Free Wicked Games (The Sun Never Sets Book 3) by Ava Archer Payne Page A

out of her. She gave a tight, fleeting smile. Her gaze met his, hesitant, yet searching.
    Her stomach chose that moment to issue a loud growl. Her eyes widened in shocked embarrassment as she clasped her hands tightly over her belly.
    His lips quirked. Somehow he managed to maintain a courteous expression. He held out a chair and inclined his head. “Mrs. Donnelly, will you do me the honor of joining me for supper?”
    She drew herself up and gave a regal nod. Summoning an inner poise worthy of a duchess, she strode to the small table and allowed him to seat her. Once he was seated across from her, she reached for her glass and drank deeply of the rich, ruby wine, as though needing something to steady her nerves. Next she lifted her fork and ate a bit of lamb. She chewed slowly, swallowed, then let out a sigh of rich contentment. Her eyes fluttered shut.
    “Mmm. That’s delicious,” she breathed, in a husky voice that struck him as wildly, albeit unconsciously, erotic.
    Sharply reining in his thoughts, he forced himself to focus on his food. It tasted every bit as savory and delicious as their landlady had promised. They ate in companionable silence, the only sounds the crackle of the fire, the soft clatter of their flatware against the ceramic plates, the rhythmic drumming of rain on the roof.
    As he watched, Mrs. Donnelly seemed to slowly put herself at ease. “It’s been ages since I enjoyed a meal like this,” she admitted.
    “Oh?”
    “The food aboard ship was dreadful.”
    “The clipper from Canton?”
    She nodded.
    They had finished eating, but neither of them was in a hurry to leave the table. Mellowed by the fire and the wine, Jonathon refilled their glasses and leaned back in his chair. “Tell me about it.”
    “The ship or the food?”
    “China. I’ve never been.”
    Mrs. Donnelly toyed with her glass as she collected her thoughts. Haltingly at first, then with the fluidity of a natural storyteller, she described the exhilarating, noisy, tumultuous port that had been her home. She described the scorching heat and the press of bodies, the sounds, sights, and smells. How she had grown up running through Canton’s maze of streets, dashing in and out of market stalls, and racing down to the docks to watch the ships pull into port, their holds bulging with exotic cargo. How she’d picked up the languages surrounding her the way a sponge soaked up water.
    She’d lived with her parents—her mother was Chinese, her father British—in a small flat in the foreign quarter. To their backs lay the sprawling, mysterious land of China, walled off and forbidden to foreigners. Directly before them was the South China Sea, which brought a steady influx of people, goods, and news from around the globe.
    She touched briefly on the state of Indo-China trade. They bantered back and forth as to how to resolve the trouble between the nations. Of particular contention was the matter of whether Chinese officials had the right to search ships coming into their ports, seize and burn all confiscated opium stocks, or whether the drug, contraband though it might be, was the property of the vessel that carried it and therefore protected by the rights of sovereignty.
    After a few minutes, she held up her hands and laughingly declared a truce. Then she rested her small chin in her palm and collected her thoughts.
    “I can’t imagine a more exciting place for a child to grow up,” she said, her tone conveying both wistfulness and contentment. “I could see everything from the window in my room. I used to pretend I was a princess, poised on the edge of the world.”
    He smiled. “Hence the search for castles.”
    “Actually, that didn’t come about until after The Prince of Thorncastle .”
    Ah. So that’s what had her searching for castles. He’d heard of the books, of course. Fanciful drivel about a cold-hearted prince abdicating his kingdom after falling madly in love with a lowly servant girl. Romantic adventures,