that Monsieur André was likely to remain with them for much longer, for her father’s taste, since the loss of his sons, ran largely to milk puddings and gruel.
She provided Sir Merkland with a much more optimistic account of her sire’s health than Papa’s frail appearance the day before merited, then listened with half an ear to the squire praise her sister Phaedra’s prowess on a horse, smiling and nodding with practiced skill as he proceeded on to one of his interminable hunting anecdotes. On her other side, Virgil Jackson was discussing American politics with the wife of one of Josiah’s business partners, patiently explaining the differences between the federal system and the British Parliament. That slow drawl of his was mesmerising.
The arrival of a haunch of beef and various side dishes distracted Sir Merkland, who was almost as dedicated a trencherman as he was a huntsman, tempting Kate into leaning a little closer to her right. Virgil Jackson was a very solid man. There was a presence about him, a very distinct aura of power which drew one into his orbit. He was certainly different, and undeniably the most innately charismatic man she’d ever met, and it was nothing to do with his colour either, she decided, taking the opportunity to study his profile while his attention was fixed elsewhere. There was just something about him.
She could not imagine him ever being subservient, which must have made him a rather unusual slave. Had he courted danger? She did not doubt it. Was the skin of that broad back covered in a fretwork of scars? She shuddered, for the answer to that question was almost certainly affirmative. What other scars were there, hidden deep inside that attractive exterior? For she did find him attractive, a fact which was somewhat confounding, given that she had been quite convinced that she was immune to such feelings. Was it that Virgil Jackson was in almost every way the antithesis of Anthony? Or was it, she wondered wryly, the fact that he was in every possible way ineligible, which tempted her wayward streak? Imagine Papa’s reaction if she introduced him to the family. Or better still, Aunt Wilhelmina’s. Oh, if only!
Finally released from his neighbour’s earnest interrogation, Virgil stared down with distaste at the slice of bloody beef on his plate and decided to confine himself to the accompaniments. He was hungry, but the food seemed more designed for display than satisfying a healthy appetite. The goose in the middle of the table looked good, but it was out of bounds. Why it was that he must serve himself only from those dishes within reach he did not know, but he had no wish to repeat the shocked silence which had greeted him at the last formal dinner, when he had asked his neighbour to pass the peas.
He helped himself disconsolately to some mushroom fritters. On his other side, Lady Kate was moving her food around without making any attempt to eat. A smile played at the corners of her mouth. Her eyes were unfocused, her attention obviously far from the dining room of Maer Hall. Her skirts brushed against his leg. He could smell her scent over the rich aroma of beef. The delicate diamond and ruby drops she wore in her ears drew attention to the slender line of her neck. At her nape, wispy tendrils of hair clung. Such a tender spot. What would it be like to breathe her in, to taste her? The muscles in his stomach clenched. It had been a long time since such thoughts had occupied him. Eleven years.
Lady Kate looked up, perhaps conscious of the intensity of his gaze. Their eyes snagged. A trickle of sweat ran down between Virgil’s shoulder blades. He couldn’t understand how he’d ever thought her severe. He couldn’t take his eyes off her plump lower lip. Moist. Pink. ‘Aren’t you hungry?’ he asked a little desperately.
Kate gazed down at her untouched plate and shook her head. Around them the scraping of china, the clatter of silver being dropped into the clearing baskets, made it clear that she’d been wool-gathering for some time. ‘You don’t like the beef, Mr Jackson,’ she said, looking at the slab of meat sitting untouched in front of him.
He grimaced. ‘Blood. You will call me heathenish, but it puts me off.’
‘Monsieur André, our very superior French chef at Castonbury, would call you heathenish. He thinks beef is overcooked if the animal’s heart has ceased to beat,’ Kate replied, ‘but I prefer it properly dead and what he would call burnt to a crisp. Not that I would dare say so to his face. Monsieur André has a very Gallic temperament and would likely beat me with his rolling pin.’
Virgil laughed. ‘I would like to see him try.’
‘I wish you could—come to Castonbury with me, that is,’ Kate said impulsively.
‘Well, I … That’s very nice of you, but—’
‘It’s not nice, it’s selfish. I have to leave first thing tomorrow, you see, and I haven’t had the chance to talk to you properly. There is so much I would love to discuss with you, I have so many questions, but there are matters—family matters—oh, why is it that family matters always arise at the most inconvenient of times?’
‘I wouldn’t know, since I have no family,’ Virgil said.
‘Lucky you!’ Kate exclaimed, then was immediately contrite. ‘Oh, I am so dreadfully sorry, I did not think. Have you indeed no family at all? Your parents—?’
‘I was separated from my mother as soon as I was weaned,’ Virgil said tersely.
‘So, too, was I. Mama was not much interested in any of her children, and as a female of course, I was …’ Kate broke off, covering her mouth in horror. ‘Do you mean you were sold?’
‘Family ties are very much discouraged in the plantations. It was—still is—common practice to separate mothers and children.’
‘And your father?’
Virgil shrugged. ‘I never knew him.’ He took a draught of claret. ‘As I said, family ties were discouraged. You should be grateful for yours, whatever your relationship with them.’
‘I am quite humbled.’
‘That was not my intention.’
‘You need not concern yourself. To be honest, what I meant was that I ought to be humbled. If you knew my family, you would understand why it’s very difficult to be grateful for them—some of them, at least.’
He liked that hint of wickedness in her smile. She was not only unconventional but irrepressible. It was a pity their acquaintance was doomed to be of such short duration, Virgil thought. ‘You are not, then, in the habit of doing as you ought?’
Her smile disappeared abruptly. ‘My aunt would tell you that I am rather in the habit of never doing so. Tell me, Mr Jackson, did Weston make that coat?’
He would have taken the change of subject for a deliberate snub had it come from anyone else, but he was pretty sure that a snub from Lady Kate would be much more direct. He had obviously quite inadvertently touched upon a sore point. ‘My tailor was Weston, though how you knew I have no idea.’
To Virgil’s relief, Lady Kate laughed. ‘My brothers go to Scott, being military men, so I knew it was not one of his, and I confess that I know only one other tailor. It was an educated guess, that’s all. You will have the Bostonian ladies sighing into their teacups at your style, Mr Jackson. Though perhaps you are interested in the sighs of just one particular lady?’
‘I am not married, and nor do I have any particular lady in my life,’ Virgil replied curtly. ‘As to my coat—I doubt it will see the light of day when I get home. It took that valet I hired several minutes to get me into it, and I feel as if every time I breathe the shoulders will burst at the seams. Back home, I dress for comfort.’
‘I’d
