The Duke's Affair

II

It was quiet, the only sounds the murmuring of other diners and the gentle clink of cutlery and crockery. A waiter took their drinks order and handed them menus, and a moment later brought a slate tray with amuse-bouches delicately positioned on it, and a bowl of parmesan puffs.

Just as Lauren was beginning to feel more comfortable she had the feeling someone was looking at her.

Henry was not expecting to see anyone sitting at the table with Emily and George, and he was furious at being ambushed in this way. He liked to be prepared for everything; he was not one for spontaneity: it went against his nature.

The girl lifted her head and looked in his direction, and as she did so he took a sharp intake of breath. It was the girl from the wedding. He held her gaze, feeling her eyes on him like an electric current. The reaction disconcerted and distracted him from his surroundings, and he realised too late that someone was talking to him.

"Sir, your coat. Can I take it for you?"

Henry looked away from Lauren and turned to the man speaking to him.

"Yes, thank you," he said, allowing his coat to be removed from his broad shoulders, shifting his arms to ease them from the sleeves.

"Let me show you to your table."

Henry nodded and followed the smartly attired man to a table towards the window. As he moved he was aware people were looking; they generally did. He was used to people staring, in the way that extremely good-looking people are, and on top of that he was well-known in society and business circles. As a result he was never entirely sure why a particular person was staring at him, but it didn't bother him in the slightest.

As Henry approached the table George stood up and grasped his hand. Henry smiled warmly, and bent to kiss Emily, insisting she not get up from the table. But all the while he felt unnerved by the presence of the dark haired woman who sat with her head down, refusing to look at him.

"Henry, this is Lauren," said Emily. "One of my dearest friends from university."

"How do you do," he said, observing her as she turned to at him. She looked up at him with her beautiful doe-eyes, and tried to smile. She looked nervous, he thought. And young, probably ten years younger than he was, possibly more. He watched as the familiar blush rushed over her cheeks, and felt a heat rise through his own body. He shifted his feet to ease the discomfort it brought with it.

Her fine features were just as he remembered them, although she wore more makeup than she had before, her eyes sultry and her dark hair falling in waves over bare shoulders. She looked good enough to eat.

Lauren's heart had struck up a rapid beat as soon as she had realised Henry was in the room. Her appetite was entirely wiped away the moment she looked up to see him staring at her. Every time his eyes fell on her she felt he was appraising her sexually, imagining what she looked like without her clothes on. And although she felt certain that he was looking at her that way, that he was thinking about her, assessing her, in that way, she could not pinpoint exactly why she thought it, for he did nothing whatsoever to indicate it.

His demeanour was polite and cool, and she was sure Emily and George were entirely unaware of the tumult she was enduring. She could barely eat, and whenever she raised her eyes, his were there, waiting for her to fall into their green pools. Some basic instinct told her that the attraction she felt was mutual; more than mutual. She felt certain he wanted her, and it made her feel uneasy. She was painfully aware of every movement she made, and every movement he made. She found herself mirroring his gestures and, when she became conscious of it, she would quickly move her hand or arm in case he noticed how she copied him.