Playing to Win by Diane Farr

Author:Diane Farr [Farr, Diane]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Regency, Humor, romance historical, regency england, Mistress, sweet romance, regency historical, cabin romance, diane farr, historical fiction romance, regency historical romance, georgette heyer, sweet historical, nabob, regencyset romance, humor and romance
Publisher: Diane Farr
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 13

Clarissa set down her fork with a sigh. "Two persons cannot possibly do justice to this dinner," she said, with real regret. She gazed at the barely-touched platters of food arrayed before her, and shook her head in disturbed wonder. The unnecessary magnificence of this meal struck her as decadent. It was costing her a severe struggle to hold her tongue on the subject.

Mr. Whitlatch had offered her a hasty apology when dinner was announced, and she had swallowed her distress and accepted it. No good alternative had presented itself to her; she was, however unwillingly, a guest in the man’s home. And once she had consented to dine alone with a single gentleman, an action she knew perfectly well would ruin her if it ever became known, she was in a poor position to object to the uncalled-for lavishness of the dinner. Or, for that matter, to cavil at the seating arrangement. Mr. Whitlatch was seated at the head of the table, with Clarissa at his left hand rather than at the foot—improper for dining tete-a-tete, but, as Trevor had pointed out, far more convenient. Her host had yet again chosen convenience over propriety. He was certainly consistent.

Now he was grinning at her over the rim of his wine glass. "You sound as if you don’t approve."

"I do not," she said earnestly, relieved to speak her mind at last. "It is a shocking waste, sir. There are many hungry people in the world."

Her companion appeared utterly unrepentant. Even at dinner he lounged at his ease, leaning on one elbow in a way that would have earned him instant dismissal from the table at Miss Bathurst’s Ladies’ Academy. His dark eyes gleamed with amusement.

"I am happy to say that you need not add this meal to the list of my iniquities. Whatever was not grown in my own gardens was purchased at fair market value."

She blushed for her rudeness. "I beg your pardon! I did not mean to criticize you."

His swarthy features lit with that peculiarly engaging grin of his. "You didn’t offend me, if that is what you mean."

No; she was fast reaching the conclusion that it was impossible to offend Mr. Whitlatch! He seemed to have no notion of the rules governing polite conduct. Why did she find his utter lack of propriety attractive? Really, the effect he had on her was inexplicable.

She eyed him doubtfully. "Are you truly a vicar’s son?" she asked.

He chuckled. "Shocking, isn’t it? To have fallen so far!"

She flushed scarlet. "Oh, dear! I ought not to blurt out such a question. I beg your pardon."

He set his wine glass down and took up his fork again. "You know, I wish you will rid your mind of the notion that I am a fragile fellow, forever needing to have my pardon begged."

Clarissa watched, fascinated, as he carved off a bite of roast chicken with as much relish as if he had not already eaten enough for two people. "Oddly enough, I was just thinking that," she said politely.

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