Love's Patient Fury (The Deverell Series Book 3) by Susan Ward

eat all that, Merry. It will make you sick.”
    “I will do as I please, you odious insufferable man. You will not order me.”
    It seemed as though her entire family sharpened their gazes on her at once. Varian sat back and said with utter calm, “You have had a bland diet, for a very long time on my ship, Little One. I am not ordering you. I am merely trying to instruct you.  You need to reintroduce rich food slowly. You will make yourself very ill if you don’t do this wisely.”
    She cut off a section of cream covered pastry, stuffed it in her mouth and then glared at him. “If I am not wise, it should be no surprise to you…” Mimicking his voice. “‘…you are quick, you are clever, but you, Little One, are not wise.’ True words. Leave me alone. I wish to eat.”
    “What you are is stubborn beyond your own good,” Varian said, unruffled. “Enjoy. Do as you will. You always do, my dear, but your stubbornness has a way of working out for the best if given time.”
    Shoving a strawberry into her mouth, Merry made a face then shifted her gaze. Her family was listening to every word between them and not making a polite pretense of doing otherwise.
    Merry went back to her meal and vowed to ignore him. From across the table, Philip tried to draw her into conversation. She attempted to listen to his concise review of all the events of the last year, the scandals, the gossip, both in Falmouth and London, as he offered her any tidbit he thought might brighten her mood. It was impossible to be bright of mood. She was burning from head to toe.
    Although Varian sat an interested listener to Rhea’s table chatter, she knew damn well he hadn’t turned his unsettling attention from her. She began to mutilate her pastry with the harsh moves of her fork, unaware she had caught the reproachful gaze of her mother. Shoving the last fork full into her mouth of what was little more than a crush of blackberry atop a flatten tart, unable to endure the burn against her flesh any longer, she slanted Varian a look, and noting his stare fixed on the slow swirl of his coffee in cup.
    She swallowed her food half chewed and slammed her fork down upon the table. The angry clank of silver against china made everyone look up. Kate nearly sprang through the ceiling.
    “You odious insufferable man,” she ground out. “Must you watch every move with my fork that I make?”
    Varian tilted his face toward her then, lifting his glance with a slow move from his cup that with no added effort  made her seem in the least irrational and more likely quite vain. Her family had stopped all motion and conversation.
    “I sailed with you for a year,” she accused, blue eyes flashing. “You are watching me every time you swirl your glass. You may pretend otherwise, but I know the meaning of that annoying habit and have for a very long time. Your black eyes carry the burn of the demon you are. If you swirl that cup again, I will throw it at you.”
    What surfaced on Varian’s handsome face was expertly correct as he reached across the table to retrieve her fork from the middle where it landed after a bounce. He held it for a servant who quickly retrieved it from his hand. It was an absolutely perfect charade and infuriating in all ways.
    He said, “I am watching, Merry, but not your fork. Would you like me to tell you what I am watching?”
    Even Merry, who knew him well, hadn’t expected that comment, not here in front of her mother and father. It was wickedly provocative in tone, and she didn’t know what to do with it. A year ago she wouldn’t have understood the suggestiveness of Varian’s word play.
    Into her silence, on a voice warmly approving, Varian remarked, “You are very beautiful when you are in a temper, my dear. It makes it extremely palatable you are so often in a temper.”
    “I am only ever in a temper with you. If you don’t like my temper, go away.”
    “Ah, but I like your temper. Would you like me to tell you