She hadn’t pulled away during that waltz, for fear of losing his attention. But those days of cowering and biting her tongue were over. She would, however, ignore him with studious ferocity.
That worked for all of thirty seconds before he blocked the weak evening light streaming through the rear windows. Lord Amesbury took a seat across the table. “How are you feeling?”
Mrs. Pringle bustled to their table and set a large bowl before Lottie. A hunk of bread rested atop soup, already soaking up the rich juices. Plunking a tankard of ale on the table, Mrs. Pringle gave them a distracted nod, then moved on to another customer.
“I don’t recall asking you to join me.”
A gentleman would not linger where he wasn’t welcome. He grinned and stayed put. Not that she should expect any less. Amesbury propped his elbows on the table. “You’re different. In a good way.”
“Does unbridled hatred put roses in my cheeks?”
He laughed instead of showing any signs of contrition under her withering look. “See? That’s what I’m talkin’ about. You’re feistier now, lass, an’ that’s the truth.”
“I’m the same woman you courted, then shamed. Not that it matters. Your high regard no longer concerns me.” Lottie took a dainty nibble of the bread and nearly moaned. The yeasty bread’s crisp crust stood up to the soup juices, as well as a generous slathering of butter. Heaven.
Amesbury swiped the tankard in front of her, then took a long drink before setting it down again, holding her gaze.
She narrowed her eyes. “Rude. Can’t you pretend to be a gentleman for five minutes?”
“You’re not the first tae wonder that. From what I understand, I’m one step away from being an outright barbarian. Or at least, I was.” He shrugged. “I considered showing up at Almack’s with my face painted blue like my Pict ancestors. Put an end tae all the speculation. Alas”—he patted his pockets—“fresh out of woad.”
The mental image almost made her smile, despite his general obnoxiousness. It was time to take control of this tête-à-tête.
“Since you’ve intruded on my meal, perhaps we should keep our conversation to safe topics, such as the lovely weather we’re having,” she said, gesturing with her spoon toward the rain-splattered windows at the front and rear of the main room. “Or we could sit in silence before going our separate ways, never to acknowledge each other’s presence again. I’m sure you can guess my preference.”
* * *
Idiot. He was a blooming idiot. Those noble intentions of issuing an eloquent apology had flown from his head when he was faced with her confidently defiant cut direct. The woman he’d barely known years ago would never have done such a thing, which only sparked his fascination all over again. Commenting on how different she was brought that sharp mouth of hers back to the forefront, and he took perverse delight in her acerbic wit. He needed to refocus on his reason for approaching her, but damn if her sarcastic commentary on the weather didn’t make him smile.
Ethan glanced over Lady Charlotte’s shoulder to the large diamond-paned window. The weather was absolute shite. He matched her mocking brow with one of his own. “All we need is some soggy sheep, and it would remind me of home.” There. That was moderately amusing.
Lady Charlotte’s gaze flitted to his before darting away. Every time she looked at him, he spent a heartbeat or two unscrambling his thoughts. Thick lashes stood out against the olive tan of her cheeks, their delicately curled tips casting shadows in the flickering lamplight. When she used those full lips to spear him with her refreshingly sharp words, it tied him in knots.
If she was as soft as she looked, it would be impossible to stop at one brush of a finger on uncovered skin. Ethan cleared his throat, stuffing down the mental image. Those thoughts belonged locked away with the younger, reckless part of himself. Lusting after a woman in a public tavern room was something Old Ethan would have done. Back then he’d have won the girl—at least for the night. Perhaps New Ethan had spent too many years without a woman in his bed and too many hours poring over account books. Once upon a time he’d poked fun at Lady Charlotte’s exceptional manners. Now every day he tried to emulate that level of refinement.
And he failed.
The skin across her décolletage colored, probably with anger or frustration from stifling murderous impulses toward her unwanted dinner companion. The pink skin was bloody glorious. Ethan cleared his throat. Yes, he failed miserably.
“It’s possible we’ll have similar weather tomorrow,” Lady Charlotte said, bringing him back from his thoughts.
It was time to apologize and leave before he made an utter arse of himself. “I think we have other things tae talk about beyond the weather?”
The minx cocked her head to the side, faking confusion. “My lord, I don’t know what else we would discuss. As we established all those years ago, a true lady’s conversational topics are limited by propriety, civility, and good breeding—all things you lack.”
Whether she referred to his commoner upbringing or their scandal, the words elicited a wince. Essentially, Ethan had made her famous for being a dullard. A perfect lady, yes. Everything she ought to be, right down to her frilly bows and lace. Pretty but boring. Sitting before him now in a simple dress, with an eye swollen closed, furious over his very existence—it might be a flaw in his character that he preferred her this way.
“When we met, the problem wasn’ you. I hope you realize that. It was my fault. All of it. If not for a solicitor showing up on my doorstep the year before we met, I’d still be a shepherd. I don’ have your society training. I didn’ know what tae do
