Free One More Kiss by Mary Blayney Page A

that I speak thetruth when I say that Birmingham is a far lovelier town than Manchester.”
    The question from Lord Crenshaw made Cecilia start, but before she answered, she realized why his questions were always worded like an instruction with only one possible answer. Still, it was an easy enough subject and she was grateful for the escape.
    Cecilia leaned forward and spoke to Miss Wilson, who was seated just beyond Lord Crenshaw. “Oh, indeed it is. At least, I think so. Birmingham has such lovely gardens, and a river runs through the middle of the city. There are walking paths and the shops. While it is not at all equal to London, it is far superior to any other city in the Midlands.”
    Lord Crenshaw turned to Miss Wilson, who smoothed her hair before answering. “I do believe you show some prejudice, Miss Brent, as Birmingham is your home.”
    “We cannot all live in London,” Lord Crenshaw teased. “And Mr. Brent must remain close to his interests in Birmingham.”
    All gentlemen had “interests” to attend to. What a nice way of
not
saying that her father ran mills.
    Cecilia sipped her wine while trying to think of a topic of conversation and almost choked at the hideous element the salt flavoring added. She glanced at Lord Destry, who shrugged a shoulder, before returning her attention to Lord Crenshaw.
    Miss Wilson was now speaking with the earl, and Lord Crenshaw was watching the girl with an intensity that made Cecilia question his recent interest in Beatrice. He sensed Cecilia’s study of him and turned to her.
    “What holds you close to London these days, my lord? We miss you at home.” That was a neutral enough question.
    “London has amusements that cannot be duplicated anywhere.” He showed his teeth in a smile that was more suggestive than flirtatious.
    “You mean the theater and opera?”
    “Indeed, as you will find when you have your Season. London knows no bounds when it comes to entertainments.”
    Cecilia had no idea why the image of a bordello should pop into her head but was much relieved when Lord Crenshaw went on.
    “Gaming is how I spend most of my evenings when I am not in the Midlands.”
    Now she felt silly. His expression was filled with an apologetic demeanor as he admitted his weakness.
    “Indeed,” Cecilia said. “Do you prefer cards, games of chance, or horse racing?”
    “All of them,” Crenshaw said with an encompassing sweep of his hands. “In fact, I wager a quid we will have trout for the fish course.”
    Lord Destry leaned forward. “I wager a quid that we are served trout and turbot.”
    “You’re on!” Crenshaw nodded.
    “And you, Miss Brent?” Destry asked. “What do you think we will be served? Would you care to join our little wager?”
    Knowing exactly what her father thought of gambling, Cecilia smiled demurely and looked down so they could not see the lie. “It would not be fair, as I already know what is going to be served.”
    They were interrupted by a footman serving soupand when the server moved on Lord Destry picked up his fork and began to eat. His fork, Cecilia thought. Why his fork?
    The others were talking over their soup so she once again followed his behavior. One could hardly enjoy the soup with a fork but if it was the way it was eaten in fashionable society then she would not be caught out. Perhaps it was a new trend. She watched as Lord Destry speared a small piece of asparagus from the bowl and ate it.
    The marquis looked directly at her and smiled. It was not a comfortable smile, but the kind one used when teasing or testing.
    “Tell me, Miss Brent, if I took my serviette and tied it around my neck would you do the same?”
    “That is ridiculous,” she said with more sharpness than was polite. “I mean …,” she corrected herself, trying for a less severe voice, “of course not.” She hoped he could not tell how strained her smile was.
    “Then why do something as silly as try to eat your soup with a fork?”
    “Because