My Merry Marquess (Wallflower's Christmas Wish #3) - Annabelle Anders Page 0,8

had released his arm, stepped away, and was shaking her head.

“I cannot.”

He exhaled. “If you won’t join me in room number three, I’ll settle for sharing tea with you in one of the private dining rooms.”

She hugged her arms in front of herself.

“If it makes you feel better, I’ll send a missive of your whereabouts round to your mother.”

Her lips trembled, and she furrowed her brows. “You are heartless, do you know that? Not even the worst sort of monster would say something like that!” She spun around and before Nick could utter a word of protest, took off running again.

Twice in the course of an hour.

He scratched behind his ear and scowled. What had he done now?

Chapter 3

Nick stomped into the common room just as Jack was finishing off what looked to have been a healthy portion of Eve’s pie. He eyed what remained in the dish, a little over half, and then claimed the seat he’d spent in various states of inebriation most of the night before.

In Nick’s absence, the innkeeper had brought in several heaping plates loaded with bacon and ham, eggs, toasted rolls, marmalade, and an assortment of other savory offerings. Nick reached past all of those and claimed the pie.

“Delicious. You should try some.” Jack spoke around a mouth full with an annoying grin.

“I intend to.” Nick swiped one of the forks from a small basket, carved out a bite, and…

The buttery crust melted in his mouth at the same time his taste buds burst into song. “Oh, hell.”

“What was all that about?” Jack loaded half the bacon onto his now-cleaned plate and flicked his eyes to the open door. “The girl.”

Nick exhaled. “We failed to… thank her.” He wanted to grouse about the inconvenience of being stuck in this godforsaken village but was finding it impossible to remain ill-tempered while consuming such a heavenly concoction. For most of his life, Nick had made it a point to enjoy all the sensual delights to be had; women, wine, and food. He winced at the thought. He’d settled for two out of three for the past nineteen months—something he’d hoped to rectify before the new year.

He savored the sweet flavors on his tongue.

None of those French pastries had come even close to tasting as good as Eve’s pie.

“Odd that.” Jack leaned back and raised a brow. “In all the years I’ve known you, not once have you chased after a wench.” He laughed and then bit into a thick piece of bacon. “Speaking of deliveries. This missive caught up with you.”

Nick stared down at the envelope. It would have arrived by messenger, of course.

His parents were relentless.

They’d met Eve on a few occasions when he had first courted her. They’d liked her. Hell, they’d loved her. Then again, it was possible they would have loved any woman who managed to convince him to marry and set up a nursery.

When he’d first courted Eve, she’d been suspicious of his debaucherous ways and doubted his honorable intentions. It hadn’t helped that her mother disapproved of him.

In the end, he hadn’t settled down after all.

His parents had practiced no restraint in expressing their disappointment in his hasty departure from London. After reading a few of their letters, filled with nothing but criticism, he’d ceased opening his mail altogether.

“Another one for your treasure chest?” Jack took a long draw of ale.

Nick would eventually open the trunk and address the correspondence sent to him over the past year and a half. In fact, he’d resolved to do just that the very day he returned from the house party. Or perhaps the day after. Mustn’t be too zealous, after all.

A few weeks spent at a soiree thrown by the notorious widow would surely leave him feeling content and satiated and perhaps just guilty enough to take up his responsibilities.

He pushed the envelope aside and shoveled in another bite of pie.

Chewing thoughtfully, he stared out the window where snow continued to pile up. “We never should have stopped. We should have risked our damnable lives and persisted the twenty or so miles it would have taken to make it to the party.”

Jack kept right on eating.

“What kind of men are we? That we couldn’t endure a few flakes of snow?” Nick could have completely avoided reopening the wound where his heart had only recently seemed to be healed over.

“Where’s Dash, anyway?” Nick grumbled.

“Sleeping, I imagine. Before he attends high tea.” Jack’s lip curled. “At the request of a Lady Tannenbaum. One of the