Free Along Came a Duke by Elizabeth Boyle Page A

“And you won’t mind keeping my presence here out of my aunt’s ear, will you?”
    Tabitha’s jaw worked back and forth, but the earl had the most engaging smile, and it was impossible to say no to the man.
    A fact that Lady Essex declared on a regular basis—that Roxley, rapscallion that he was, would never be ruined in the eyes of society, since no one could naysay one of his pleading smiles.
    â€œI won’t, my lord, but if she discovers that I have lied to her—”
    â€œIt isn’t a lie, Miss Timmons, not unless you are asked directly,” Preston remarked as he once again settled into his meal. Obviously he was also familiar with Roxley’s persuasive powers and took it for granted that so asked, she would stay.
    Not that he looked overly pleased at the prospect, that is until he took another bite of that roast beef and his expression changed to one of sated happiness.
    Was it truly that good? She’d never know unless she . . .
    â€œMiss Timmons, you know my aunt—” Roxley implored.
    Oh good heavens, between her own pangs of hunger, the delicious odor of roast beef and pudding whiling at her senses, combined with Roxley’s charm, it was nearly impossible to think straight.
    â€œNot a word to Lady Essex,” she promised in a distracted state.
    Roxley’s relief was immediate, and he made a quick bow and fled, scurrying off to his room as if he were escaping a press gang.
    Which, in a sense, he was.
    â€œWell, what are you waiting for?” Preston asked, grudgingly waving at the seat across from his.
    So much for a mannerly and elegant invitation. Then again, she could hardly expect the manners of a gentleman from this rogue.
    â€œYou must be hungry,” he added.
    â€œWhy do you say that?”
    â€œBecause there is no other reason for you to be wandering about an inn at this hour of the night unless you haven’t had your supper yet.” He paused. “That, and you don’t look the type to tipple quietly on the sherry bottle when no one is looking.”
    â€œOh!” Tabitha gasped. “I do not imbibe. My father was a—”
    â€œYes, yes, a vicar, so you said earlier,” he said as he scanned the bowl of mashed ‘nips.
    Unwittingly, she took a step toward the table. Oh, good heavens, there were turnips! However had she missed those?
    She glanced up and found him staring at her, a wry smile on his handsome lips—for he had caught her out.
    â€œActually you look like you could use a good meal,” he said, before an odd look of dismay passed over his face. It was quickly extinguished and replaced by his usual stony expression. “Sit. It is still hot, and I refuse to stand on ceremony, especially if it only serves to let my supper grow cold.” Then he dug into the bowl before him, piling the mashed ‘nips on his plate and devouring his supper with all the gusto of a lion.
    No, he certainly wasn’t going to offer a kindly bow and a well-spoken invitation, or hold her chair and select the finest bits from the platters for her like a gentleman might.
    Like Mr. Reginald Barkworth most certainly would.
    Then again, Tabitha suspected the honorable and esteemed gentleman her Uncle Winston had chosen for her would never in his wildest moments suggest such an arrangement—dining alone with an unmarried miss in such an intimate setting. The notion that it was scandalous and quite possibly ruinous (no, truly it was entirely ruinous) would leave such a situation beyond the pale for her betrothed.
    Not so for Preston. Tabitha glanced quickly over at her host. Such improper assignations were probably so commonplace for the man that this night was barely worthy of note.
    Oh, if only she wasn’t so hungry to the point of being beyond reason . . . at least that was what she told herself, for when she looked at Preston and that handsome visage of his, the twinkle of mischief in his