Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 127368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 637(@200wpm)___ 509(@250wpm)___ 425(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 637(@200wpm)___ 509(@250wpm)___ 425(@300wpm)
It was annoying.
But…Joan.
How could I forget about Joan?
“Are you over your snit?” he demanded.
I quit thinking of Joan and the fact Virginia mentioned her in my dream last night and I focused on Ian.
“My snit?”
“Yes, your snit.”
I got even closer to him. “You installed me in the countess’s room, and, oh yeah, I forgot, you’re going to be the earl next month. Something else you failed to mention.”
He shifted even closer, so our bodies were touching, and I could swear I felt his nose brush mine.
“I’m sorry, darling, we’ve been so mired in your shit, I must have missed when you were asking about me and my life in an effort to get to know me.”
See!
So annoying!
Every single one of his comebacks were good too!
I clenched my teeth.
“No reply?” he mocked.
“You’re infuriating,” I ground out.
“Infuriating?”
“Yes.”
“How so?”
“Because you have rational answers and good comebacks and everybody knows, darling, that’s the absolute worst when you’re having words with somebody.”
He scowled down at me.
I glared up at him.
Then he hooked an arm around my waist, plastered me to his long, hard body, threw his head back, and laughed.
“That’s the worst too, don’t you know,” I groused. Then went on to grumble, “And we do talk about you.”
He righted his head, but only so he could duck it so his mouth was again at my ear.
“I’m sorry, Daphne, but it’s your own fault you’re remarkably amusing.”
I jumped and would have jumped out of Ian’s hold if his arm didn’t tighten when the voice came from our side.
And I was shocked as shit to see Lady Jane had gotten close.
She put her hand on Ian’s arm, gazing up at him with a benevolent expression that wasn’t overtly adoring, but it wasn’t blank either, and she said quietly, “I just love to hear you laugh, my dear.”
I looked at her, stunned.
Then I looked beyond her.
Everyone was staring at us.
The summation:
Richard: beside himself with fury.
Michael and Mary: shocked.
Daniel: confused.
Chelsea: venomous.
And last, Portia: again enraged.
Of all of those, the only one I didn’t understand was Portia’s.
I didn’t get a chance to wrap my head around it.
Richard announced tersely, “I believe it’s time to eat.”
Thirteen
THE TURQUOISE ROOM
At seven fifteen on the dot, as we were selecting our chairs (Ian again claimed me, this time as dinner partner, no matter how hard Mary was pushing Michael my way so Ian would be stuck with Chelsea), Lou showed in the Turquoise Room.
Michael lost his mind, fawning over her, which was revolting.
I didn’t have much interest in that (outside of saving Lou and making sure she sat on Ian’s other side), considering Lou had slapped some makeup on to try to hide it, and she looked beautiful, but I knew her, and I could tell she felt like hell.
For more than one reason I did not like this.
She suffered migraines the entire time I knew her. We’d all learned how to help her when that happened, mostly leaving her alone. But when Dad wasn’t around and I was, I’d change the cool compress over her eyes and guard against any sound or disturbance until she was past it.
They came too often, considering how much they pained her.
But days of back-to-back headaches was not how it normally worked.
Stress was probably triggering it, so I was going to be a lot pushier tomorrow about getting her to the train station so she could get out of this train wreck.
Michael dominated the conversation loudly through soup and salad.
It was the fish course when Chelsea had finished sharpening her claws and wanted to test them to see whose blood she could draw.
She started with Portia.
“We’re in a sisterhood, you and me,” she said across the table to my sister.
Oh, right. The table.
Important to note.
Head, Richard. Foot, Jane. Obviously.
Down one side were me at Richard’s left, Ian, Lou, then Chelsea.
Down the other side, Mary to Richard’s right, Michael, Portia, then Daniel.
I heard Ian sigh.
Then I heard Portia ask in all innocence, “We are?”
“Chelsea,” Daniel said low.
“Men,” Chelsea huffed then leaned forward to look at me. “I bet you know how well Ian knows me.”
“Do you read bad romance novels? Or is it maybe too much Real Housewives? I mean, I’m truly curious. What is it?” I asked in return.
Her face twisted.
Ian caught her expression and murmured, “What’s that about dishing it out?”
Chelsea tossed a poisonous look at Ian.
“What are they talking about?” Portia asked Daniel quietly.
“I’ll tell you later,” he replied in the same tone.
“I’m only saying, I’ve known Ian and Daniel very well for a long, long time,” Chelsea told her.
“Yes of course,” Mary rushed in to save the situation. “They’ve known each other since they were children.”
I glanced at Richard to see his reaction to the devilry that he’d designed.
He was using his knife to push sauce and halibut on his fork, not a care in the world.