She remembered once asking her mother why they dressed for every occasion, even when no one else was around to notice. Her mother had said, We dress for ourselves, for how it makes us feel, not to impress anyone else.
Well, tonight Mamie felt beautiful, powerful and more than capable of standing up to one cunning lawyer.
“I was certain you wouldn’t come,” were the first words out of his mouth. “Seeing how you routinely break your promises.”
Her nerves evaporated. This was familiar ground, trading barbs and nursing the resulting anger inside her. “Are we to start with insults, then? I had assumed we’d wait at least until the first course had been served.”
Though he didn’t appear chastised in the least, he lifted her gloved hand and brushed his lips over her knuckles. “Miss Greene, how beautiful you are this evening.”
Goose bumps rushed over her skin. “I would thank you for the invitation but as I had no choice in the matter . . .”
He chuckled and held out a chair for her. “It seems we both have trouble holding our tongues. What would you say to a truce?”
She lowered herself into the seat, taking care not to crush her bustle or train. Waiters began moving about the table, and champagne was quickly uncorked and poured. Tripp lifted his glass and Mamie followed suit. “A truce,” he said.
“A truce,” she answered and tapped her crystal to his. They both sipped and she purposely looked away as he drank. She didn’t need to watch his lips pressed on the delicate glass, his throat working as he swallowed . . . Was the room always this warm?
He placed his glass on the table. “I received an interesting cable from your father tonight.”
She fought to hide her surprise, though the tips of her ears burned. “I apologize. He overheard me discussing tonight’s dinner with my sisters.”
“No need. I’m quite familiar with Duncan’s bluster. What did you tell them?”
“Tell who?”
“Your sisters. What did you tell them about tonight?”
“That you had blackmailed me into coming.”
“That’s all?”
He was angling for something, yet she had no idea what. “If you had hoped we waxed poetic over your multitude of charms, rest assured we did not.”
“That is merely because you haven’t yet experienced my charms.”
Yet? Was he . . . ? What did he mean, exactly? Mamie lunged for her champagne, desperate to cool her insides. Was there not any fresh air in this blasted restaurant? “Putting your charms aside for now, what of my father’s cable? What did it say?”
Tripp shrugged. “That you are promised to Livingston in a long-standing agreement between two important families. He values my insight as his lawyer, et cetera. Exactly what one would expect.”
She drained the rest of the champagne in her glass. “He told me you could sell water to a drowning man.”
Tripp laughed at that, the lines of his face easing, making him appear younger and more carefree. And yes, more handsome, dash it. “I’ve never tried so I could not say. Tell me, what about Livingston appeals to you?”
“You cannot be serious.”
He held up his hands as the waiter refilled their glasses. “Are we not to make polite conversation? I genuinely wish to know. What is it about a man like Livingston that interests you?”
This was hardly polite conversation. “It’s none of your business. And I have known Chauncey all my life. The decision for the two of us to marry was made years ago.”
“And you never complained? Never considered refusing?”
Of course she had, years ago. But her father would never relent. “It’s a good match. Our families are close and he is the type of man I’m expected to marry.”
Tripp’s mouth fell open before he quickly shut it. “A ringing endorsement if I ever heard one. Are you not bothered by the rumors of actresses and opium dens?”
Actresses? Opium dens? That hardly seemed like the Chauncey she knew, a man more interested in sailing and horses than vice. She studied Tripp’s face to gauge the veracity of those wild claims . . . yet she saw no sign of falsehood. The man is a practiced liar. Believe nothing that comes out of his mouth. “We are not yet betrothed. Chauncey is free to spend his time as he sees fit.”
“Ah, yes. That brings us to how you are spending your time—”
Black-coated waiters returned with plates. They served Mamie first. She stopped the waiter with her hand. “What is this?”
“A bisque of shrimp.”
“I didn’t order it.”
The waiter looked at Tripp then back to her. “The gentleman has preordered your dinner, miss.”
Without asking her first? Mamie took a deep breath. “Please have this removed. I have an aversion to shrimp. Mr. Sherry knows my dinner preferences. Tell him it is for Miss Marion Greene. If you would ask him to bring me those items instead, I would be most grateful.”
The waiter nodded and took the soup away. “And you, sir?”
Tripp rubbed a hand over his jaw. “Take mine away as well and just bring two of everything in Miss Greene’s order.”
The waiters disappeared and Tripp shifted in his chair, his expression contrite. “I apologize. I had no idea you hated shrimp. I only thought to save time by ordering in advance.”
Save time . . . and make decisions in her stead. “I’m quite capable of speaking my own mind.”
“So I’m gathering,” he murmured. “Look, this dinner has clearly started off on the wrong note. I apologize. May we begin again?”
Two apologies? She hadn’t expected that. “If I agree then will you drop this inquiry into my affairs?”
“You mean your stealing?”
She sucked in a harsh breath and cast glances at the neighboring tables. Thankfully, no one was close enough to overhear them. “Have a care, Tripp. I’ve not yet agreed to start over.”
“And neither have I. Remember, I know your secret. And if you wish for me to keep said secret then you’d best explain yourself.”
She would do no such thing. “Would you believe kleptomania?”
“Not even under oath.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “What is the purpose of this dinner? For you to pry into my life? Or to pass judgment and cast aspersions on my character? Because I had thought we called a truce.”
The lines of his face sharpened as he leaned in. She imagined this was what he looked like when handling a difficult witness in court. “I told you I wanted answers, Mamie, and I mean to have them.”
God, his arrogance. Her heart was pounding in her chest, every angry beat a reminder of how much she disliked him. “I am not on trial, Tripp—and I owe you absolutely nothing.”
Seething, Frank lounged in his chair and watched as Louis Sherry fawned over Mamie. The restaurateur had arrived moments ago with the first course to apologize for the mistake with their order. Then he promised to bring her all her favorite dishes tonight. Frank had absolved the owner of any wrongdoing, of course, but Sherry wouldn’t hear of it. He prided himself on service and couldn’t bear the thought of any customer leaving unsatisfied. While Frank respected Sherry for the dedication to his guests, he mostly felt annoyed at the interruption.