My Merry Marquess (Wallflower's Christmas Wish #3) - Annabelle Anders Page 0,34

tipped a decanter of amber liquid into two glasses. Only a few sconces had been lit along the walls but they provided just enough light that he could make out her expressions.

“I don’t believe that she is. She is… caring for a sick friend.”

The two of them were alone. Perfect.

“A shame.” He held her gaze as she handed him the fuller of the two glasses. “I was quite looking forward to getting acquainted with her.”

Eve led him across the room and then lowered herself to the settee. He dropped into the place beside her.

“Another time, perhaps.”

“For certain,” Nick agreed.

They both took sips of their respective drinks before Eve turned to face him. “Did you know he was lying?”

Nick exhaled. He’d prepared himself for this question. “Not until yesterday when they returned from the sleigh ride. I spoke to him afterward. He had every intention of telling your sister today. Mr. Rudolph merely precipitated the conversation.”

“Unfortunate.”

“It was not my secret to share. He had reasons—none of them nefarious, I assure you.”

Nick allowed one of his hands to graze Eve’s, which rested between them, and her breathing hitched.

She laughed a little self-consciously. “Seeing you dressed for the evening reminds me of the night we met.”

“At the Peabodys’ Ball,” he supplied, holding her gaze.

“I wish I was wearing something finer tonight. I intended to change but Mrs. Farkas needed my assistance in the kitchen.”

“You don’t need finery, Eve.”

Her fingers wrapped around his. This time, it was his breath that hitched.

“I made mashed potatoes and fresh bread. I’ve even made another pie. But the lamb burned.” At the mention of another pie, Nick had to tamp down memories that would make it difficult for him to sit—comfortably, that was—through an entire meal.

“Mr. Randolph sent the roast as an apology.”

“He did a bang-up job of sending Noelle into a dudgeon.”

“I’m happy to hear she is going after him. Dashlington was a fool to take his leave so abruptly.” Their eyes locked, communicating feelings, explanations, that went far beyond their conversation.

“She should have listened to him.”

She dropped her gaze to stare down at their hands. “Shall we eat before everything grows cold? I dared not allow Cook to attempt to keep anything warm in the oven.”

“That sounds absolutely perfect.” As he spoke the words, he realized that any time spent with this woman would be perfection for him. “I’m looking forward to your pie.”

The corner of Eve’s mouth twitched, but she wasn’t about to be baited. But he knew she was remembering too.

Nick carried Mr. Rudolph’s dish, and Eve elaborated on the events of the afternoon as he followed her into the adjacent dining room. In the center of the table, a candelabra had been lit, making for a most romantic setting. Nick was happy to see that they wouldn’t be sitting at opposite ends of the table. One of the settings was at the head of the table, and the other, beside it, at a right angle.

As soon as they were seated, the woman who’d met him at the door entered and placed two plates filled with everything but a main course before them. Eve uncovered the dish he’d brought along and forked some of the roast onto both of their plates. The meal could have consisted of gruel and dirt and it would have met with his approval.

“You mentioned that apple pie hasn’t always been your favorite,” she commented. Nick wanted to reach out and touch her cheek as he watched a warm blush rise up her neck. “What other pies do you like?”

“Anything you make,” he answered, realizing how very true they were.

“I want to know.” She laughed.

He swallowed his bite before answering. “Mulberries. Cherries. Blackberries.”

“So… any sort of berry pie? Strawberries?”

He nodded. “Raspberries.”

“Did you—” Eve began haltingly.

Nick stilled when she cleared her throat.

“Did you have any of your favorite pies while traveling the continent?”

She was not asking about pie.

With deliberate purpose, Nick set his fork along the side of his plate, leaned forward, and captured her wrist. “I visited a few… bakeries. I wanted to. But.” He stared into her eyes as shadows flickered across her lovely features. “I couldn’t. I haven’t.”

She swallowed hard and then tilted her head. “No… pie at all?”

He shook his head. “None.”

And now he knew why. Somewhere, deep inside, he had always known he’d find her again. He’d tried to convince himself otherwise. He’d done his best to fool himself into believing that he could move on to other women.

He would not have. He’d needed her.

Eve.

And in