Page 101 of A Story of Love

He uncovered a large oval platter that held two bowls of still steaming soup. “Let me serve you.”

“Do you always avoid questions like that?”

In answer, he slid a bowl in front of her. “Try some, before it is cold.”

She ate a mouthful and set her spoon down with a clatter.

He ignored her pettish behavior and commenced eating his own soup, giving a hum of approval. After a few mouthfuls he set down his spoon with far more grace, smiled at her, and said, “The house party was at the Countess of Mansfield’s country estate.”

Lori paused, the spoon halfway to her mouth. She’d heard stories about the lovely, wealthy countess, whose name had been linked with Lord Severn’s in the gossip columns. Indeed, Miss Emily had been among the first to note the connection.

She deliberately raised the spoon the rest of the way, swallowed the contents, and then lowered it before savagely shoving down the jealousy threatening to choke her and saying, “That must have been interesting. Who else was there?” She smiled sourly. “Or was that it? Just a special party for two?”

Lord Severn smiled. “No, it was a regular house party. Let’s see, there was Miss Pascoe and her father,” he paused at her snort, and then continued, “Lord Moreland—”

This time Lori laughed outright. “A house party at the estate of a woman rumored to be your lover—or at least one of them—with a woman you and Moreland are both openly vying for? Goodness! It has all the makings of a French farce.”

He smiled again and ate a mouthful of soup.

“You must have had a lovely time choosing which bedroom to visit. That is what happens at house parties, isn’t it? Bedroom hopping? I would not know, you see, as I have never attended one. But I’ve heard plenty of stories.” It was as if her mouth had developed a will of its own and Lori couldn’t stop the petty, jealous words from spilling out of her. Severn’s expression—blandly smiling—just heaped more fuel on the fire. “Did you have an enjoyable time?” she asked in a waspish, peevish tone that made her cringe.

“Not really.”

“Oh dear! And why is that? Because Moreland was in ascendance with Miss Pascoe?”

“No. Because the only woman I could think about was you.”

Her jaw sagged. “I—I beg your pardon?”

“I said you are the only woman I could think about. Why do you look so surprised?”

Lori could only stare. He’d thought about her? Only her?

“Even at the best of times I’m not the house party type,” he said, when she didn’t speak, calmly spooning up the last of his soup and then gesturing to her half-eaten bowl.

“I’m finished,” she said through strangely numb lips, watching him with bemusement as he cleared away their bowls and placed two covered dishes before each of them, removing the silver lids with a flourish.

Lori couldn’t pull her gaze away from his face long enough to look at the food. Besides, she could eat tree bark at this point and not taste it. His words from a moment earlier—The only woman I could think about was you—kept echoing in her head.

“If you don’t like them, then why did you go?” she finally managed to ask.

And why did you leave me here while you spent days and days with a beautiful heiress and lovely, wealthy widow?

He gave her a gently teasing smile. “Well, you see, Lorelei, adults often need to do things they don’t like.”

His words surprised a laugh out of her. “Very droll.”

“That is better,” he said.

“What is better?”

“You had your stern newspaperwoman face on. Now you look like a delightful young lady.”

“And the two are mutually exclusive in your opinion?”

“As to that, I don’t know. But I do know that I would much rather have a conversation than be interrogated.”

“I don’t interrogate!”