All eyes were upon them. Anthony hung his head and coughed discreetly into his hand. Despite his precaution, however, he watched a pair of eyebrows rise on a familiar face. He raised his hand to his nose to scratch a nonexistent itch.
“This way, sir.”
The host gestured to a door leading out of the room and Anthony hurried through it, shepherding Harmony in front of him.
“Mr. Turner reserved our best private dining area for you, sir. I hope it meets with your approval.”
Anthony surveyed the chamber they had entered. It was similar to the main dining area, though much smaller, having only a single table. Rich red velvet material covered the banquette seat that curved around half the diameter of the table, which was set with a variety of cut-crystal goblets and glasses, sterling flatware, and silver-rimmed Limoges dinnerware. A bowl full of creamy roses sat in the center of the table, with a silver candelabrum on either side. A bottle of champagne reclined in an iced bucket, and the perfume of an English summer garden wafted through an open casement window.
“Very nice,” Anthony pronounced.
“I’m glad it’s to your liking, sir. May I?”
Anthony nodded and the host pulled the table a little to one side. Harmony took her cue and sat on the banquette. The host pulled the table to the other side, and Anthony slid into his seat. The maitre d’hote glanced at the champagne, and Anthony nodded once again.
Harmony watched with interest as the host poured a small quantity of a fragrant red liqueur into the bottom of the two champagne glasses, then filled them with champagne. He placed a raspberry in each and served them.
“To you.” Anthony raised his glass to Harmony’s while the host discreetly withdrew, closing the door behind him. “And to our evening.”
It was magical. Everything was magical. Harmony sipped the raspberry-flavored aperitif and inhaled the summer scents drifting in the window. Gauzy curtains lifted in a passing night breeze. Was this really happening? Was she really here? Or was she caught once more in the stuff of a dream?
“I … I think you should pinch me.”
Anthony set his glass down. “Pinch you? Why?”
“It’s all so lovely, Anthony. Everything. Your friends are so nice. Now all … all this.”
“You’re happy, then?”
“Oh … oh, yes.”
“Good. It’s what I wanted. All I care about.” Anthony took Harmony’s hand in both of his and raised it to his lips. His eyelids closed as he pressed a kiss into the palm of her hand, and Harmony noticed how long and black his lashes were against his cheeks. Her heart seemed to swell within her breast.
There was a light tap on the door. Anthony called permission to enter.
A liveried waiter appeared with a laden silver tray. He set it on the table before them, and Harmony was not able to suppress her gasp of delight.
There was seafood of every description: a pair of lobsters, shrimp and crayfish, grilled scallops, paper-thin slices of cured salmon with a garnish of finely chopped onions, clams, raw oysters, and whelk.
“Please tell me I’m not expected to eat all this!”
“Just eat what you like. As little or as much as you like.” Anthony plucked a shrimp from the platter and fed it to her. “Bear in mind it’s only the first course.”
Harmony groaned. The waiter whisked away the champagne glasses and filled another set of glasses with a pale white wine. An instant later he was gone.
Anthony tasted the wine. “I think you’ll like this. It’s a Sancerre and goes well with the seafood. Particularly with the little purple sea snails I love so much, although none were available tonight. I apologize, my love.”
The side of his mouth that made his smile so adorably crooked was twitching the tiniest bit. He was up to something. All right, Harmony said to herself, trying not to react to Anthony’s incipient smile, I’ll go along with it.
“Purple sea snails? I’ve never even heard of such a thing. Where did you ever eat a purple sea snail?”
The smile broke through. “A coastal town in northern France, Honfleur. I sat at a little outdoor table right by the docks and watched the fishermen on their boats empty their nets onto the wharf. Piles and piles of tiny purple snail shells. Chefs from the seafood restaurants around the water bought what they wanted on the spot. They simply couldn’t be any more fresh.”
Harmony’s delighted giggle erupted unexpectedly. “But … but how does one eat a tiny purple sea snail?”
“Ah, I’m glad you asked.” Anthony took time out to extract the succulent white meat from a cracked lobster claw. “With a tiny little pick.”
Harmony didn’t have to ask another question.
Her expression said it all.
“You hold the shell like this.” Anthony demonstrated with the thumb and forefinger of his left hand. “Then you take the tiny little pick and quickly—before the snail can pull his little door shut—you stab him, pull him out, and pop him in your mouth.”
Harmony felt her jaw drop. There was nothing she could do about it. Anthony laughed out loud.
“The little door,” he explained, “is called an operculum, and it’s what the snail uses to lock his house up tight to keep out the predators. Like me.”
“Oh, Anthony!”
He watched the shining curls touching the tops of her shoulders quiver with the effort to suppress her mirth. Enchanted, he kissed the exposed flesh at the juncture of shoulder and neck.
The touch sent a shiver through Harmony’s entire body. Now she was not only trembling with laughter but with goose bumps and prickly skin. In an effort to regain control, she took a sip of wine.
“So, do you like it? The wine, I mean?”
Harmony nodded, took a bite of lobster tail, and another sip of wine. Anthony was right. The wine and seafood were a perfect pairing, but she ate and drank sparingly, having no idea how many courses there might be. Furthermore, Anthony’s nearness and the intensity of his gaze was intoxicating enough, and doing something peculiar to her stomach. She watched him pick up a raw oyster, tilt his head back, and let it slide into his mouth. She licked her lips.
“Have you ever had one?” Anthony asked.
Harmony could only shake her head.
“Would you like to try?”
“I … I’m not sure. If I do, are you going to make me … um … make me stab and eat a live sea snail, too, someday?”
“I would never make you kill your own food. These oysters, however, are merely raw, not alive.” Chuckling, Anthony picked up a half shell. His brow quirked. Harmony nodded almost imperceptibly.
“Now remember, simply swallow, don’t chew. Are you ready?”
Another nod.
Anthony smiled encouragingly. Harmony tilted her head, opened her mouth, and closed her eyes.
The sensation was amazing and surprisingly sensual. Harmony’s eyes popped wide open. Anthony laughed.
“Another?”
“I think one was enough, thank you.”
The platter of seafood was diminished but not done when the waiter reappeared. He took away every item that had been used and within moments a second waiter arrived and set down cunning little crystal cups in the shape of flower blossoms. Each held a small scoop of what appeared to be shaved ice, a rarity in winter, much less summer.
“To cleanse the palette,” Anthony explained. “Champagne-flavored, I believe.”
His culinary knowledge was as impressive as the dinner being served. Anthony continued to surprise and delight her. It no longer seemed so strange to her that he had masqueraded as he had, or done the things he had done to get to know her. He was a multilayered and complex man.
Harmony gazed over at him, at the angular lines of his face softened in the candlelight, the straight, shining hair brushing the tops of his shoulders, and knew in her heart that she had forgiven him entirely.
“You’re looking thoughtful again,” Anthony said as the interim course was removed by the silent waiter.
&n
bsp; “I have a lot to think about, I suppose,” Harmony murmured.
“Good things, I hope.”
“Yes. I hope so, too.”
The second waiter entered with a large tray covered by a silver dome, as the first uncorked and decanted a bottle of red wine. He poured a measure in still another of Anthony’s glasses, one with a larger bowl than the white wine glasses, and waited for a nod of approval. When it came, he filled both glasses.
“A Saint-Julien,” Anthony informed her. “To go
with our Chateaubriand.”
Harmony caught her breath as the waiter lifted the dome from the tray, but not because of the beauty of the dish’s presentation.
“You remember, don’t you?” Anthony whispered.
Harmony felt inexplicable tears sting her eyelids, and she nodded.
“Even then,” Anthony continued, “barely knowing you, I knew you should have the best. Now I can give it to you.”
“Shall I carve, sir?” the waiter asked politely. Anthony shook his head and the man departed.
Anthony got up from the banquette and poised a carving knife over the tenderloin. “And how do you like your steak, my love?”
Harmony smiled up at him. “I’m a cattleman’s daughter.”
“Rare it is, then.” With an adroit stroke, Anthony severed the meat at its center and quickly prepared three thin slices. He arranged them on a plate with a selection of vegetables that had accompanied the meat and set it in front of Harmony.
“I had no idea you were so multitalented,” she said.
“You simply bring out the best in me. I’m a changed man since I’ve met you.”
They ate for a few minutes in silence. The wine Anthony had selected complemented the meal superbly and everything was cooked to perfection. The curtains billowed in another fitful stirring of the night wind, and the faint, faraway sound of someone playing classical piano came to their ears. Harmony arranged her knife and fork on her plate and sighed.
“Are you quite content, my love?”
Harmony paused a moment, surprisingly unsure what to say. Mere words didn’t seem to be enough. How did one thank someone for …? Harmony cocked her head to one side.
What Anthony had given her was more, far more, than an introduction to his friends and an incredibly excellent and delicious dinner. He had given her warmth, and light, and … hope. With a shudder, Harmony recalled Agatha’s dark and dank manor house. The memory made her cold, so cold. She swiftly forced her thoughts back to the present, and her body warmed at once.
“Harmony?” Anthony prompted. “Are you all right? Is everything all right?”
“Oh, yes. Very.” Words would have to do after all. “I merely find myself quite unable to thank you for all of this. Anthony, it’s been … incredible. Every bit of it. The food, the wine, the room …”
Anthony stopped her with a finger to her lips. “The best is yet to come.”
“Oh, no. Oh, Anthony, I couldn’t. I can’t!“
“Just wait and see.”
As if on cue, the duo of waiters appeared. The dinner remains were removed, the table freshened, champagne poured from a new bottle, and something in a covered dish was placed before them. The waiters retreated.
In spite of herself, Harmony’s curiosity was aroused. “What is it?”
Anthony removed the top from the dish and spooned something into a crystal bowl. It had the appearance of chocolate satin.
“Mousse,” Anthony said. “Have you had it before?”
“I’ve never even heard of it.”
Anthony captured some on a spoon and offered it to her.
Harmony hugged her stomach. “I can’t … I’m sorry … I’m so full!”
Anthony popped the spoon into his own mouth and sucked it clean. “Mmmmm. You don’t know what you’re missing.”
It did look good. “Well, maybe just a taste.”
Anthony abandoned the spoon and dipped his finger into the chocolate. He offered it to her.
Nothing in Harmony’s experience had prepared her for a night like this. Nothing in her experience had ever prepared her for a man like Anthony. It seemed perfectly right and natural to simply part her lips and
accept his gift.
The chocolate was as smooth as silk. The sensation of her lips wrapped around Anthony’s finger was delicious. Slowly, slowly, he withdrew it.
“Do you like it?” he murmured.
“It’s sinful.”
“Exactly.” Anthony smiled his crooked smile. “Would you like another taste?”
Harmony could barely manage to nod. Something hot and liquid seemed to be moving downward from her belly to her groin.
Anthony dipped his finger back into the chocolate and then brought it to her mouth. This time, however, he merely dabbed the chocolate on her lower lip.
“Oops,” he whispered. His tongue flicked out and licked at her lip.
The molten liquid continued downward into Harmony’s legs. She could scarcely breathe. She was totally unable to take her eyes from Anthony’s mouth. She watched him slowly, languorously, run his tongue over his lips.
“Another?” he breathed.
Harmony didn’t respond. She didn’t need to. Anthony placed another spot of chocolate on her lip. His face drew near. Long, dark, silky hair caressed his cheeks and framed the angular planes of his face.
She waited for the warm caress of his tongue. Her eyes closed of their own accord. Anthony’s lips fastened on her mouth.
All restraint left her in an instant. With a small cry of passion that issued from somewhere deep within her breast, Harmony threw her arms around Anthony’s neck and drew him against her. Her breasts throbbed and ached where they were pressed to his chest, and the liquid fire continued to course through her limbs. At last, unable to breathe, she pulled away.
“Are you ready to leave?” Anthony asked in a hoarse voice.
“I want to be alone with you,” Harmony whispered. She couldn’t believe she had said it. She couldn’t believe how passionately she meant it.
“Your wish is my command, my love.” Anthony rose from the table and held out his hand to her. “Our carriage awaits.”
Chapter Seventeen
Anthony escorted Harmony from the restaurant as swiftly as he was able, glad of the excuse to hurry through the main dining salon. He kept his head down and his hand on Harmony’s waist. Sneed, parked a distance down on the curb, moved the carriage forward as soon as he saw them emerge from the building. Anthony motioned for him to stay up in the box and handed Harmony into the coach himself. They had barely begun to move when he turned to her on the seat beside him.
“Harmony,” he breathed. “Harmony, my love.” Her hair, pinned at the crown of her head to fall in cascading copper spirals to her shoulders, was bathed in the lambent moonlight. Her cheeks were flushed with the heat of her need for him, and her eyes glinted, gemlike. Her breasts heaved with her rapid breathing and strained against the material of her midnight blue gown. He touched the rising swell of them and felt the
heat rise to his own face.
It had all seemed so impossible. Yet here it was, the future, the best thing that would ever happen to him, right within his grasp. Harmony wanted him. But did she trust him? Could she love him? He had so little time to win her, before she eventually discovered the truth. He had to make her love him so she would not ever want to leave him, no matter what.
But how? What was the right thing to do? Harmony wanted him and he wanted her more than anything he had ever wanted in his life. He might throw caution to the wind and give her what she wanted, what they both wanted. But was it too soon? Would it destroy the foundation he had built so carefully, so painstakingly?
Anthony managed to tear his gaze from the bodice of Harmony’s gown and pull her against him protectively when the coach bounced through a pothole in the street. He continued to hold her tightly and rested his chin on the top of her shining head. Her perfume caressed his senses. He closed his e
yes.
Nothing had ever felt so wonderful as to be held like this in Anthony’s arms. Harmony never could have imagined it was possible to feel this way. She felt so safe, so protected. Nothing outside the circle of Anthony’s arms existed. She tried to remember how they had met, how he had tricked her, lied to her. But it didn’t seem to matter any longer. All that mattered was that this delightful dream go on forever.
The carriage moved inexorably forward, however. In too short a time she would be back at her sister’s home. The warm and rosy glow that surrounded and embraced her would be leeched away by the cold and stony atmosphere of Agatha’s prison. Harmony didn’t want it to happen. Not now. Not yet. Not when she was only beginning to know what it was like to allow Anthony to love her.
Anthony didn’t want the moment to end, didn’t want to release Harmony from his arms … ever. So it was with misgiving that he felt her stir in his arms. In response he held her tighter.
“Anthony,” Harmony whispered.
He bent his head to her, lips nearly brushing her cheek. “What is it, my love?”
My love. Something churned in Harmony’s stomach. She turned her face into his neck and inhaled the clean, masculine fragrance of him. Unbidden came the memory of his tongue licking the chocolate from her lip, and she quivered.
“Anthony, I … I don’t want this to end,” Harmony murmured at last, surprised she had been able to find her tongue at all. The instant the words were out, however, she feared she had been too bold, too forward. What must Anthony think of her? In the next
heartbeat she found out.
“You have only to say the word,” Anthony sighed, “and it will go on forever.”
What did he mean? Harmony’s heart skipped a beat. No, it couldn’t be. It was too soon, too soon for both of them. He only meant the magic of the evening.
“I don’t want to go back to Agatha’s house. Not yet. Please.”
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