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head. “I accept your wager, Lord Sinclair. If you lose, I'll have a pretty new gown, and if I lose, you'll get your kiss.”
    He stared at her. Unable to respond. Unable to move. Unable to think. She was willing to kiss him if—no, when — she lost. “That’s quite a bargain, Miss Green.”
    “ Shall we?” she asked, gesturing to the open dining room that was less than four strides away.
    He nodded. “Of course.”
    The dining room at Ridge Water was gigantic by anyone's standards. When Marcus ate alone, he'd sit on the end seat. It felt like it was a mile between him and the chair across from him at the other end. He hated it. He hated the solitude and loneliness that came with it. He'd attempted to rejoin Society several times since his accident. But every time he tried, he was met with either queer looks and disparaging remarks, or snide and mocking comments about how he'd ruined his entire life when he was barely eighteen. Thus, he continued to live as a recluse and hadn't ventured to London for anything other than urgent business for more than five years.
    Before Caroline married and Olivia left, the three of them would take their meals at one end of the table. He'd sit on the end and they'd sit on either side of him. Occasionally Emma would stay for meals and would sit next to Caroline.
    Tonight there would be a bit of a different seating arrangement. He'd ordered the footman who’d laid out the table to put the two place settings right across from each other. He just hoped the man understood he meant across the table widthwise and not lengthwise. If not, they would both be eating their meal in solitude or have to shout to be heard by the other. He grimaced. Neither of those options sounded particularly appealing.
    Blessedly the footman had understood Marcus’ directive, and two settings were across from each other near the end of the table closest to the door. “Let me get your chair,” Marcus murmured, shooing the slightly shocked footman away.
    Emma sat down and waited while Marcus took his seat and nodded for the footman to serve up the first course.
    John, the recovering footman, stepped out from the corner and brought over to them a small platter with a big, shiny silver dome on top. He held it out between them and slowly lifted the top to reveal a warm plate of biscuits.
    Marcus shot Emma a triumphant smile and swiped a biscuit.
    Emma stared at the plate of offending biscuits.
    “ Go on, take one,” Marcus encouraged, grinning.
    “ I just can't believe it,” she muttered, picking up the one closest to her.
    John put the serving plate back on the sideboard and brought over two little dishes. One dish was filled with butter; the other contained strawberry jam.
    Rolling her eyes and mumbling under her breath, Emma picked up her knife and slathered some strawberry jam on the top of her biscuit.
    Three bites later, Marcus motioned for the serving of the second course.
    John walked back over to them. This time with a much larger dome-topped platter. He removed the lid to reveal two bowls filled with what looked to be salad.
    Emma smiled sweetly as she took her bowl and set it down in front of her.
    Marcus slipped his off the tray and peeked at Emma as she stared blankly at her salad. He tried to keep his grin in check as he picked up his salad fork and speared a piece of slimy, brownish lettuce. A minute later, she pushed the bowl away. “I believe I'll wait for something a bit more nourishing.” She glanced at the remaining five covered dishes.
    Next, John brought coddled eggs, followed by turtle soup, then kippers, which was chased by broiled duck breast.
    “ Hmm, what do you suppose is under the last dome?” Marcus asked an impatient-looking Emma.
    She shifted in her seat. “Roasted chicken,” she said flatly.
    He frowned. Did she find the thought of kissing him to be that repulsive? “Do you want to cry off?”
    “ No.” She exhaled. “But what about a double or quits?”
    “ I'm