Dinner was usually brought to my door on a tray, but that evening, I received an invitation instead.
“Mr. Beaufort would like you to join him for dinner.” Hugo could barely contain his disdain as he relayed the message to me. “Follow me, and I’ll escort you to the dining room.” He headed down the hallway before I said a word, expecting me to follow him obediently.
I was in high-waisted jeans and a collared white shirt that tied in the middle, probably too casual for a formal dinner, but there wasn’t time to change, so I just went with it. I followed Hugo downstairs, through the parlor, and then into a large dining room that could easily accommodate thirty people.
Cauldron wasn’t there, but his place setting was at the head of the table.
Hugo pulled out the chair for me then pushed it in.
“Uh, where is he?”
“Mr. Beaufort doesn’t wait.” He departed the room, leaving me alone with the glowing white candles, the basket of freshly baked bread on the surface, and the bottle of wine. I helped myself, the bread still warm to the touch, and poured myself a glass of the Bordeaux. I wasn’t a wine connoisseur, but I could tell it was an expensive bottle the second the aromatic flavor touched my tongue.
Footsteps sounded behind me.
Then there was a quiet scream.
I almost slopped my wine all over my white shirt. “What?”
Cauldron sat at the head of the table as if there was no interruption, but Hugo came around the table and faced me, thoroughly appalled. “Mr. Beaufort is the master of this house, and he samples the wine first, you mannerless swine.”
“Jesus…didn’t realize it was still 1742.” I took another drink, just to be spiteful.
Hugo looked as if he might faint. “And you touched the bread… How dare you?”
“Oh, I dare.” I grabbed another piece and tore off a chunk with my teeth.
Hugo clutched his chest and gave a loud gasp.
I rolled my eyes and kept chewing.
Cauldron held up his hand to stop Hugo before the next tirade began. “Hugo, bring out the first course.”
“But, sir—”
“It’s fine.”
Hugo’s face got red and scrunched up as if he’d imploded inside but had to keep all the pieces contained. He expressed his frustration by smoothing out his collared shirt with rigid fingers. With his head held high, his anger suppressed, he walked out.
Cauldron picked up the bottle and served his own wine.
“Is he always like that?”
“Yes.” He swirled the wine in his glass before he took a drink.
“Then why do you keep him around?”
He looked down the long table, as if there were other dinner guests who had joined us. “You can pay someone to work, but not someone to care. He cares.”
“I think he cares too much.” I grabbed another piece of bread from the basket.
His eyes flicked to me.
“Oh, I’m so sorry, Your Grace.” I bowed my head as I extended the slice to him.
He didn’t crack a smile, but his eyes looked slightly amused.
I ripped it into pieces then dabbed it in my olive oil and balsamic.
With his arms on the wooden armrests of his chair, he sat there, comfortable in the silence, not the least bit interested in speaking with me…even though he’d invited me to join him.
Hugo returned and placed two salads in front of us, leafy greens in a light dressing with radicchio and pistachios and a couple grape tomatoes. Hugo unrolled the linen and dropped it into Cauldron’s lap before placing the silverware on the table.
Before he could move to me, I did it myself. “Got it.”
Hugo couldn’t conceal his rage that time. He glared at me before he returned to the kitchen.
Cauldron grabbed his fork and began to eat.
“So…”
His eyes shifted to me, but he didn’t speak.
“When you invited me to dinner, I assumed there would be conversation.”
He grabbed his glass and took a drink.
As annoying as Hugo was, the food was delicious, so that made him infinitely more tolerable. I focused on my salad because it seemed like Cauldron had nothing to say. He was like a monk.
He broke his silence. “How long have you been in your line of work?”
I hesitated at the question, disappointed but unsurprised that was what he wanted to discuss. “About five years.”
Now, he stared at me hard, his entire face focused on the effort, as if he was imagining me servicing strangers in dark alleyways and empty hotel rooms. “And how did you get into that?”
“The same way as everyone else—I needed money.”
Half of his salad was untouched, but now he seemed more interested in me than his dinner.
My eyes shifted back and forth between his. “Judge me all you want. I’ve heard it all.”
“Does it look like I’m judging you?”
“It’s hard to tell.”
“What do you think those girls on my ship are?”
Supermodels?
“That’s the only kind of woman I bed.”