again, and Christopher politely held one of the chairs for Deborah. He sat, too, and she busied herself with serving the soup while he sliced some bread.
“Mrs. Ireton,” he said unexpectedly, “seems to have developed a penchant for me—although, of course, that may just be retaliation for her husband’s interest in you.”
Amazed that he was even prepared to discuss it, she paused with her spoon halfway to her mouth. Then she drank the soup. “I am not offended. You need explain nothing. I am aware you are old friends.”
“And how are you aware of that? Did she tell you?”
She paused again. “Yes, actually.”
“For what it’s worth, Frederica Ireton and I have never been friends. I’ve known the family forever, and recently, when we’ve met at London parties, she seemed to expect a little public flirtation. To be frank, I barely noticed it. Which may have been unkind or idiotic, but I never suspected she was taking it seriously. It certainly never got beyond that.”
Deborah laid down her spoon. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because I hope you might care that I was not embracing her last night, but trying to keep her hands off me.”
She reached blindly for her wine glass, wishing she was not so pleased to hear it. “I suppose it was a rather vulgar display for our civilized agreement. Though not quite so vulgar as my stamping on Mr. Ireton’s foot. Or you, hitting him, I imagine.”
Christopher pushed his bowl away with his left hand, hiding his right in his lap. “I’m not a saint, Deborah, but even at my worst, I would never have humiliated you in such a way. And I will always defend you.”
She thought of him swarming over the rail and holding Rickett’s own knife to the smuggler’s throat. “I seem to cause you more problems than I have solved.”
“Funnily enough, I like dealing with your problems. Don’t give up yet on Lucy, or on the whole scandal behind it.”
She nodded, removing their soup bowls and the tureen, then placing the dishes of meat and vegetables on the table instead. This time, he served her.
“Which brings me to another matter,” he said. “As you know, I made my offer of marriage while I was still angry with my grandfather and focused solely on getting my own way. There were things—many things!—I did not consider, including your feelings or my own.”
She picked up her knife and fork. “I am happy with the bargain we struck,” she said with difficulty. “There is no reason for you to feel guilt.”
“I think there is, but it is not, I confess, my primary emotion.”
They ate in silence for a little.
“Don’t you want to ask what is?” he asked at last.
“No. But I am happy to listen if you wish to tell me.”
He sat back, a faint, curious smile playing around his sensual lips. “You.”
Her heart leapt. Somehow, she said calmly, “I have never been called an emotion of any kind before.”
“But you are. You intrigue me, soothe me, worry me, arouse me, turn my selfish world upside down. In short, you inspire so many emotions that I have named the unique mixture after you.”
Heat seeped into her cheeks. “You are making fun of me.”
“No, but of myself, a little.” He held her gaze, his eyes secretive. “Tell me, Deborah, would you be opposed to changing the…boundaries of our relationship?”
Her heart beat uncomfortably hard. “In what way?”
“In, perhaps, allowing nature to take its course. In imposing no boundaries, simply following our…emotions.”
“I thought that was what we agreed on in the first place,” she said, making an effort at lightness.
“With regard to other people,” he said, waving that aside. “We did not take account of each other.”
She dragged her gaze free. She could not think when she lost herself in those profound, exciting eyes… She swallowed, casting wildly around for possible reasons behind his words. And it came to her in a rush of painful understanding.
“You want an heir,” she blurted.
He blinked. “Eventually,” he allowed, “it is a consideration, though hardly an urgent one.”
“Of course, none of this is urgent,” she said hastily, returning to her dinner, which was tasty and deserved more attention than either of them were providing.
“Isn’t it?” he said, waving one hand to encompass the whole chamber. “Here we are, alone and without servants, respectably married and…intrigued.”
“It was you who said intrigued,” she retorted. “You cannot speak for me.”
“You mean you are not intrigued by the idea of expanding our relationship?”
She could not see the bed,