fine meal in her life. What if she broke or spilled something?
Lifting the knob on one domed plate cover, she took a cautious peek. Mouthwatering aromas teased her senses, roast beef with potatoes and gravy, fresh-baked bread…She inhaled, feasting with her nose. Her belly growled with hunger.
But she was a lady, she reminded herself, not some starving wastrel Logan Devereaux had rescued off the street. He needed to know that she could wait politely without wolfing downevery scrap put before her. Leaning back in her chair, Emma folded her arms. The chair was soft, the glowing stove deliciously warm. Her eyelids began to droop.
“Emma?”
She opened her eyes. He was gazing down at her, his face freshly shaved, his hair glistening with drops of water.
“Did you have a nice nap?” His eyes held a glint of mischief.
Still muzzy, she blinked up at him. “How…long have I been asleep?”
“Not long. But your dinner might be getting cold. I thought I told you to go ahead and eat.”
“You did. I chose to wait.”
“Well, let’s not wait any longer.” He whisked the covers off the plates. Emma’s dinner was still hot, the beef smothered in rich brown gravy, accompanied by mashed potatoes, glazed carrot slices and plump, golden dinner rolls with strawberry jam. Spreading her napkin on her lap, she used her fork to spear a sliver of meat. Her first taste was so sublime that she almost wept.
“Is something wrong?” Logan asked.
Emma shook her head. “It’s only that I’ve never eaten such a wonderful meal in my life.”
“It’s just roast beef and gravy.”
“I know. But it’s so good. And I’m so hungry.”
Something glimmered in the depths of his eyes. He glanced away, and when he looked back it was replaced by the chilly gaze she’d come to recognize. “Eat it up while it’s warm,” he said. “And remember there’s more where that came from. I may be a coldhearted bastard, but I’d never let a woman starve.”
Emma’s scramble for a clever reply came up empty. She supposed she should thank him for the meal. But after what he’d done to Billy John, he owed her more than a man could repay in a hundred years.
Her gaze shifted to the bed. Awkward as things were between them now, they were bound to get worse. When the judge had counseled her to be a submissive wife Emma had known exactly what the old goat meant. But that didn’t mean she had to heed his advice. If Logan so much as laid a hand on her tonight…
“Champagne?” Logan had opened a slender bottle and was holding it with the lip poised above the rim of her glass.
“You ordered champagne?”
“It was included with the room. A gift fromthe hotel to the happy newlyweds. Have you ever had champagne, Emma?”
“I’ve tasted beer. It was awful.”
“There’s nothing awful about this. Try it.” He poured two fingers into her glass. Swirling bubbles effervesced to rainbow sparks in the lamplight. Logan sat back in his chair, watching her, his eyes hooded in shadow.
Emma lifted the glass to her lips, then paused as a thought struck her. “You’re not trying to get me drunk, are you?”
“Lord, no! Just taste it.”
Tipping the glass, Emma took a tentative sip. The glowing liquid burst like sunlight on her tongue. Its flavor was elusive—fresh and slightly tart. “Oh,” she said, taking another sip. “Oh, my goodness!”
“More?”
“Just a little.” She indicated a small measure with her fingers. “Too much might not be good for the baby.”
“Oh, that’s right, the baby.” He poured her another two fingers of champagne. Emma took tiny sips, savoring the taste as she gathered her courage. What she had to say couldn’t wait much longer.
“There’s something else that might not be good for the baby.” She glanced toward thebed. “I’m well aware of your marital rights, Logan, but you can hardly expect to…” Her voice trailed off. Color flooded her face. She barely knew the words for what she needed
Lifting the knob on one domed plate cover, she took a cautious peek. Mouthwatering aromas teased her senses, roast beef with potatoes and gravy, fresh-baked bread…She inhaled, feasting with her nose. Her belly growled with hunger.
But she was a lady, she reminded herself, not some starving wastrel Logan Devereaux had rescued off the street. He needed to know that she could wait politely without wolfing downevery scrap put before her. Leaning back in her chair, Emma folded her arms. The chair was soft, the glowing stove deliciously warm. Her eyelids began to droop.
“Emma?”
She opened her eyes. He was gazing down at her, his face freshly shaved, his hair glistening with drops of water.
“Did you have a nice nap?” His eyes held a glint of mischief.
Still muzzy, she blinked up at him. “How…long have I been asleep?”
“Not long. But your dinner might be getting cold. I thought I told you to go ahead and eat.”
“You did. I chose to wait.”
“Well, let’s not wait any longer.” He whisked the covers off the plates. Emma’s dinner was still hot, the beef smothered in rich brown gravy, accompanied by mashed potatoes, glazed carrot slices and plump, golden dinner rolls with strawberry jam. Spreading her napkin on her lap, she used her fork to spear a sliver of meat. Her first taste was so sublime that she almost wept.
“Is something wrong?” Logan asked.
Emma shook her head. “It’s only that I’ve never eaten such a wonderful meal in my life.”
“It’s just roast beef and gravy.”
“I know. But it’s so good. And I’m so hungry.”
Something glimmered in the depths of his eyes. He glanced away, and when he looked back it was replaced by the chilly gaze she’d come to recognize. “Eat it up while it’s warm,” he said. “And remember there’s more where that came from. I may be a coldhearted bastard, but I’d never let a woman starve.”
Emma’s scramble for a clever reply came up empty. She supposed she should thank him for the meal. But after what he’d done to Billy John, he owed her more than a man could repay in a hundred years.
Her gaze shifted to the bed. Awkward as things were between them now, they were bound to get worse. When the judge had counseled her to be a submissive wife Emma had known exactly what the old goat meant. But that didn’t mean she had to heed his advice. If Logan so much as laid a hand on her tonight…
“Champagne?” Logan had opened a slender bottle and was holding it with the lip poised above the rim of her glass.
“You ordered champagne?”
“It was included with the room. A gift fromthe hotel to the happy newlyweds. Have you ever had champagne, Emma?”
“I’ve tasted beer. It was awful.”
“There’s nothing awful about this. Try it.” He poured two fingers into her glass. Swirling bubbles effervesced to rainbow sparks in the lamplight. Logan sat back in his chair, watching her, his eyes hooded in shadow.
Emma lifted the glass to her lips, then paused as a thought struck her. “You’re not trying to get me drunk, are you?”
“Lord, no! Just taste it.”
Tipping the glass, Emma took a tentative sip. The glowing liquid burst like sunlight on her tongue. Its flavor was elusive—fresh and slightly tart. “Oh,” she said, taking another sip. “Oh, my goodness!”
“More?”
“Just a little.” She indicated a small measure with her fingers. “Too much might not be good for the baby.”
“Oh, that’s right, the baby.” He poured her another two fingers of champagne. Emma took tiny sips, savoring the taste as she gathered her courage. What she had to say couldn’t wait much longer.
“There’s something else that might not be good for the baby.” She glanced toward thebed. “I’m well aware of your marital rights, Logan, but you can hardly expect to…” Her voice trailed off. Color flooded her face. She barely knew the words for what she needed
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