after he dropped his mother off at Jude’s ranch, her suggestion lodged itself into his mind and he couldn’t dislodge it. He’d even been tempted to go inside and meet these Mendoza boys just to confirm that they weren’t possibly Amber’s type.
But he was already running late. So he’d only walked Lady Josephine to the door. And before he could be invited inside, he’d dashed off.
It wasn’t jealousy that had made him leave so suddenly. He was in a hurry to get to the restaurant and reassure himself that his date couldn’t possibly be interested in dating anyone else.
He’d never been the possessive type, but he was determined that as long as he remained in town, he would be the only man with whom Amber would spend her time. After that, he wouldn’t allow himself to think of her marriage options.
Maybe it was selfish, but he wanted her all to himself. Which was why, when he arrived at the restaurant before her, he again asked the hostess to seat them in a quiet, out-of-the-way corner.
* * *
The Garden in Vicker’s Corner was a trendy bistro with stained-glass windows, copper ceiling tiles and a vintage art-nouveau crystal French chandelier in the entryway. Despite Amber’s travels to some of the bigger cities throughout the great state of Texas during her short-lived rodeo days, she’d never been inside a restaurant this fancy.
“I’ve heard how great this place is,” she said. “People need reservations weeks in advance to get in. How long have you been planning for us to have dinner here?”
Jensen chuckled, then lowered his mouth to her ear. “Not long at all. Despite the need to be on the lookout for constant media hounds and social climbers, wealth and notoriety also comes with some advantages.”
Amber stopped soaking in the decor long enough to lift a brow at him. The way “social climbers” had rolled out of his mouth had put a sudden bad taste in hers.
She suspected that gold diggers and people wanting to move up in class and status often tried to take advantage of him, so he’d had to put up an emotional barrier to keep them from getting too close. But now that he was becoming firmly entrenched in their sweet little Texas town, who would he suspect was attempting to climb his social ladder?
Certainly not her. But ever since that night in the hayloft, she felt a little uncertain about where things stood between them. So she found herself reading into everything he said. She’d have to stop doing that.
“I can see where having financial and social advantages would come in handy for you in London Town, but how does that work for you here in Vicker’s Corners?”
“You’d be surprised what you can do with some of those green advantages you Americans have—the kind with pictures of your old presidents and patriots on them. I’ve found them to be quite helpful in making my stay here in Texas a bit more pleasant.”
The maître d’ himself, a middle-aged man who’d introduced himself as Roland, led them back to a white linen–draped table for two, which was once again in a secluded corner. A single red rose in a bud vase, as well as a flickering candle in a votive, provided a romantic ambiance.
After Roland handed them menus and made sure they had ice water with lemon slices and a basket of fresh bread, he left them alone.
Still, Amber lowered her voice. “So you bribed someone to get us reservations?”
“I wouldn’t call it a bribe. It was more like a sizable contribution to ensure our privacy and to enhance our dining experience.”
She liked having him to herself. It also gave her an opportunity to get to know him better. So she reached for a slice of pumpernickel and asked, “What was it like to grow up in England? Did you have a happy childhood?”
“Brodie and Oliver, my older half brothers, may have had it a bit differently before my mum married my father. But I’ve never heard them complain. So I think they’d agree that we all had the very best of childhoods. We grew up on the Chesterfield estate in England.”
“I can’t imagine what that might have been like. I suppose you had tons of servants.”
“It wasn’t like that.” Jensen took a sip of water. “Mum wasn’t a traditional mother by aristocratic standards.”
“What do you mean?”
“She didn’t hire nannies to raise her children. She did have help, but she was in complete charge of the nursery, as well as the household. Our family may have been titled and privileged, but she was determined that we wouldn’t take our money or royal station for granted.”
Amber leaned her arms on the table, eager to hear more, yet not wanting to break the spell Jensen cast upon her when he finally began to open up about himself. So she sat quietly, but attentively, waiting for him to continue.
That is, until the sommelier interrupted him. “May I interest you in one of our wines, sir?”
Once Jensen placed their order for a bottle of zinfandel from California’s Napa Valley, Amber steered him back toward the conversation she meant to have.
“So you didn’t grow up with a house full of servants?”
“Quite the contrary. We had plenty of them, but they were under strict orders to ensure we weren’t spoiled rotten.”
The sommelier returned with the red wine, removed the cork and let Jensen have a sample. “It’s fine. Thank you.”
After filling their glasses half-full, he left them alone again.
“I was an only child,” she said. “So I find this fascinating.”
Actually, she found Jensen fascinating—and not just the way the candlelight glistened in his hair, the way he held his wine goblet, turning it just so and studying the deep, burgundy-red color. And she was thrilled that he’d finally begun to open up to her.
“After Brodie and Oliver went off to school,” he said, “my mother was busy with Charles and the girls, so my father would take me to the stables with him. We spent a great deal of time together, he and I. And as soon as I learned basic arithmetic, he had me adding up his ledger books. He told me never to trust anyone else with the family business or finances. I guess I took it all a little too much to heart.”
“How so?” she asked, taking the first sip of her California wine.
“I was always a stickler for the rules. Charles used to tease me and try to get me to lighten up, but the sense of family responsibility had been engrained early on.”
He sounded as though he’d been the perfect son, the perfect child.
“I’ll bet your teachers loved you,” she said.
“They did. I was the one they would send on special errands. In fact, I was a prefect my second year at Eton.”
“A prefect?”
“It’s a student who’s put in charge of the others.”
“Like an associated student body president?”
Jensen furrowed his brow. “I’m
