Page 20 of Road Trip With a Rogue
She shook her head, still smiling. “Areyouarmed?”
“Only with my wits,” he quipped.
“You don’t consider me any kind of threat at all, do you?”
“Physically? No. In truth, I don’t.”
“Not even with the element of surprise?”
She sounded offended, and he knew she still harbored a ridiculous sliver of hope that she could outmaneuver him. He should have found it ridiculous, instead of endearing.
“I doubt I’d ever let my guard down around you enough to let you get the better of me. But feel free to try, if you find it entertaining.”
She narrowed her eyes at him, and he almost willed her to leap over the table and try to attack him.
She was tempted; he could see it in her face. But he also knew that it would be a fatal mistake. They’d had anger and violence between them before, five years ago, and it had only taken a heartbeat for it to turn into something equally passionate and far more dangerous. The chance of it happening again was high, even if she professed to hate him.
There was no denying the attraction that shimmered between them. It had plagued him for years, an insistent tug he’d done his best to ignore. But if she put her hands on him there was no telling how he’d react.
He saw the moment she arrived at the same conclusion. She swallowed hard and her eyes dropped from his, and she busied herself with her soup.
He ignored a twinge of disappointment.
They made it through the main course with a steady flow of harmless conversation, but when the cook brought in an impressive array of desserts, Daisy’s expression became almost euphoric.
“Mrs. Ward! You shouldn’t have!” She sent the cook a mock-scolding glance. “But I’m so glad you did. I’ve been dreaming of your crème brûlée for months.”
The plump woman flushed with pride. “You know how much I like seeing people enjoy my food, Miss Hamilton. It’s the highest compliment a chef can receive.”
She turned to Lucien and bobbed a respectful curtsey. “Your Grace, I’ve made a couple of extra puddings, in case you have a sweet tooth too. That’s a pear cake with custard, and this is a strawberry blancmange.”
Daisy’s eyes twinkled. “I hope you haven’t made us thespecialdesserts you made for their Graces on their wedding night?”
The cook’s cheeks creased in a naughty smile that made her look more like a ten-year-old girl than an elderly matron. “Of course not. Bon appetit!” She bobbed another curtsey and sallied out.
Lucien raised his brows. “Special desserts?”
Daisy snorted. “The staff were so keen to promote a love-match between the new duke and duchess that Mrs. Ward cooked everything with foods thought to be aphrodisiacs. Tess told me all about it.”
“Considering how Thornton talks about his duchess, I’d say it was entirely unnecessary,” he drawled. “I’ve never met a man so nauseatingly in love with his own wife.”
“Perhaps Mrs. Ward’s desserts helped?” She used the back of her spoon to crack the caramelized sugar crust on the top of her crème brûlée, then scooped a spoonful intoher mouth. Lucien watched helplessly as she closed her eyes and groaned as the first taste of the creamy dessert touched her tongue.
His cock hardened instantly.
She withdrew the spoon, pulling it slowly between her lips, and he tightened his grip on his wineglass. Bloody woman. The worst thing was, she wasn’t even doing it deliberately. She had no inkling of the way she made his blood heat. Or if she did, she didn’t care. He couldn’t decide which would be worse.
“You like desserts?” God, his voice sounded like he’d been eating gravel. He cleared his throat again.
Her eyes popped open and she shook her head. “Ilovedesserts.”
“Love’s a very strong word.”
“I think you’re underestimating the desperate lengths I’d go to—possibly just short of murder—for one of Mrs. Ward’s apple puffs.” She took another spoonful and ate it with salacious delight. “Isn’t there a food you love?”
Lucien considered the question, mainly to stop himself from thinking of what she’d taste like if he kissed her. How much he wanted to lick that bloody cream from her skin.
“I don’t think I love anything,” he said truthfully. “I am fond of things. I desire things. So I have them. But I wouldn’t say Ilovethem.”