Page 25 of Gone With the Rogue
It was sometime later and after Julia had participated in several conversations about the hostess’s flower-trimmed dress, the possible reasons for Miss Camilla Wangle’s sudden marriage to Mr. Bradley Fowler, and the conflicting explanations about what exactly had set off a fire that burned down three buildings on the east end of Harold Street that Julia found herself standing alone.
“What has captivated you about this table, Lady Kitson?” Mr. Stockton asked as he eased up beside her. “You’ve been staring at it and looking pensive for at least a full minute.”
Chapter 8
Julia looked at Mr. Stockton and instantly took note of the way his eyes narrowed just enough to give him a roguishly handsome appeal. It was ridiculous how fast the sight of him could make her heartbeat start racing. She wanted to smile and let him know she was happy to see him, but she didn’t dare show interest in him at such a public place.
Instead she drew in a wavering breath and turned back to the table. “The food. I was just thinking how sad it is that no one is eating this deliciously prepared food while there are so many people who go hungry.”
The silver serving tray was filled with miniature fruit tarts, glazed tea cakes, lemon confections, toast points covered in sugary butter, and other tiny delicacies. None of it had been touched. It was still as beautifully arranged as it had been when Julia entered the garden.
“It’s not just this table,” he answered. “I haven’t seen anyone eat a bite.”
She looked at the trays on the other tables. They all appeared untouched, too. “They probably haven’t. It’s life in Society.”
“I’ve heard men say they were thirsty when sitting down to have a drink at their clubs, but they don’t know what thirst is. Nor do they know what true hunger is. If they did, they wouldn’t let one morsel of this food go to waste.”
Turning toward him again, she looked into his eyes. “I don’t know why, Mr. Stockton, but as impossible as it seems, it sounds as if you are talking from experience.”
“Me? Real thirst? Hunger? No. Not even the times when I was on a ship adrift at sea for weeks on end. We rationed our food and fresh water and made it last. I won’t say we had all we wanted, but we had enough.”
“After traveling the world, I’m sure you’ve seen people who are truly in need of food and clean water, haven’t you?”
He didn’t answer, but Julia could tell by the way his brows pinched that he was sensitive about the subject. Sadness swept over Julia. All her life she’d been sheltered from most of life’s harsh realities. She thought of Brina and how she wanted to help the unfortunate people who visited the Sisters of Pilwillow Crossings. Julia renewed her commitment to help Brina in any way she could.
“It’s not an easy subject to talk about,” he answered diplomatically. “Certainly not with a lady and at such a grand affair.”
“Ah, yes.” She quirked her head and gave him apuzzled expression. “I’m afraid most gentlemen think ladies should be shielded from such things as talk of the poor or downtrodden. They consider us weak, fragile, and in need of their protection—even from ourselves. A lady’s independence isn’t something they recognize. You don’t feel that way, do you, Mr. Stockton?”
“I’ve never been one to conform to what was expected of me.” He smiled. “However, I would shield you from anything I thought might harm you, Lady Kitson, and I will talk with you about anything you want to discuss. Including this food. I take it you are one of the many here who haven’t eaten anything.”
“No, I haven’t.”
“Neither have I.” He started removing his gloves. “There’s no reason this food shouldn’t be enjoyed. Don’t you agree?”
“Yes.”
He stuffed his gloves in one of his pockets, picked up a serving fork, and placed five of the dainty pastries on a plate and extended it to her.
“Oh, no, I don’t usually—” She stopped. He was challenging her, and she wasn’t going to be outdone by him. Besides, this situation was of her own making, as was usually the case. She glanced about the gathering and didn’t see anyone paying them particular notice. “Very well,” she said, pulling on the fingers of her wrist-high glove. “You’ve made your point. Perhaps if others see us eating they will, too.”
“My thoughts exactly.”
Julia took the plate from him and placed a small pastry with what appeared to be a dot of apricot preserves on top of it into her mouth. It was flaky, sweet, and delicious. The next looked to be a small square oftoast dusted with cinnamon and topped with a droplet of honey. It was delicious, too.
She watched Mr. Stockton enjoy one of the small tarts. He ate with the relish of a man who enjoyed food.
“The rumors about Lady Hallbury’s cook being the best might be true,” he said, adding more pastries to their plates.
“I agree,” she said, and watched him eat another confection. As she watched him, she couldn’t stop the sudden desire to feel his lips on hers and his hands touching her skin.
His gaze met hers again and held. “I like the way you are looking at me, Lady Kitson.”
Curls of pleasure tumbled inside her. Julia liked the way he held his gaze on her, too. He looked comfortable, contented to be by her side. She enjoyed thinking about being alone with him, kissing him, but then, loud laughter sounded behind her. She couldn’t forget where she was so she moved farther down the table. Mr. Stockton followed her. Her heartbeat fluttered. Like most of the ladies at the party, she was flattered by the attention he was showing her, but she had to be careful.
“You can’t run away from me, Lady Kitson. I intend to pursue you.”
His words fell upon her as softly as a cherishing caress, but she had to give him a quick, “No. I’m afraid I’m not available.”
