“Why shouldn’t I be? This was the perfect solution for me. Now, I am going to have to wander London, bag in hand, looking for a place to stay.”
“You don’t have to sound so pathetic.” Her voice was cool but a smile lingered in her eyes. “You aren’t, you know. Pathetic, that is.”
“That will certainly keep me warm in the streets.”
She frowned. “I really don’t understand why you can’t stay at Channing—”
“Because I don’t want to,” he said sharply. “Because I feel smothered with . . . with expectations and unspoken pressure. Because being there implies a commitment I am not ready to make. Because I don’t have any time at all to consider the changes in my life and decide what I want to do about them. Because I have no idea at the moment as to who I am or who I want to be!”
“Oh, well, do tell me how you truly feel,” she snapped. “Don’t think it’s necessary to restrain yourself because I am practically a stranger.”
“I have been restraining myself my entire life!”
“Ha.” She scoffed. “I doubt that.”
He narrowed his eyes. “You know nothing about me.”
“I know a man who restrains himself doesn’t go around randomly kissing women he barely knows.”
“I don’t go around randomly kissing women I barely know.”
“You kissed me,” she said in a lofty manner.
“Well that . . .” Abruptly the thought struck him: What would his father do in a situation like this? He smiled slowly. “There was nothing random about that.”
“Oh.” She stared at him for a long moment. “Well . . . then . . .”
“Then what?” he snapped.
“Then . . . I don’t know. You’ve made me feel quite dreadful about this which is deeply annoying as I have just as much right to be here as you do.” She glared at him. “So before you go, would you care to join me for dinner? It’s the least I can do as I am throwing you out.”
“You are not throwing me out, I am choosing to leave. And yes, I’d like that very much!”
“Good!” She nodded. “I shall inform the cook. You passed the dining room on your way in. I shall meet you there in a few minutes.”
“Excellent.” He started down the stairs.
“Mr. Channing. Jack.” She appeared behind him at the top of the stairs.
“What is it now?”
“Do you intend to do it again? Kiss me, that is.”
“I haven’t decided yet.”
“Oh.” She paused. “Why not?”
“Because as much as I enjoyed kissing you, every time I encounter you, you are either delightful and any number of things men only dream about or you are snippy and annoyed with me for reasons that are not my fault. You may well be the most confusing woman I have ever met.” He continued down the stairs. “I’m not certain you are worth the trouble, Lady Theodosia!”
There was a long silence in response but he was sure it wouldn’t last.
“On the contrary, Mr. Channing,” she called after him. “I am more than worth the trouble.”
He was right and she was absolutely wrong. There was nothing to be done about it except apologize. Again.
“Mr. Channing. Jack,” Teddy said the moment she joined him in the dining room. “I have been unaccountably unpleasant to you on more than one occasion and I do hope you will see your way clear to forgive me.”
“There’s nothing to forgive,” he said in a cool tone that belied his words. Apparently, he did indeed have a sense of restraint when it came to forgiveness. It scarcely mattered; starting this very instant she was going to be as pleasant to him as possible.
He held a chair out for her and she took her seat, then folded her hands in her lap and waited for him to sit down. Try as she might she couldn’t figure out why Jack Channing seemed to bring out the worst in her. Why, she was usually so pleasant and even-tempered. Certainly, her finances were on her mind but then they always were. She’d also been thinking a great deal lately about how to build her business. Still, that was exciting and not at all something that would put her in a foul mood. Of course, her mother had been pushing Simon’s case with renewed vigor of late. It was enough to make any rational woman more than a little out of sorts. All in all, this was not the best time to further her acquaintance with anyone.
Jack himself really hadn’t done anything. The problem with the butler hadn’t been his fault at all. Nor was it his fault that when she found out his true identity it immediately brought to mind the deceit of her late fiancé. Cyril Goddard had been handsome and charming, which completely hid the fact that he was vile and dishonest as well. Something Teddy hadn’t discovered until it was too late. Yes, she had been deceived by one man but she knew better than to paint all men with the same brush. It certainly wasn’t fair, especially not to Jack.
And it was neither his fault, nor his problem that she couldn’t seem to get him out of her head. Her thoughts inevitably strayed back to him in her most unguarded moments. Particularly in those moments before sleep. Try as she might, those . . . thoughts and the dreams that had followed were unrelenting and more than a little, well, intimate. It was annoying and confusing. She had no desire to be involved with him or any man at the moment. She cleared her throat. “Mrs. Tully is Dee’s cook and has been with her forever. She is wonderful. She’ll be serving tonight as Mr. Filbeck has now taken his leave.”
Jack’s brow furrowed. “Who?”
“Mr. Filbeck. The butler?”
“I thought Sam said his name was Beckley?”
“Sam was wrong,” she said in a dismissive manner, then caught herself and adopted a pleasant tone. “I’m sure it was just a bit of confusion. Now then.” Her hands tightened in her lap. “I have a, oh, a proposal of sorts for you.”
He glanced at the door. “Then I gather Mrs. Tully doesn’t take the same view of moral turpitude as the butler?”
And wouldn’t that be delightful? She ignored the unwanted thought and allowed her smile to slip just a bit. “I suspect you know full well that is not the nature of the proposal I have in mind.”
“Go on.” His polite tone matched hers.
Thankfully, the door to the back hall opened and Mrs. Tully bustled in with mock turtle soup. Smells and tastes were duly commented on and the cook returned to the kitchen.
“I’m sorry,” Jack said the moment the cook was out of earshot. “You’re right. I did know what you meant. I don’t know why . . .” He shook his head. “You make me say the damnedest things.”
She stared at him. This was going to be much easier than she thought. And much more enjoyable, the annoying voice in the back of her mind whispered.
She cleared her throat again. “What I was going to suggest was that you and I start over. We could pretend we just met . . . oh . . .” She shrugged helplessly. “Now.”
He studied her thoughtfully.
“Perhaps?” She held her breath.
“I can’t tell you how delightful it is to finally meet you in person, Lady Theodosia.” He leaned forward slightly and gazed across the table at her. And the oddest thing happened to her insides. “I’ve been wanting to meet you.”
“What a lovely thing to say, Mr. Channing.”
“It’s nothing more than the truth,” he said in an offhand manner. “I met someone once who looked vaguely like you but she was unpredictable and temperamental in character. You never knew when you happened to cross paths with her if she was going to be delightful, the kind of woman you wanted to get to know better. You understand.”
She nodded.
“Or if you were going to wish you had run in the other direction.” He raised his glass to her and took a drink.
She resisted the urge to wince. “I’m sure she had her reasons.”
“Possibly. Although if she did she never made me aware of them.”
“Perhaps she didn’t know you well enough?”
“Perhaps.” He nodded. “It is a shame though, I had thought we were
going to be friends.”
“Let us suppose for a moment, that she had jumped to the wrong conclusions and was then rather embarrassed to admit how absurd those conclusions were as they were based on past experience and had nothing whatsoever to do with you. Under those circumstances would you be willing to revise your opinion of her character?”
“Possibly. Go on.”
She chose her words carefully. “Then let us further suppose that her penchant for jumping to conclusions, which is not at all like her I might add, was perhaps a result of undue anxiety brought on by a variety of problems including her mother’s relentless tirade on the subject of marriage as well as financial concerns and, well, other matters.”
He nodded. “I can see where that might make someone less pleasant that they might otherwise be.”
“And I suspect she apologized on more than one occasion, Mr. Channing.”
“Jack,” he said firmly.
“Oh, but that’s terribly improper. Still . . .” She cast him her most flirtatious smile. “My friends call me Teddy.”
“And are we going to be friends?” His gaze meshed with hers.
She stared at him. “I do hope so.”
“So do I.” He shook his head. “But I won’t call you Teddy.”
“Why not?”
“Because I would much rather call you Theodosia. I like the way it sounds on my tongue and in my head. Theodosia is a beautiful name for a beautiful woman.”
“Why, Mr. Channing, Jack, you will quite turn my head.”
“Good.” His eyes glittered with amusement. “Did you know Theodosia means ‘gift of God’?”
She paused, her soupspoon halfway to her mouth. “You said that the last time we met.”
“But we’ve never met before, remember?” He sipped his soup. “You must have dreamed it.”
She stared at him. She had dreamed any number of things. How on earth did he know? “Did I?”
“If we’ve never met, you did. Furthermore you liked it. In your dream, that is.”
She started to protest, then realized how silly and pointless that was. “Yes, I did.” She smiled. “In my dreams, of course.”
“And you liked the fact that I had made the effort to ferret out that bit of information.”
“One likes all sorts of things in dreams,” she said in an offhand manner. “Which certainly doesn’t mean one likes the same things when awake.”
“On the contrary, Theodosia,” he said smoothly. “I’d say a person’s fondest desires are those they only acknowledge in their sleep.”
“And what do you dream about, Jack?” she said without thinking.
He stared at her for a long moment, then smiled a private sort of smile as if deciding something or confirming something to himself. It would have been most annoying had it not been such a nice smile. Had it not made her breath catch and her heart thump.
This was absurd. She drew a deep breath. “You do realize that flirtatious banter wasn’t exactly what I had in mind when I suggested pretending we had just met.”
“I assumed as much but given the possibility that I was wrong and that might annoy you I decided to choose the most prudent course.” He smiled in an overly pleasant manner. “What did you have in mind?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Was he deliberately making this difficult? “I thought we could talk about the usual things people talk about when they have first met. Likes and dislikes. Literature, art . . . banking.”
“Banking?” He stared at her.
“Yes. How is banking?” She cast him her most brilliant smile.
He stared at her for a moment, then laughed. “Good God, Theodosia, you needn’t try so hard.”
“I wasn’t,” she said staunchly. “I am extremely interested in banking.”
“Come now, I’m a banker and I don’t find banking interesting.” He paused and his brow furrowed, as if he had just realized what he had said.
It was obvious that man had had some sort of revelation but she suspected now was not the right time to ask him about it.
“Literature then?” she said brightly.
“Literature.” He nodded in an absent manner, his mind definitely anywhere but on literature.
“Books?” she prompted.
“Yes, of course.” He thought for a moment. “I have always appreciated the humor of Mark Twain. I like a story that can make me laugh. But I also like the works of Jules Verne, Robert Louis Stevenson, and Alexandre Dumas. And I recently read King Solomon’s Mines and I enjoyed it immensely.”
“Novels of adventure then?”
“I hadn’t thought of it that way but yes, I suppose you’re right.”
“I would imagine you share that with your father.”
“I only read about adventures, Theodosia,” he said. “My father lives them.”
She studied him for a moment. “You’re rather hard on yourself, aren’t you?”
“Aren’t we all? Harder on ourselves than others are, that is.” He smiled. “I would imagine even the competent, capable, lovely Lady Theodosia Winslow is her greatest critic.”
“Possibly. But then, Mr. Channing . . .” She adopted an overly sweet smile. “You haven’t met my mother.”
He laughed and reached for his wine. “You haven’t met mine.”
She scoffed. “I would match my mother against yours any day.”
“I wouldn’t if I were you.” A warning sounded in his voice. “You may have won when it comes to who stays here but your mother can’t possibly be as . . . oh . . .” He sipped his wine, then set the glass down. “Devious as mine.”
“Ha.” She smiled in triumph. “My mother wants me to marry someone I don’t want to marry to ensure her position in society.”
“My mother didn’t tell her husband they were still married and he had a son for thirty years. My mother let her son believe his father was dead. My mother—”
“Wait, that’s enough.” She raised her glass to him. “You win.”
“Imagine my delight,” he said wryly. “But we were talking about literature, a much less annoying subject. I suspect you are fond of novels of a romantic nature.”
“Because I’m a woman?”
“No, of course not.” he said quickly, shaking his head. “I know any number of men who like romantic novels.”
“Do you?”
“Of course.” He hesitated. “None that I can think of at the moment but I’m sure I know some.”
“Or one?”
“Hopefully.” He grinned.
“Well, I won’t ask you to name him.” She laughed at the relieved expression on his face. “And yes, I do love a good romantic novel but I must confess I share your appreciation of Mr. Verne’s works.”
“You do?”
“Oh my yes.” She widened her eyes. “Why, I can’t think of anything more exciting than the idea of spending five weeks flying in a balloon. Or racing around the world in eighty days.”
“Although traveling to the center of the earth or twenty-thousand leagues under the sea has a certain appeal as well.”
“Or to the moon? Or streaking across the skies on a comet?”
“It seems we have this in common.” He smiled. “A fondness for stories of adventure.”
“Perhaps that’s because I am an adventure.” The words were not as lighthearted as she had intended them.
“Indeed you are.”
His gaze locked with hers and for a long moment something crackled in the air between them. Something bright and electric and inevitable. Something that took her breath away. Her heart thudded hard in her chest and she wondered if he could hear it. Wondered if his heart was thudding as well.
“I thought we were forgoing flirtatious banter in favor of literature?” he said at last.
“Was I being flirtatious?” She forced a casual note to her voice. “Why, I hadn’t noticed.”
He smiled at her again, in that way he had of making her feel he could see right through her.
“F
inish your soup, Mr. Channing.” Teddy tried to concentrate on the mock turtle but it was nearly impossible. She was far too conscious of being alone with him. Far too aware of him. “Mrs. Tully will be most annoyed if the rest of dinner gets cold while she waits for us to finish.”
“And we wouldn’t want that.” He chuckled.
“No, we would not,” she said in a prim manner and tried to ignore the annoying voice in the back of her head that was anything but prim.
What exactly did she want?
Chapter Eleven
“Excellent dinner,” Jack said after Mrs. Tully had cleared away the dishes from their meal of roasted beef and replaced them with a platter of cheese and fresh fruit. “Did you know this is Thanksgiving Day in my country?”
“I had no idea.” Theodosia studied him. “Dare I ask what you are thankful for today?”
“Any number of things. I am an extremely fortunate man. Finding my father is probably at the top of my list. But at the moment . . .” He raised his glass to her. “I am simply thankful for good food in good company.”
“Thank you, Jack.” She smiled. “It’s been quite an enjoyable evening.”
“Do you think anyone who might see me leave the house will think the worst?” He wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about that but the idea was vaguely exciting. “Will we be embroiled in scandal?”
“Honestly, Jack, I have no idea. Probably.” Theodosia picked up an orange and scored it with a knife. “Sometimes, I get so dreadfully tired of obeying all the rules. All the time.”
“Do you? Obey all the rules, that is?”
“I’m afraid so.” She hesitated. “For the most part I always have.”
“Do you? Then having dinner alone, unchaperoned, with a gentleman is not considered against the rules for an unmarried lady here in London?”
“Good Lord.” She stared at him. “That hadn’t even crossed my mind.”
“I believe you were too busy being irate with me.”
“That does explain it. And I did say I followed the rules for the most part.” She grinned in a decidedly mischievous fashion. “When I remember.”
“I’ve never given rules much thought really, simply done what was expected.” He shrugged. “But I have always followed the rules, I suppose. I have no misspent youth. No questionable reputation to live down. No scandalous secrets in my past.” He grimaced. “Rather boring, don’t you think?”
The Shocking Secret of a Guest at the Wedding (Millworth Manor) Page 16
