“Thank you, Mr. Mackenzie.” The appearance of dimples on the edges of her smile was enough to distract Liam from what he was about to say next.
Luckily, Miss Lockhart didn’t await a prompting. “It’s lovely to make the acquaintance of you both, Rhianna and Andrew. I’m very much looking forward to our time together.”
True to form, Andrew muttered a “likewise” and said not another word, but stood when he should stand, and bowed when he should bow, doing just enough to not draw Liam’s ire. Which, of course, was beyond irritating.
“Ye dress better than any governess I’ve ever had,” Rhianna remarked artlessly. “Is that the latest in London couture?”
“It is.” Miss Lockhart’s bosom turned an intriguing pink. “But you’ll have a much prettier trousseau once you’re of age.”
“I am of age in most circles,” Rhianna huffed. “Father is making me wait another year, and I’m certain to be an old maid by then.”
Miss Lockhart only smiled again, but Liam thought he observed a rueful tightening in her eyes. “Don’t be in too much of a rush to marry, dear,” she said, and then seemed to remember herself. “Give me enough of your time, and you’ll be the jewel of next season, I swear it.”
Rhianna assessed her new governess with skepticism, but finally nodded.
“Kindly take yer seat, Miss Lockhart, the soup is getting cold.” Liam gestured to the seat next to Rhianna, and tried not to notice the sway of the governess’s generous hips when she walked. She didn’t glide like so many ladies were wont to do. She swayed, each lift of her foot telegraphed by a corresponding movement of her body. A swivel of the hip, a swing of her arm, and a slight, jiggling ripple in the soft skin of her décolletage.
Gritting his teeth, Liam sat. “We’re a regimented household, Miss Lockhart, and in the future will start dinner at the stroke of eight.”
“Yes, my lord.” Soft russet lashes swept down beneath his disapproving look, properly chastised.
Liam winced beneath a ripple of regret that slithered through him.
Jani held her chair out for her, and the governess took it with perfect grace. Liam became absorbed with his soup the moment it was served as it gave him a reason not to look at her.
Dinner was generally a purposeful meal, and they ate in silence save for a few terse items of business discussed with Russell, if any words were spoken at all. So when Miss Lockhart broke the silence, everyone passed uneasiness around the table like a breadbasket.
“Since comportment and conduct are part of my duties, Rhianna, would you permit me to show you the way the ladies eat soup in London?”
Rhianna paused mid-slurp and slid a mutinous look to her new governess. Liam could tell that his daughter absolutely wanted to know, but didn’t want to be taught. She was a difficult girl that way. Eschewing authority, but frustrated at not knowing her boundaries and constantly overstepping.
“I suppose,” she replied carefully.
They all observed Miss Lockhart as she held her soup spoon delicately, and dipped it into the potato and leek soup. “You scoop it away, rather than toward, and bring it slowly to your mouth, instead of bending over the bowl. The important part is that you sip instead of slurp.”
Liam’s eyes remained affixed to her lips as she took a delicate sip from her spoon, and returned it to the bowl. She ate like she did everything else. With elegance and poise. Could it be that she was as unaware of her innate sensuality as she pretended?
“Now you try,” she encouraged.
Rhianna echoed her movements perfectly until the grating sound of a slurp filled the expectant silence.
“Tip the spoon to your lips rather than breathing in,” Miss Lockhart corrected. “Just thus.” She lifted another perfect spoonful, though before it reached her mouth, a tremor in her hand sent half of it spilling onto the bared skin of her chest.
Everyone froze, and that pink color appeared from beneath her gown once more.
An undignified snort of laughter escaped Rhianna and she clapped her hands over her mouth, unable to control the shaking of her shoulders. Even Andrew bit his lips to stop their quivering.
But it was the governess, herself, who broke into a brilliant smile before a merry laugh bubbled up from her throat. Now that her amusement was allowed, Rhianna joined in, as did Andrew, and finally Russell. The tension of the evening dissipated like an unpleasant odor.
It occurred to Liam that laughter was something long missing not just from his table, but from his life. From his keep. But he couldn’t possibly join in. Not because he didn’t want to, or because he wasn’t amused.
It was the perfectly creamy texture of the soup that arrested him. White and slick. It dripped over the curve of her breast, threatening to slide into the valley between as she fished the linen from her lap.
She caught it in time, still enjoying the joviality of the moment.
Salacious, wicked images seized Liam and held him in thrall. He could barely believe he was having such thoughts in the company of his own children, but Liam could only think of that warm, smooth liquid running between her magnificent breasts, and fight the violent lust sizzling through his body.
This had nothing to do with her, personally. It was the Mackenzie appetite to blame for his crass and demeaning fantasies. It was the demon who whispered dark and unbidden things in his ear.
* * *
Mena didn’t know if it was the warm meal, the French wine, or the soft glow of the candelabra, but the band of suffocating iron clamped about her chest suddenly released. She filled her lungs for what seemed like the first time in months, and savored the scent of crisp summer apples in the sweet Vouvray Jean-Pierre had sent up to accompany the dessert soufflé.