The Widow's Auction by Sabrina Jeffries

potatoes. Then she paused, her eyes twinkling up at him through the mask. “Are you sure we have enough? Perhaps we should add another six courses or so.”
    â€œI didn’t know what you’d like, so I ordered everything that sounded appetizing.”
    She uncovered the remaining dishes, her smile widening as she revealed sausages and cauliflower and pigeon pie, a capon in caper sauce and roast tongue, pickles and asparagus and a cucumber salad redolent with vinegar. Not to mention the Portugal cakes and tansy pudding that provided the final touch.
    â€œApparently you find the entirety of Clarendon’s kitchen appetizing,” she teased. Then she added more earnestly, “It was truly lovely of you to do all this for me. You aren’t. . . that is, I didn’t expect you –I mean, the man who bought me–to be so generous.”
    â€œThank God I’ve managed to defy your expectations. You’ve been defying mine all night.”
    â€œI do hate to be predictable.” She leaned low to sniff the pigeon pie, and her costume fell forward enough to reveal the lush, pale breasts hanging free within the satin sheath and lacy chemise. No corset. Good God. He thought his breeches would burst right there.
    Nor did it help when she straightened, eyes gleaming, to pick up a bottle and ask, “Would you like wine , my lord?”
    When coupled with that low, husky voice she’d adopted as a disguise, her blatant innuendo made him reel. “Are you offering me the beverage? Or something else?”
    â€œBoth, I think.”
    Images of licking wine off every inch of her naked body flashed into his brain. Bloody hell, she was driving him mad. “Then I’ll have the beverage.” When she actually looked disappointed, he added, “For now.”
    Her tinkling laughter filled the room and made his loins tighten painfully. How much more of this teasing could he take?
    She poured two glasses and handed him one with a knowing smile that made his blood thunder in his temples. Fighting to restrain his rampant urges, he held out her seat for her, then rounded the table to his own seat. Silence reigned for the next few moments as they filled their plates.
    When she picked up her fork, he noted that she still refused to remove her gloves. The woman never ceased to surprise him. One moment she was offering him “wine,” and the next she was behaving with extreme propriety. Fortunately, that tiny glimpse of the real Lady Kingsley helped him bank some of his lust.
    â€œTell me something, Lord Warbrooke,” she said.
    â€œJustin.” He took a couple of bites of the turbot.
    â€œJustin. Of course.” She ate some pigeon pie as prettily as a duchess, then set down her fork. “You said earlier that you weren’t married. Why not?”
    He shrugged. “I never found the right woman, that’s all.”
    â€œOut of the hundreds of eligible women who parade through London every year in search of husbands, you couldn’t find a single one to suit you?”
    He took her skeptical tone for a challenge. Settling back in his seat, he folded his hands over his belly. “I don’t fancy marrying some grabbing young female whose only object in life is to spend my money and flaunt my title under the noses of her friends.”
    â€œMy, my, you do think highly of your attractions. But surely not all women of good society are out to spend your money and flaunt your title.”
    Impudent minx. “If they aren’t, they’re certainly hiding it well. At any rate, I have no time to separate the wheat from the chaff. Unlike most of my peers, I actually do something with my money and my title. I’m on the board of several charities, and I take my duties in Parliament very seriously. My mother and my sister eternally complain that I spend too much time and money on those activities. I can only imagine what a wife would have to say about