eyes snapped with irritation as Lexie looked up from where she sat, drinking coffee at the weathered oak table. ‘Technically Cathy Barton prepared it. I just put it in the oven to warm.’
‘Even so…’
‘Oh, stop being so pedantic, Lucan! ‘ She stood up impatiently to pour coffee into a second mug.
‘Pedantic…?’ Lucan repeated softly.
‘Yes, pedantic!’ Lexie thrust the coffee mug into his hand. ‘Milk and sugar are on the table.’ She sat down in her chair to continue staring down into her own coffee mug.
Lucan looked down at that bent dark head as he sipped the black and unsweetened coffee he preferred; his absence obviously hadn’t done anything to improve her mood as she didn’t look at him or speak. The latter was an unusual occurrence in itself!
Lucan pulled out the chair opposite hers and sat downto stretch his long legs out under the table. ‘What would you be doing now if you were back in London…?’
Lexie eyed him from beneath her lashes, very aware that Lucan had changed out of his formal suit, shirt and tie since she’d last seen him, and now looked more comfortable—and more darkly, devastatingly attractive—in a thick black sweater and fitted black denims. ‘Deciding whether to order Chinese or Indian take-out, probably.’
‘You can take the girl out of the city but not the city out of the girl, hmm?’ he mused softly.
She bristled. ‘What’s
that
supposed to mean?’
Lucan noted that several wispy strands of that glorious long black hair had come loose from the confining plait, adding a vulnerability to Lexie’s heart-shaped face and the long length of her creamy throat. Except, as Lucan knew only too well, Lexie Hamilton had the vulnerability of a spitting cat!
He shrugged. ‘I was just attempting to make conversation.’
She frowned. ‘Did you decide on what to do about the damage upstairs?’
He nodded. ‘I’ve arranged for a builder to come out and take a look in the morning.’
‘And then we can leave?’ She looked hopeful.
Lucan grimaced. ‘I won’t know until the builder has assessed the damage.’ He frowned as she still looked disgruntled. ‘I realise the facilities aren’t too good here. Would you be more comfortable if I organised a couple of rooms for us tonight at the village pub?’
‘No!
I mean—that won’t be necessary,’ Lexie spoke more calmly when she saw the way Lucan’s eyes narrowed at her unnecessary vehemence. ‘The house is quite warm now, and we have Cathy Barton’s casserole for dinner.’
‘Yes…’ Lucan acknowledged slowly.
Suspiciously?
Lexie couldn’t say she would blame Lucan if he
did
feel a little suspicious when she was reacting so jumpily to almost everything he said. Although it was a little difficult for her not to be that way, when she constantly felt as if her identity as Sian Thomas’s granddaughter was going to be exposed at any moment. Especially now that there was a possibility of Lucan’s caretaker being married to Cathy Wilson—someone who knew exactly who Lexie was.
Maybe she should just come out with the truth now and get it over and done with?
Oh, yes—and no doubt find herself cast into the dungeon below.
Lexie had been repelled, and a little fascinated, too, when years ago Grandpa Alex had been persuaded into showing her the dungeon hidden behind the huge wine cellar in the basement of the house. A small structure, probably only six feet deep by ten feet wide, its walls, floor and ceiling were made of solid stone four feet thick. The fourth wall was a metal door with one-inch-solid metal bars that had been driven deep down into the stone floor.
She had wondered all those years ago, as she’d stood looking at that impregnable structure, what the past inhabitants of that stone and metal cell could possibly have done to merit being cast into such a lightless and virtually airless prison.
Right now Lexie couldn’t help wondering if deliberately deceiving the current Duke of
‘Even so…’
‘Oh, stop being so pedantic, Lucan! ‘ She stood up impatiently to pour coffee into a second mug.
‘Pedantic…?’ Lucan repeated softly.
‘Yes, pedantic!’ Lexie thrust the coffee mug into his hand. ‘Milk and sugar are on the table.’ She sat down in her chair to continue staring down into her own coffee mug.
Lucan looked down at that bent dark head as he sipped the black and unsweetened coffee he preferred; his absence obviously hadn’t done anything to improve her mood as she didn’t look at him or speak. The latter was an unusual occurrence in itself!
Lucan pulled out the chair opposite hers and sat downto stretch his long legs out under the table. ‘What would you be doing now if you were back in London…?’
Lexie eyed him from beneath her lashes, very aware that Lucan had changed out of his formal suit, shirt and tie since she’d last seen him, and now looked more comfortable—and more darkly, devastatingly attractive—in a thick black sweater and fitted black denims. ‘Deciding whether to order Chinese or Indian take-out, probably.’
‘You can take the girl out of the city but not the city out of the girl, hmm?’ he mused softly.
She bristled. ‘What’s
that
supposed to mean?’
Lucan noted that several wispy strands of that glorious long black hair had come loose from the confining plait, adding a vulnerability to Lexie’s heart-shaped face and the long length of her creamy throat. Except, as Lucan knew only too well, Lexie Hamilton had the vulnerability of a spitting cat!
He shrugged. ‘I was just attempting to make conversation.’
She frowned. ‘Did you decide on what to do about the damage upstairs?’
He nodded. ‘I’ve arranged for a builder to come out and take a look in the morning.’
‘And then we can leave?’ She looked hopeful.
Lucan grimaced. ‘I won’t know until the builder has assessed the damage.’ He frowned as she still looked disgruntled. ‘I realise the facilities aren’t too good here. Would you be more comfortable if I organised a couple of rooms for us tonight at the village pub?’
‘No!
I mean—that won’t be necessary,’ Lexie spoke more calmly when she saw the way Lucan’s eyes narrowed at her unnecessary vehemence. ‘The house is quite warm now, and we have Cathy Barton’s casserole for dinner.’
‘Yes…’ Lucan acknowledged slowly.
Suspiciously?
Lexie couldn’t say she would blame Lucan if he
did
feel a little suspicious when she was reacting so jumpily to almost everything he said. Although it was a little difficult for her not to be that way, when she constantly felt as if her identity as Sian Thomas’s granddaughter was going to be exposed at any moment. Especially now that there was a possibility of Lucan’s caretaker being married to Cathy Wilson—someone who knew exactly who Lexie was.
Maybe she should just come out with the truth now and get it over and done with?
Oh, yes—and no doubt find herself cast into the dungeon below.
Lexie had been repelled, and a little fascinated, too, when years ago Grandpa Alex had been persuaded into showing her the dungeon hidden behind the huge wine cellar in the basement of the house. A small structure, probably only six feet deep by ten feet wide, its walls, floor and ceiling were made of solid stone four feet thick. The fourth wall was a metal door with one-inch-solid metal bars that had been driven deep down into the stone floor.
She had wondered all those years ago, as she’d stood looking at that impregnable structure, what the past inhabitants of that stone and metal cell could possibly have done to merit being cast into such a lightless and virtually airless prison.
Right now Lexie couldn’t help wondering if deliberately deceiving the current Duke of
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