Free Wedding Night With the Earl by Amelia Grey Page A

oysters onto his fork.
    Twice. She could have told him, but she didn’t like to talk about her injury. When she’d finally healed after the second break, she’d never again let her leg hamper her daily life except for the fact that she couldn’t run, or skip, or dance like other young ladies. And, well, she had to take her time going up or down the stairs, too. But with the aid of her trusty cane, she could walk. She could even carry a cup of tea from the buffet to the breakfast table without spilling a drop.
    She swallowed and turned to face him with an incredulous stare. “Did I not just say I don’t want to talk about my past?”
    “That was when we were discussing the accident,” he answered innocently. “I was talking about your leg just now.”
    He was unbelievable. “They are one and the same and you know it. Or almost, anyway. You are quite incorrigible.”
    “I’m interested,” he corrected.
    In me or my injury? she started to ask, then thought better of it before the provoking words tumbled from her lips and instead returned her attention to her food. The scent of poached fish rose from the plate, and she thought, Two more courses and then I will be free of the persistent earl with his probing questions .
    For a short time they ate in silence. She asked her uncle if he was enjoying his dinner. He smiled and nodded. The earl talked to the countess and Mrs. Henshawe again. The empty plates were removed and replaced with a thick slice of venison smothered in a dark onion gravy. After her first bite, she watched Lord Greyhawke cut into his meat with gusto. She liked the strength she saw in his hands as he worked his knife and fork and that he had such a healthy appetite.
    She had hardly eaten three bites before his plate was clean. She’d never seen either of her uncles or any other gentleman enjoy a carving of meat as much as the earl seemed to.
    She laid her knife and fork aside and said, “You ate as if you were starving, my lord.”
    He wiped his mouth and smiled sheepishly. “For food like that, Miss Wright, I was. That was the best meal I’ve had since I left London over two years ago. I hope you will pardon my lack of manners.”
    “I don’t know why, but I rather liked watching you enjoy your food so much.”
    He looked down at her plate. “You’ve hardly touched yours.”
    “It’s usually the case, I’m afraid. By the time I’ve had the soup, vegetable, fruit, and fish, I have little room for the main course of the evening and dessert.”
    He nodded. “And what is the dessert tonight?” he asked.
    “Bread-and-fig pudding.”
    “I’ll look forward to it.”
    She looked down at her plate and without thinking asked, “Would you like to finish mine?”
    His brows rose in anticipation. “Would it be acceptable to switch plates at your uncle’s dinner party?”
    She pursed her lips. “No, of course not. I don’t even know why I offered. It was such a strange thing for me to do.”
    Lord Greyhawke looked around the table. “Everyone is engaged in conversation,” he said, a hint of mischief lacing his tone. “I don’t think anyone would see us.”
    As far as Katherine knew, she had never disgraced herself at her uncle’s table, but before she had the good sense to rescind her initial offer to the earl, she answered, “Then let’s do it.”
    They lifted their plates at the same time. She took hold of his plate first, he released it, and all went well with the exchange; but when he grasped her plate, his fingers landed on top of hers. They both froze with the plate held between them. At his touch, Katherine’s pulse quickened, her breasts tightened, and her skin tingled. The unexpected warmth of his hand on hers filled her with a breathless fluttering in her throat. She tried to look away from him, but it was as if something held her spellbound and looking into his fathomless gaze.
    She sensed he was as surprised as she by whatever it was that happened between them from their