Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 126850 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 634(@200wpm)___ 507(@250wpm)___ 423(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126850 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 634(@200wpm)___ 507(@250wpm)___ 423(@300wpm)
“Depends if you asked me nicely,” he replied.
“Never going to happen.”
“Then no.”
“What was the point in asking, then?”
“I don’t know. Communication.”
I batted him on the chest as he laughed. “You’re such hard work. Thank God this is all a ruse.”
“Hard work? Me? You haven’t met Freya yet,” he said, reaching for the door of the restaurant. “Ladies first.”
I released his arm and stepped inside, and a shudder ran over me at the warm bubble of air that enveloped me. I hadn’t realised it was so cold outside—mostly because I was cuddled up against William’s side, granted, but this restaurant felt like a dream.
It looked like one, too. It was simultaneously comfortable and intimate, yet extraordinarily fancy. It wasn’t the kind of place I’d expect to find in a small Scottish town on the edge of the mountains, but here I was.
Standing in it.
This place seemed like a bundle of mysteries just waiting to be unravelled, and my mind was already ticking over all the ways I could become utterly obsessed with its secrets and history.
“Lord Kinkirk.”
I turned my head from my perusals of the restaurant and looked at the host’s station. The middle-aged man behind there smiled warmly at William, who extended his hand for the older man to shake.
“Mr. McGowan,” William replied. “You look well.”
“I am, thank you. Yourself?”
“Very well, thank you. I have a table booked for two this evening.” William rested his hand on my upper back.
Mr. McGowan looked at me. “Ah, I see. Miss…?”
I hesitated. “Brown,” I finally settled on using my mother’s maiden name. “Grace Brown.”
He smiled warmly and checked the papers in front of him. “Lord Kinkirk, Miss Brown, may I take your coats?”
We glanced at each other before proceeding to remove our outerwear. Mr. McGowan took them and passed them to a younger member of staff behind him to hang up before he picked up two leather-bound menus from the rack next to him. “Please follow me.”
William motioned for me to go first, so I fell into step with Mr. McGowan and followed him through the restaurant to a back corner where we were led to a round table with two places set, slightly out of the way.
He pulled out my chair for me, and I thanked him as I took my seat.
“Thank you,” William said, taking his menu.
“Thank you,” I repeated, taking mine when it was offered to me.
“I’ll have someone over soon to take your drinks order.” He inclined his head towards us and left us to it.
I looked at the large window to my right, the fancy leather menu, and finally, to William. “Let me guess—this is the best table in the place?”
He fought a smile. “The title can come in useful.”
I laughed, opening the menu. “I’m sure it does.”
He flipped to the back of his menu to the drinks. “I didn’t know your last name was Brown.”
Well, half of it was.
“You never asked,” I said brightly, flipping through the pages for the drinks menu. “I didn’t know I needed to offer that information.”
“Now who’s bad at communication?”
“If you’d asked, I’d have told you,” I lied.
Heck, I wasn’t even telling him my real surname. Just the end bit. There was a whole other name in there he didn’t know about.
“I’m going to stop arguing with you,” he said, looking at the menu. “I keep losing.”
“Aw, but it’s so fun.” I scanned the white wine list. “This place is more expensive than I thought it would be.”
He peered over at me, and one eyebrow twitched up into a little questioning arch. “I wouldn’t have brought you here if I couldn’t afford it, Grace.”
“I know that, but it makes me uncomfortable.”
“Are you not used to people buying you dinner?”
“Not at sixteen pounds for a glass of wine, no. I’m slightly afraid to check the food.” I glanced at the menu again.
He watched me for a second. “My grandfather owns a castle, and these people call me Lord Kinkirk. I can afford it.”
“You say that, but there was a guy in my class who claimed to be a Viscount, using his father’s secondary title, and he was as skint as they come.”
William pressed his lips together. “Aristocracy is a mixed bag.”
“Okay, if you say so.” I held my finger on the drinks page and skipped back a few to the main menu.
And I winced.
Physically winced at the pricing of the food here.
Holy moly macaroni.
I looked over the table. William was watching me, lips curled in amusement.
“Uh,” I whispered.
“Are you really that uncomfortable?” he asked quietly, not that softness of his voice made any difference to the fact he looked like he was about to burst out laughing.
“A little bit,” I replied honestly. “It’s not the kind of place I usually eat.”
He held my gaze for a moment before a giant smile broke out across his face. A laugh escaped his lips, and he closed his menu, gaze still fixed on mine. “Thank God. Come on. I know somewhere else.”