Tempting the Footman (House of Devon #5) - Lauren Smith Page 0,18

churned with anger and pain at what his father had done to his mother and to him.

Venetia’s gaze was so beautiful and yet so solemn. “Your birth is not your fault, and I’m sure it isn’t that scandalous.”

Her attempt to placate him only irritated him further. How could she understand what he was trying to tell her?

“My lady, I am the bastard son of a duke who refuses to claim me. That is the definition of scandalous.”

Venetia tilted her head, studying him. He didn’t like to be the object of her scrutiny, at least not in this fashion.

“I’m deeply sorry for teasing you. I cannot imagine the anxiety that must create. Would you forgive me?”

Adrian stared at the floor, trying to burn holes in the oriental carpets. “I should not have lost my temper, my lady. It is I who should be begging forgiveness from you.”

“Not at all. You are entitled to your anger. I am the one who is sorry. Come, let us be friends again.”

He stared at the small elegant hand she offered. “I . . .”

“Please?”

He could not deny those dark eyes anything. He stood and took her hand in his, shaking it gently in new friendship. Then he remembered that he had brought food.

“I’ve completely forgotten your lunch.” He nodded toward the tray when Venetia did not release his hand immediately. He pulled away from her, slowly, their fingertips lingering together.

“I suppose I am a little hungry. Will you join me?” She sat up in bed as he brought the tray to her and laid it down on the blue satin counterpane.

“I shouldn’t, my lady.”

“Venetia, please. I must insist.”

“Venetia.” Adrian caressed her name as he spoke it.

“See? That wasn’t hard, was it?” she teased him again. “Now, eat, please, or I will feel rude. If my grandmother wishes for you to be a companion and not a servant, then I will treat you as a companion, which means you will eat with me.”

Seeing as he could not argue, Adrian stole one of the smaller plates from the tray and took a bit of food for himself.

“I am trying to find something terribly embarrassing to tell you about me, something that would put us on even ground.” Venetia bit into a strawberry as she said this, and Adrian was drawn to the sight of her luscious lips.

“You do not need to put us on even ground. It was my mistake to burden you with the nature of my birth.”

“I have it!” she exclaimed, her eyes alight with mischief. “My dreadful secret is that I am four and twenty and have yet to be kissed.”

Adrian nearly dropped his plate onto the floor.

“Dreadful, isn’t it? My first two seasons were quite disappointing. My father had so convinced me that dancing, balls, and all the things other girls dream of weren’t important. He wanted me to be educated, to be focused on understanding our country estate, the wealth he’d invested and how best to manage it. After that, balls seemed so silly. My father allowed me to attend only a handful of dances, where the ladies always outnumbered the men. It was rather distressing to wait forever to be asked onto the floor by a gentleman. And since I am not the prettiest of the ladies, I was overlooked when it came to amorous adventures.”

“You’re teasing,” Adrian said. “You must’ve had at least a dozen men mad for you and at least a dozen kisses stolen.”

She chuckled at his expression, which he knew must have looked quite stunned.

“It’s true! I swear it. By my third season, well, I’m sure you know how much a man makes of a woman who is firmly on the shelf. I was entirely uninteresting by then, even to the fortune hunters. My father appeared to be in good health, and before his death my dowry was considerable, though not overly attractive. Now I have inherited most of his money, and my wretched cousin Patrick inherited only the title. He thinks he can marry me off to some awful man of his choosing who will give him part of my inheritance.”

Adrian stared at her. “That is why your grandmother wishes you married?”

“Yes, exactly. But I want to choose who I marry. Not be forced into it by my scheming cousin or my well-meaning grandmother. Yet I am running short on time.” She sighed and pushed away her tray on the bed. “I simply don’t know the first thing about men.” She was quiet a long moment,