An Unforgettable Lady

As soon as she'd taken a seat, a man came up to her. Smith frowned. The guy was probably in his late thirties and looked as polished as a new Rolls-Royce. He had dark hair that was on the long side, a handsome, rather ruthless face, and was wearing an expensive suit. A blue-blood all the way.

When he bent down and kissed Grace's cheek, her face lit up for real.

And Smith felt an inappropriate urge to cross the room and help the guy roughly to whatever his final destination was going to be.

For the next ten minutes, the urbane man talked and Grace laughed. By the time they parted, she was actually looking relaxed. While Mr. Charm sauntered across the room, Smith stared at him, imagining all kinds of fun ways to break his leg bones.

It was a surprise when the man paused at Smith's table.

"Do I know you?" The tones were cultured, the voice deep, the smile on the aggressive side of social propriety.

Up close, he was a really handsome guy. Definitely one of her kind.

“I don't think so," Smith answered darkly.

"No?" The guy lifted a shoulder. "So why are you looking as if my imminent demise would be a great source of pleasure for you?"

"Maybe I’m not in the mood to be disturbed."

"You've got a low threshold if you think a little polite conversation is disturbing."

"No, wait, you're reminding me why I'm a misanthrope."

Mr. Charm smiled and leaned down a little. "Well, I hate to disappoint you but my overall health is fine. Enjoy your meal, stranger."

The guy had balls, Smith granted, as Grace's flirt walked away.

He glanced back across the room. She seemed anxious as she stared back at him, but the contact was broken as a stunning older woman was led to her table. He watched as Grace's face immediately assumed a false calm and the two women kissed the air next to each other's cheek.

So this was Mom.

Grace's mother was so thin he had to wonder whether she'd ever had a full meal. The two of them shared the same high cheekbones, the same ruler straight nose, a similar graceful arch to their necks. Like Grace, the mother's pale hair was coiled up high on her head and she was wearing a black dress. As the woman unfolded her napkin and placed it gingerly on her lap, Smith caught sight of a sizable diamond.

A waiter came by Grace's table and Smith watched her mother look up imperiously. She said a few words, the waiter nodded with deference and then he faced Grace. She smiled, something her mother had yet to do, and started to speak. Her mother cut her off.

"Sir," came a voice next to Smith's table. "What may I get for you this evening?"

He didn't take his eyes away from what was happening across the room. "Anything."

"I beg your pardon? "

He frowned. "Just bring me some food. On a plate."

The tuxedoed waiter cleared his throat. "We have an excellent—"

With the look Smith shot him, the man clammed right up and hurried away.

Smith went back to the scene at Grace's table. Their waiter had left and the mother was speaking. As the woman's lips moved, a subtle disapproval floated in the air around her like a bad smell.

"I'm terribly sorry, sir," came another voice in Smith's ear. "But was there nothing on the menu to your liking?"

Great. The waiter had brought reinforcements.

Smith didn't bother hiding his irritation. "I haven't looked at the menu."

The eyes of other diners began to focus on the group at his table.

Christ, could these boys make more of a scene, he thought.

"Well, perhaps you might examine it,” the new one suggested. He leaned in and opened up the leather bound book. "We offer a wide selection of—"

" Is there a problem?” came a third voice.

Smith was getting ready to roar when he saw that the other two had come to attention liked they'd had their butts snapped with a newspaper. It was the maitre d'.

"This gentleman—” the taller one started in.

"Is a guest of the Countess von Sharone," the maitre d' said calmly. The other men looked at Smith in surprise and then offered smiles so warm and sincere they could have been missionaries.

Smith leaned back in the chair and crossed his arms over his chest. "I don't care what you bring me as long as it isn't road kill."

"Of course, Mr. Smith. Right away." The maître d' bowed and the waiters bustled out of his way.

Smith went back to looking at Grace.

* * *

"Who is that man over there?" Grace's mother demanded.

"Which man?" she said, even though she knew precisely who it was.

"That man with Edward and the two waiters. I don't recall ever seeing him in here before. He seems to be causing a problem of some sort."

Grace took a small sip from her water glass. "How was your trip down from Newport?"