“Avgolemono. It’s a Greek egg-lemon soup.”
Her first spoonful had her eyes sliding closed in delight as the flavor slid over her palate. “Incredible.” By the time she’d finished her soup, Meredith’s trepidation and awkwardness had disappeared as she eagerly awaited the next course. He handed her a plate of delicate steamed fish, flavored with hints of aromatic spices she did not recognize, accompanied by steamed asparagus. After each bite, her eyes again drifted shut, and pleasure-filled mmmmm’s escaped her.
“You are clearly a woman of great passion, Meredith.”
Her eyes popped open, and she found him studying her over the rim of his wineglass with a half-amused, half-heated expression.
“Why do you say that?”
“Because only someone with a passionate nature could enjoy food with such abandon.”
Embarrassment scorched her. Good heavens, in these unfamiliar surroundings, she’d completely forgotten herself.
“Don’t be embarrassed,” he said, his words and the fact that he’d so clearly read her reaction only serving to burn her cheeks further. “Your enthusiasm is a great compliment not only to Bakari, but to me as well. I am flattered that you feel comfortable enough with me to lower your guard.”
Comfortable? She nearly laughed. There was nothing comfortable about the heat and tremors, excitement and pulse-racing this man inspired. Yet, even as that thought entered her mind, she could not deny that in a completely different, difficult-to-define way, she did indeed feel comfortable with him. She enjoyed his company. The sound of his voice. His laugh and quick wit. She could not help but feel that if their situations were different, they might perhaps be… friends.
Friends? With the heir to an earldom? Dear God, she was a candidate for Bedlam.
“You’ve a most interesting expression,” he said. “Would you care to share your thoughts?”
She briefly considered not doing so, but then decided perhaps she should, if for no other reason than to remind him of their divergent stations. “I was thinking how very different we are.”
“Indeed? That is interesting, as I was just thinking how much alike we are.”
“I cannot imagine how you arrived at the conclusion that two people who hail from such different social upbringings are alike.”
“Perhaps our upbringings are not as opposite as you imagine. Why don’t you tell me about yours?”
Panic fluttered in her stomach, and her gaze flew to his. Nothing in his expression or tone indicated anything other than mild interest… or did it? Relax. It is not unusual he would ask. He is merely making conversation. Forcing a light laugh, she said, “You grew up in splendor, as an esteemed member of Society. The heir to an earldom. I’m afraid that is quite difficult to top.”
He shrugged. “Perhaps. But wealth and social standing do not guarantee happiness.” Something in his voice indicated he spoke from experience, and although it pulled at her curiosity, caution kept her from pursuing this conversation that was leading toward questions she couldn’t answer truthfully. And for the first time in years, the thought of lying did not sit right with her.
Looking down, she noticed that a small section of the flounced hem of her gown rested upon his knee, the pale yellow muslin a splash of color against his dark trousers. The sight of her gown touching those fascinating, loose-fitting trousers was inexplicably intimate. Arousing. And stirred her in a way that arrowed heat straight to her core.
“What were you like, Meredith?”
She snapped her gaze back to his. He was looking at her through eyes that appeared far too watchful and full of speculation. “I beg your pardon?”
“As a child. What were you like? What did you enjoy doing? What was your family like?” One corner of his mouth lifted in a sheepish gesture, yet the expression did not quite reach those watchful eyes. “I find myself insatiably curious.”
Images she’d fought years to erase flashed through her mind, and she batted them away. She hated lying to this man. Yet, she had no choice.
Forcing aside the guilt, she uttered the same falsehood she’d told more times than she cared to admit. “My childhood was normal and happy,” she said, the fantasy she’d woven tripping off her tongue. “We were not wealthy, but comfortably off. Over the years, we lived in several places, resettling as my father’s livelihood as a tutor demanded. After my father died, my mother secured a position as a governess with a prominent family in Newcastle. I lived there with Mother until her death, at which time I came to London, and established myself as a matchmaker. I’d already had a number of successes which helped toward that end.”
“You have no brothers or sisters?”
“Sadly, no.” Anxious to swing the conversation away from herself, she offered him a smile. “Unlike you. You are most fortunate to have Lady Bickley. I always wanted a sister.”
“I am indeed blessed. My childhood would have been unbearably bleak without Catherine.”
Clearly her surprise showed, for he added, “Just because I was surrounded by material comforts does not mean I was happy, Meredith.”
Confusion and undeniable curiosity assailed her, along with sympathy, for there was no mistaking the pain in his eyes. What could have made him unhappy? She’d spent countless hours longing for what he’d had-a normal family, a respectable life, a decent home. Why had it not been enough for him?
“I… I’m sorry you were not happy, Philip.”
“And you’re very surprised that I was not. You’re wondering how I could grow up in surroundings like this”- his gestured to encompass the opulent room-“yet be sad.”
“I cannot deny I find it difficult to fathom.”
Setting aside his plate and wineglass, he leaned forward, propping his forearms on his knees. “Have you ever been lonely, Meredith? So lonely that you just… ached with it? Felt alone, even though you were surrounded by people?”
Memories, feelings she’d buried long ago rushed to the surface. Dear God, she’d spent most of her life feeling exactly that way. Unwilling to respond, yet unable to tear her gaze from the distress simmering in his eyes, she simply looked at him, praying he wouldn’t see the answer in her own eyes.
“As a child,” he said softly, “I always felt as if I were standing outside, looking through the window with my nose pressed to the glass. I was clumsy and awkward, shy and pudgy, forced to wear thick spectacles-all traits made even more glaring when I was in the company of my contemporaries, whom I viewed as everything I was not. I saw little of my father, as he spent much of his time traveling to his estates. My mother was very beautiful, but she suffered from fragile health. After her death, when I was twelve, my relationship with my father grew increasingly strained…” His voice trailed off, and his eyes took on a faraway expression filled with anguish.
Without thinking, she reached out and squeezed his hand. As if coming out of a trance, he looked down at her hand resting upon his. Then he raised his gaze, and her breath stalled at the utter, bleak despair in his eyes. “It was my fault,” he said in a voice devoid of emotion, in stunning contrast to the torment burning in his gaze. “I’d promised Father I’d stay with her, keep her occupied until he returned from an appointment with his solicitor. She was feeling better, as she sometimes did, and as always, when she had strength, she wanted to be outdoors. Father told me not to let her go out until he returned. I gave my word…”
He swallowed, then continued. “I gave my word, but then I… fell asleep.” He shook his head, a bitter sound escaping his throat. “Fell asleep while she read to me. She left the house to walk in the park. Got caught in the rain, and caught a chill. She died three days later.”