“Would you?” She could feel her belly heat at just his words, wicked, wicked man.
“I would indeed. Would you like me to list the possible things I could spread treacle on?” he asked innocently.
“Not at the moment, thank you.”
“Pity.”
She eyed him. She was terribly pleased that he’d joined her, but what an odd mood he seemed to be in
“No.”
“I’ve never known you to rise before eleven of the clock.”
“True, but you’ve only been married to me less than a week. Perhaps I habitually rise before nine or even five, like a crowing cock.”
She felt a blush begin to heat her cheeks. “Do you?”
“No.”
“Then why are you up so early?”
“Perhaps I was hungry for my marmalade jam.”
She looked at him from under her brows.
He stared back, his look rather disconcerting. “Or perhaps I fancied my lovely wife’s company for breakfast.”
Her eyes widened. She wasn’t sure whether to be intrigued or alarmed at his sudden interest. “Why would—?”
Two maids entered, bearing his breakfast, and she swallowed the question. They were both silent as the maids arranged the dishes and looked to her for approval. Melisande nodded and the servants left.
“Why—?”
But he spoke at the same time. They both stopped, and he gestured for her to speak.
Melisande said, “No, I beg your pardon. Please continue.”
“I merely wish to inquire about your plans for the day.”
She reached across the table and poured him some tea. “I hope to call on my great-aunt, Miss Rockwell.”
He looked up from buttering his toast. “On your mother’s side?”
“No. My father’s mother’s sister. She’s quite elderly now, and I heard that she took a fall last week.”
“A shame. I’ll come with you.”
She blinked. “What?”
He took a huge bite of toast and crunched it, holding up a finger to indicate she should wait. She stared as he masticated and then gulped down half his tea.
“Ouch. Hot,” he muttered. “Think I’ve burned my tongue.”
“You cannot mean to accompany me on a visit to my aunt,” Melisande burst out.
“Actually, I do.”
“My elderly aunt, who—”