Free Lady of Shame by Ann Lethbridge

been beaten out of him. But they did, these aristos. It was ingrained into them from birth. It took a great deal to change such deeply held beliefs. A crucible of fire.
    He’d been through the flames.
    The thought that this small woman might have similarly suffered made his gut clench. It wasn’t possible. England had never endured the ordeal that had changed France for ever.
    She was a widow. Perhaps his earlier instincts were correct. Perhaps she was looking for a lover. His body hardened at the thought. And he sneered at the reaction. He was not a man to risk all for a tumble. Nevertheless, as he sat beside her, he was aware of her skirts not quite touching his thigh, aware of the curve of her cheek and the way little wisps of hair touched the nape of her lovely neck.
    She handed him the piece of paper. Not only were the guests listed out in detail, but there were notes of the dishes favoured by the men.
    He glanced at her sharply. She returned his gaze with a steady stare. ‘Reverend Seagrove dines with these gentlemen from time to time and has been able to draw an opinion as to their favourite foods. I thought we might use them as our starting place.’
    ‘These are purely social functions?’ he asked, staring at the names and at the handwritten notes. ‘Or the duke wishes to—’ he hesitated ‘—make a case for something? Some investment, some plan?’
    She lifted her grey eyes. A pink wash stained her cheeks.
    André couldn’t think why she should look embarrassed. There was some subtlety here he wasn’t grasping. To do with her.
    ‘The duke? Not that I am aware,’ she said breathlessly.
    A prevarication. An aristocrat lying to an underling. But why should it matter? It didn’t. He would do his job and do it well.
    ‘I would suggest, then, madame , eight courses, with two removes.’
    She looked a little shocked. ‘So many?’
    Why would she be surprised? Surely she was accustomed to the groaning boards set by the wealthy here in England? Or perhaps not, given how pale and thin she had looked the day she arrived. He kept his face impassive, his voice gentle. ‘It is expected, madame .’
    She lowered her head in acceptance. ‘Then that is what we will do.’
    ‘When are the dinners to take place?’
    ‘The first next Saturday, and likely two more the following week. I will know better when I have received replies to the invitations.’
    Three major dinners in two weeks? Life was looking up.
    She must have seen something in his face because she frowned. ‘Is it not possible?’
    ‘ Madame , of course it is possible. I was just a little surprised. I beg your pardon.’
    She looked relieved. Clearly, these dinners were important to her as well as the duke. And he was beginning to suspect why. All of these men were bachelors. Men worthy of marriage to the daughter of a duke.
    Something inside him did not like what he was thinking. Indeed, the idea made him feel tense, angry.
    With force of will, he kept his hands loose. This was not his concern. If the duke wanted to find her a new husband, that was his prerogative. And if she was willing, then so be it.
    His opinion of these self-satisfied country squires counted for nothing. Even so, the slow burn of anger that she would sell herself to any one of them refused to be extinguished. He needed to escape before he said something he would regret. And it had been a long time since his tongue had led him into that kind of soup.
    ‘May I bring you my ideas tomorrow? I need to look at my supplies. See what is available from the butcher and so on.’
    ‘Tomorrow will be fine.’
    André rose to his feet and stood looking down at her. She looked lovely. Glowing. And it warmed him to know that his artistry with food had restored some of that beauty. Yet there were still shadows in her eyes. Still a tightness to her mouth as if the path on which she had set her feet caused her anxiety. It was as if she was haunted. Or hunted.
    ‘Is there anything else I can do