Page 129 of The Boxing Baroness

She made her way into the room, her gaze on Sin. Whatever she saw on his face made her lips curl up in a mocking smile. She stopped in front of the king and dropped a graceful curtsy.

“Your Royal Highness,” she murmured, and then turned to Sin. “Your Grace.” She ignored Strickland entirely.

The baron laughed. “Very nice, Marianne.”

Sin and Marianne locked eyes. “You look lovely,” Sin said, amused when her cheeks darkened.

“You look . . . perfect, as usual,” she said, her smile turning into a smirk.

“Yes, well, now that you’ve both engaged in mutual admiration”—Strickland yanked the servant bell and then strode back to the table—“perhaps we might all be seated. His Royal Highness is accustomed to ladies taking more time with their toilet, so he pushed dinner back a half hour. Now that you’re here, they can serve.”

Sin bristled at the other man’s sarcastic emphasis on ladies but Marianne didn’t appear to notice. He suspected she was better at ignoring barbs than he was.

The table was large enough for sixteen, but only four places had been set at one end. Sin seated Marianne and then took the chair beside her. Strickland sat across from them, and the king, naturally, at the head of the table.

“Wine?” Strickland offered, holding up the decanter. Both Marianne and Sin nodded. It was an odd arrangement for a guest to serve other guests, but then the castle did not seem to have a great many indoor servants.

The door opened while Strickland was pouring and an older woman and two maids, rather than liveried servants, entered, each bearing platters. While the first three were busy arranging the dishes, two more servants came in, one a very old man and one very young.

“As we have so much to discuss tonight, we can serve ourselves, without interruption,” Strickland said, reading Sin’s perplexed expression correctly.

“What the baron is trying to say—politely—is that my modest allowance does not stretch far enough to cover food, shelter, and an adequate number of servants,” Gustav said, bristling with hostility.

“Your Royal Highness has been treated most unkindly,” Strickland agreed, using the soothing tone a person would employ with an unruly child. He gave Gustav a look of pure loathing when the king turned to the dishes arrayed before him and began heaping food on his plate.

So, that’s how matters stood between the two men. Once again, the baron had found somebody to use to his advantage.

Sin prepared plates for both himself and Marianne, while the other two seemed to be engaging in some sort of competition for the platter containing the roast lamb. It was easy to see that the men barely tolerated each other.

The cavernous dining room was filled with the sound of cutlery and crockery clinking for several moments. Sin looked toward their host, hoping he would explain himself once he’d filled his plate, but the king was busy eating—diligently and quickly, as if afraid that the food might suddenly disappear.

Sin exchanged a look with Marianne, and she gave a slight shrug and picked up her fork.

So, they ate.

* * *

What a bizarre night and what a fantastical place.

Marianne had not been speaking in jest when she’d said their situation felt like something from a gothic novel.

There was the castle itself, the servants—most of whom seemed very young or quite old, including Dominic’s seven or eight guards—the deposed King of Sweden, a man who had all the charisma of a tree stump, and Dominic, who oozed desperation from his pores in the tradition of a bad melodrama.

But at least the food was good—simple, hearty fare, not what a royal probably expected, but good.

And at least Sin was with her.

Marianne decided that putting on the ridiculous gown and allowing the housekeeper to fuss with her hair was worth the duke’s stunned expression.

She had to admit the style suited her far better than the current fashion for high waists. She lacked the bosom to look good in that sort of dress, but the structured bodice of the Renaissance gown flattered her shoulders and narrow waist and she felt strangely regal with the magnificent sleeves, which almost skimmed the floor when she walked.

Somewhere between the bath and getting dressed, the butterflies that had been flitting around her stomach for days settled.

It had turned out that seeing Dominic again hadn’t been the traumatic event she’d been fearing. She felt nothing for him—other than annoyance. And she no longer felt ashamed for ever having fallen into his web. He was a very charming man, until you’d realized the truth of him, and then it was ludicrously easy to see his true character.

He had exerted himself to get to know her, and Barnabas had encouraged her to accept his suit—after all, what else did she have in her future except a life of boxing? Only a fool would have refused an offer from a baron, even one as disgraced as Dominic.

Cecile had warned her about Dominic, but then Cecile hadn’t liked any of the men who’d shown either of them attention—not even the ones she had ended up taking as lovers.