Free After Midnight by Diana Palmer Page A

brightly.
    He hesitated. He couldn’t remember ever doing that in his life. Even as a child, there had always been maids who worked in the kitchen.
    â€œThe plates are there,” she nodded toward a cupboard with her head. “You’ll find utensils in the second drawer. Place mats and napkins are in the third drawer.” She noticed his expression and his hesitation with faint amusement. “You do know how to set a table?”
    â€œNot really,” he admitted.
    â€œThen it’s high time you learned,” she said. “Someday you may get married, and think how much more desirable you’ll be if you know your way around a kitchen.”
    He didn’t react to the teasing with a smile. He stared at her with a curious remoteness and she remembered belatedly the dead wife she wasn’t supposed to know about.
    â€œI don’t want to marry anyone,” he said unexpectedly. “Especially a woman I’ve only just met,” he added without being unkind.
    â€œWell, certainly you don’t want to marry me right now,” she agreed. “After all, you don’t even know me. Sadly, once you discover my worthytraits and my earthy longings, you’ll be clamoring to put a ring on my finger. But I’ll have to turn you down, you know. I already have a commitment.”
    His face went hard and his eyes glittered. He turned away from her and began searching in drawers. “Some commitment,” he muttered. “The man doesn’t even come to check on you. What if a hurricane hit? What if some criminal forced his way in here and raped you, or worse?”
    â€œHe phones occasionally,” she said demurely.
    â€œWhat a hell of a concession,” he returned. “How do you stand all that attention?”
    â€œI really don’t need your approval.”
    â€œGood thing. You won’t get it. Not that I have any plans other than supper,” he added forcefully, glaring at her as he began to put things on the table in strange and mysterious order.
    She didn’t bother to answer the gibe. “You really should take lessons in how to do a place setting,” she remarked, noting that he had the forks in the middle of the plate and the knives lumped together.
    â€œI don’t want to make a career of it.”
    â€œSuit yourself,” she told him. “Just don’t blame me if you’re never able to get a job as a busboy in one of the better hotels. Heaven knows, I tried to teach you the basics.”
    He chuckled faintly. She turned and began to putthe food on the table. Afterward, she rearranged the place settings until they were as they should be.
    â€œShow-off,” he accused.
    She curtsied, grinning at him. “Do sit down.”
    He held the chair out for her, watching when she hesitated. “I am prepared to stand here until winter,” he observed.
    With a long sigh, she allowed him to seat her. “Archaic custom.”
    â€œCourtesy is not archaic, and I have no plans to abandon it.” He sat down across from her. “I also say grace before meals—another custom which I have no plans to abandon.”
    She obediently bowed her head. She liked him. He wasn’t shy about standing up for what he believed in.
    Halfway through the meal, they wound up in a discussion of politics and she didn’t pull her punches.
    â€œI think it’s criminal to kill an old forest to save the timbering subsidy,” she announced.
    His thick eyebrows lifted. “So you should. It is criminal,” he added.
    She put down her fork. “You’re a conservationist?”
    â€œNot exclusively, but I do believe in preservation of natural resources. Why are you surprised?” he added suspiciously.
    That was an answer she had to avoid at all costs. She forced a bright, innocent smile to her face. “Most men are in favor of progress.”
    He studied her very intently for a moment, before he let the idea