Married Under The Mistletoe. Linda Goodnight
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worry about it, Karl.” She patted the chef’s arm. “I’ll prepare the lunch myself. This is a restaurant, you know. We’re bound to have something picnic-worthy around here. You go ahead with preparations for this evening.”
“Anything I can do to help?” Daniel asked, eyes dancing with a devilish gleam that said he didn’t give a rip about becoming the latest fodder for gossip.
“You could let me off the hook.” But she hoped he wouldn’t.
The gleam grew brighter. “Not a chance. Be ready in ten minutes. We’re walking.”
Then he shouldered his way out of the kitchen, slowing long enough to hold the door for one of the hostesses.
“Bossy man,” Stephanie muttered half to herself.
“The macho ones always are,” the blonde hostess said. “But they are so worth it.”
Stifling a groan, Stephanie settled on simple picnic fare, which she packed into a bread basket before going out to check the restaurant one more time.
Only a few stray shoppers sipped lattes or fragrant teas at this hour of the day. The dining room was quiet except for the efficient staff preparing for later when things really got hopping. Everything was well-organized. Stephanie’s sense of order was intact—except for the little matter of an afternoon with a most disorderly man.
She passed by the bar, scanning the stock, the glasses, the bartenders. A lone customer sat at the bar sipping one of their special hand-mixed drinks. As was her habit, she stopped to offer a smile and a welcome.
From the corner of her eye she spotted Daniel’s dark head. He poked around behind the bar and came out with a bottle of wine. He held it up, arching an eyebrow at her.
She pointed a finger in chastisement, but he only laughed and tapped a wide-strapped watch. “Two minutes. Back door.”
As soon as he was out of hearing distance, Sophie, one of the bartenders, leaned toward her. “You and Delicious Dan seem to be hitting it off nicely.”
Stephanie frosted her with a look. Grinning, Sophie slunk away to polish glasses.
Two minutes later, basket clenched in chilled fingers, Stephanie joined Daniel in the hallway. Her pulse, already racing, kicked up more when John Valentine walked in the door.
Her boss’s portly face lit up. “Daniel. Stephanie. What a delight!”
Beside her, Daniel stiffened. “John.”
They exchanged greetings, but Stephanie could feel the tension emanating from Daniel and the disappointment from her boss.
“So,” John said, somewhat too jauntily. “Are the two of you off somewhere, then?”
“Hyde Park and the Serpentine. Stephanie hasn’t been.” Daniel’s response was almost a challenge, as if he expected argument.
Guilt suffused Stephanie. She shouldn’t be running off to play with the boss’s son. “I hope you don’t mind, Mr Valentine.”
“Mind? Why should I? You hardly ever take an afternoon.”
Since his mild heart attack a few weeks back, Stephanie thought John looked tired. With all that was going on, she wondered how his health was holding up. Missing money was bad enough, but the family problems continued to mount. John’s wife was still angry about the arrival of the twins, though John longed to get to know them. Then there was his daughter, Louise. She’d had a whirlwind trip to Meridia and then, instead of working through her problems with John, had already jetted off again. This time to Australia to meet a woman who could be her biological sister. And none of that included the lifelong bitterness between him and his brother, Robert. How much more could the poor man handle?
“Are you sure, Mr Valentine?” she asked. “I can stay here if you prefer.” In fact, considering the way Daniel got under her skin, working would probably be wiser.
“I’m available if any problems arise in the dining room. Go on. Have a lovely time. I’m going to pop in and say hello to Dominic. He thinks he may have some news for me.”
With a fatherly pat to Daniel’s shoulder, he left them. Daniel stared at the closing door, expression wary and brooding.
“Are you all right?” Stephanie asked.
His jaw flexed. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
Then he took the basket from Stephanie’s hands, pushed the back door open, and led her out into the overcast day.
The walk to the park was much more pleasant than Stephanie had anticipated. After the encounter in the hallway, she’d expected dark silence. Instead Daniel provided a wickedly humorous and totally cynical commentary on élite London that had her laughing when they entered the beautiful park.
The laughter of children sailing toy boats along the Serpentine Lake wafted up to them from a hundred yards away. A cool breeze, in line with the glorious autumn day, played tag with the curls around Stephanie’s face. Daniel’s hair, too, rugged and unruly, was tossed by the wind. His was the kind of hair a woman wanted to touch, to smooth back from his high, intelligent brow, to run her fingers through.
The thoughts bothered her and she forced her attention to the wonders of the historic park, breathing in the scent of green grass and fall flowers. “This is a gorgeous park.”
“You can thank Henry VIII. He acquired it from the monks.”
“Acquired?”
The corners of his eyes crinkled. “In much the way he acquired everything.”
“Ah, bad Henry.”
“Not all bad. We’re here, aren’t we?”
Well, there was that.
They passed kite flyers, strolling mothers, moon-eyed lovers, and other picnickers before finding a clear shady area to spread their blanket.
Daniel did the honors, flapped the red and white cloth into the breeze and then collapsed on it as it settled to the grass.
“Here you go, m’lady,” he teased. And with one jean-jacketed arm, he exaggerated a flourish. “The finest seat in all of London.”
Legs carefully folded beneath her, Stephanie sat on the edge of the blanket as far from her companion as was polite. He puzzled her, did Daniel Stephens, vacillating from broody and cautious to light-hearted in a matter of minutes.
Stretched out upon his elbow like some big cat basking in the sun, he seemed happier in the outdoors, as though the inside of buildings couldn’t quite contain all there was of him. His mouth fascinating in motion, Daniel chatted tour-guide style about Rotten Row, famous duels, kings and queens, regaling her with stories of the famous old park while she emptied the contents of her picnic basket.
“I suppose we could have got food here,” he said motioning to the eating places sprinkled about.
“I wouldn’t have come for that. Only a picnic.”
“Woman, you crush my fragile ego. I thought you came for my charming company.”
She snorted. To her delight, he fell back, clutching his chest. “And now you laugh at my broken heart.”
Relaxed and enjoying herself more than she’d thought possible in the company of a barbarian, she thrust a sandwich toward him. “Here. Try this. Karl’s tarragon chicken salad is guaranteed to cure broken hearts as well as crushed egos.”
“Yes, the way to a man’s heart and all that.” He unwrapped the sandwich and took a man-sized bite. “Mmm. Not sheep’s blood or lizard’s eyes, but it will do.”
“You haven’t actually eaten that sort of thing?”
He arched a wicked brow. “When in Rome, do as the Romans. When in Africa…”
She lifted a bunch of fat grapes.