War Chest: Even Gods Fall in Love, Book 5 by Lynne Connolly Page A

with his own hands, and then took his seat next to her, at the head of the table. Like yesterday, they were seated together and also like yesterday, they were alone. The little silver hand bell stood accusingly between them, daring her to ring it.
    She wouldn’t do it.
    “Shall we see what pleasures we have in store tonight?” He lifted the nearest lid. “Fish in sauce, what a surprise!” He winked at her. Leaning forward, he sniffed. “Cod, I believe. I’m rather partial to sea fish. Shall we?”
    “If you please, sir.”
    He helped her to the food and then she found new potatoes to go with it. After shaking her napkin over her lap, she set to. He poured them crisp white wine that must have come straight up from the cellar. When she failed to stifle her moan of appreciation, he gave her a smiling glance and sipped from his own glass. “You like dry wine?”
    “Yes, sir, and I like cool wine.”
    “In this weather, so do I.” He sipped again, his throat moving as he swallowed.
    Unfortunately he turned his head as he put down his glass and caught her watching. He said nothing, but kept her gaze for a fraught five seconds before he returned his concentration to his food. She knew it was five seconds because she counted, not daring to look away. In that moment, she’d imagined she’d seen something buried inside him, a deep trouble that he could not dismiss.
    It must be her imagination, surely. She hardly knew him and she had little reason to indulge him. Except—she still had a mystery to solve and her time here was probably the only opportunity to solve it.
    They moved through the meal with her account of her discoveries in the attic, but not the clothes. “I asked one of the footmen to carry the cradles down. They are not swinging ones, sir, and the sides are high enough to keep the babies in at night.
    He pushed aside his plate. “Fascinating though this is, Miss Carter, I possess little interest in discussing my wards, unless you encounter a problem. If you need anything else for them, let me know and I’ll arrange it.”
    “Yes, sir. Babies grow quickly, so they will need new garments soon.”
    “Babies wear gowns, do they not?”
    “Yes, sir. We can fashion them ourselves, but we may need to send for materials.”
    He frowned. “I won’t hear of you slaving over infants’ gowns. Send out for them. There is a sewing-woman in the village. I’ll send for her and you may tell her what to do. She may alter the clothes you chose for yourself too.”
    “Thank you, sir, but we can manage the work. Do you not want us to be busy?”
    “No,” he said bluntly. “It is not necessarily. I want you to do your work to the best of your ability, and then the time is your own. I am not a harsh taskmaster.”
    He frowned. At that moment he looked like the harshest taskmaster in the world, fierce and forbidding. A flash of apprehension crossed her mind and the notion he could do anything. He was unpredictable, volatile, like the wind in autumn. She needed more time here. Although these dinners made her uncomfortable, he had ordered it and he must have what he wanted.
    She feared she would do something wrong and not know what it was.
    “Do you read?” he said abruptly.
    “Of course, otherwise what kind of governess would I make?”
    He dismissed her answer with an irritable wave of his hand. The light had mellowed since they’d entered the room. How long had it been? This time of year it wouldn’t become really dark until about eight o’clock. It couldn’t be anywhere near that. She had not noticed the aspect of the house.
    “This room faces east,” he said softly. Startled, she met his gaze. His eyes crinkled at the corners. “You are remarkably easy to read, Miss Carter.”
    “Oh.” She hadn’t realised. Her family certainly never read her accurately. Or not cared to. “I’m sorry.”
    “Don’t apologise. I find it refreshing.”
    He reached out, and then drew his hand back. Just as if he wanted