annoyed. She’d heard it several times the past year, at the baptism of her niece, at Christmas, and at a family funeral.
Aphrodite burst into soft, beautiful tears, dropped her fork to her plate, and stood up from the table. Her bosom heaved in a most…visible fashion.
“My God,” Cedric said, mouth agape, staring at that bosom. A pulpy grape sat in the middle of his tongue.
“Do swallow that,” Molly said, feeling sour and mean and ready to spar with someone. “You’ve been chewing on it this age.”
But Cedric ignored her. His mouth stayed open as he watched Aphrodite walk away. Her rich brown hair spilled in glorious curls down the center of her back, exposing her creamy shoulders. Her lovely pink dress was adorned with a matching cream sash that fluttered silkily behind her.
And then Cedric turned back to Molly, livid, judging from the slant of his magnificent brows, and spat the grape out on the plate. “How can you think of grapes at a time like thish?” he sputtered.
Molly felt like slapping his face. But she widened her eyes instead. And prayed to think of something compelling—and romantic—to say back to him.
Harry eyed Molly’s companion. What a milksop. Of course, he knew who Cedric Alliston was, the smarmy bounder. His affectations at Eton were legion, the most prominent being a tendency to speak as if his jaw were glued shut.
Harry suppressed a smirk and watched as Molly tried to forget the chewed-up grape in full view on Alliston’s plate.
“Exactly,” she was saying. “How can I think of anything but our Gretna wedding, my love?”
Oh, dear God.
Alliston got up. “I shall check on the horshes,” he said.
Right. Harry had no doubt he’d be checking on the whereabouts of the lovely Fiona. Harry had seen the lust in his eyes, which the fool hadn’t even bothered to disguise in front of Molly.
Molly smiled and waved. “I’ll be waiting!”
When Alliston left, she turned to Harry. “I’m sorry you obviously haven’t found true love yourself,” she said lightly, striving her damnedest to sound like a woman adored.
“If what you and Alliston have is true love, then I don’t want it,” Harry threw back. “Besides, it’s awfully hard to find true love when you’re trudging all over Europe with the King’s army for five years .”
She stiffened. That hadn’t been her fault. He’d been the one to kiss Penelope, after all!
She lifted her chin. “I hear you were a perfect disgrace in the army. You should try peeling potatoes every morning, noon, and night at a miserable school for five years .”
Neither one said another word. Several minutes passed. Harry finished his meal. Molly scraped at her plate, squinting in annoyance because the sun was winking off his boots, which she suspected he buffed with champagne. His chest hairs were curling rudely from the gaping vee at his neck, and when he yawned quite loud enough to wake the dead, his overly tanned neck corded from the effort.
“Goodness,” she admonished him from under her breath.
Harry grinned at her, exposing brilliant white teeth, but his eyes were rather slitted, as if he were cursing her at the same time. “I had rather too much fun last night,” he said in an offhand manner and stretched out his legs.
Too much fun ?
Molly glared at him, not one bit surprised at his audacity.
The crowd at the large table exited the taproom. The only people left were Molly, Harry, and two old men at the bar. And of course, the innkeeper and the flirtatious barmaid. They’d done a booming business today.
Molly sighed. “Well, I shall go meet my intended outside.”
“And I shall meet my beautiful companion.” Harry pushed back from the table, threw some coins down, and stood, looming above Molly.
“You mean your lightskirt,” she said.
“Yes,” Harry replied. “And thank God I don’t have to take her to Gretna. I can simply take my pleasure with her and be on my way.”
“You—” Molly