me.”
The warmth of his palm against my skin melted my resistance. His touch was tentative, almost reverent—nothing like the calculated gesture I’d imagined.
“I wish I could,” I whispered, my defenses crumbling beneath his gaze.
7
CON
Ibroke the fragile moment by stepping back, suddenly aware of our proximity in the dimly lit corridor. “Lex, about dinner…I apologize if I upset you.”
