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listening.” He put his elbows on the table and leaned forward.
    She wet her lips. “No matter what that last dish is, if I'm able to drink this entire glass of lemonade I'll get two gowns, and if I can't—” she shrugged— “I'll give you two kisses.” She held up two fingers and shook them for emphasis.
    Marcus glanced at their lemonade. Neither of them had so much as touched their glasses. Judging by how bad the tea was earlier, coupled with how terrible every other dish served tonight was, neither of them had wanted to hazard a sip of their lemonade. And a hazard is what it would be, he was certain. More than three times in the past week alone, he'd snuck down to the kitchen to make his own lemonade.
    “ Sounds interesting,” he mused, pushing his glass closer to her. “But if this is to be a true double or quits, then everything is to be doubled and you should have to drink both glasses.”
    “ I accept,” she said with a gulp. She looked at the glasses of lemonade, then to the last course that was still under the dome. “Do you mind if I drink this now? I'd like to use the roasted chicken to get the taste out of my mouth afterward.”
    He crossed his arms and chuckled. “Whenever you're ready, Miss Green.”
    She picked up the first glass and brought it to her parted lips. She paused for a second, then tipped her head back and guzzled the liquid torture in the most unladylike fashion he’d ever witnessed. She brought the empty glass down with a hard thwack and glanced at the other while she wiped her sourly twisted mouth with the edge of her napkin. She glanced up at him and smiled weakly, blinking back the tears that had formed in her eyes from the sour lemonade. Without looking away, Emma picked up the second glass and proceeded to drink every drop in another long, continuous, guzzling gulp.
    “ You win,” he conceded with a dim smile, motioning for John to bring over the chicken.
    Emma put her glass down and allowed John to serve her some of the chicken breast. “I'll not cost you too much,” she said quietly.
    He put his fork down. “I'm not concerned about the cost of the gowns. You may have any type of gowns you'd like.”
    “ Thank you for your generosity,” she said solemnly, stabbing a piece of her chicken.
    Marcus nodded and ate his chicken. There weren't many dishes his temporary cook could make, but roasted chicken was certainly one of them.
    After dinner, Daniel, the footman Marcus had sent to Patrick's, still hadn't returned. Marcus pulled out his pocket watch. “We have at least half an hour before the messenger will be back. Shall we discuss those new gowns?”
    Emma shook her head. “Marcus, you don't have to—”
    “ Nonsense,” he said, cutting her off. “You won that wager. You're getting the gowns.”
    She frowned. “That's not what I was going to say. I know I won that wager, and I'd hold your nose and force you to drink two glasses of that awful lemonade if you so much as thought of reneging on buying me those gowns. But what I was going to say was that you don't have to make small talk with me while we wait. I know you're probably itching to get off that stiff chair and prop your leg up on the ottoman you keep stored under your desk.”
    “ You're right. I'll just be on my way.” He scooted his chair backward and stood up. He'd been building castles in the clouds, thinking she'd want to talk to him while they waited.
    “ Wait, Marcus.” She gained her feet and came to stand in front of him.
    He looked down at her. She wasn't tall, but she wasn't short, either. Right at six foot, he was what most would consider above average. Next to him, the top of her head barely reached his chin. “Yes?”
    She blinked at him then an unusual, almost nervous smile spread across her lips. She cleared her throat. Then again. “Marcus,” she began, her voice terribly uneven for having cleared her throat twice before speaking. “I just wanted you to know the reason I drank all