She was wearing the restaurant uniform of a cream blouse, teamed with a black skirt, her hair once more secured at her nape, her face flushed from her exertions in the kitchen.
Or was it anger at seeing him here?
Probably, he acknowledged self-derisively. Well, if she was surprised to see him here, he had been thrown a little himself by having her suddenly appearing beside his table in this way!
‘I hope you aren’t about to make another scene in your father’s restaurant, Darcy,’ he taunted mockingly at her continued silence. ‘Two in one week just isn’t on, you know,’ he went on. ‘People will start coming here for the “cabaret” rather than the food if that’s the case!’ He looked up at her with assessing blue eyes.
She drew in a sharp breath, seeming to be having difficulty keeping her temper in check.
But obviously also knowing Logan was right about her not making a scene…!
‘No, I’m not about to make a scene,’ she finally replied. ‘I merely asked what you’re doing here,’ she repeated in measured tones—although her eyes told a different story, flashing that dangerous silver colour.
‘I would imagine the same as everyone else,’ he said casually, looking about them pointedly to the tables full of chattering diners. ‘Eating!’
Her hands clenched at her sides. ‘But why here?’ she demanded. ‘Or did you simply come to gloat?’
‘Smile, Darcy,’ he advised softly. ‘People are beginning to stare.’
‘Let them,’ she dismissed hardly. ‘Contrary to what you and my father both seem to think, I am not a Cheshire cat who smiles on demand!’
Logan looked at her consideringly. ‘I would have said, with that copper-coloured hair, that you resemble a fox rather than a cat—Cheshire, or any other kind!’
‘Logan—’
‘Well, that’s promising, at least,’ he drawled. ‘I was expecting you to call me something much worse than my first name,’ he explained as she frowned questioningly.
And it was promising. After the way their telephone conversation had ended earlier, he had winced at some of the things she might say to him when—or if—they ever met again. Logan was pretty okay in those circumstances!
‘Do you have a few minutes?’ he requested mildly. ‘I thought you might like to join me for a glass of wine,’ he explained as her sceptical expression deepened.
‘Join you—!’ She looked ready to explode, bringing her temper back under control with effort. ‘Logan,’ she finally said evenly, ‘if I pick up a glass of wine I am more likely to tip the contents over your head than I am to drink it!’
This was more like the Darcy he knew and—And what? Logan had no idea what. But he did know his evening had suddenly taken on a sparkle, the very air about them seeming to zing with life. One thing he had found about Darcy: she had never bored him.
Which was extraordinary in itself, because in all of his relationships with women so far, intimate or otherwise, he had invariably found himself bored within a few meetings…
‘That would be a waste of a good Borolo.’ He picked up his glass and toasted her with it before taking a sip of wine. ‘This really is an excellent wine—are you sure you wouldn’t like to join me for a glass?’ He quirked dark brows.
‘Absolutely positive,’ Darcy assured him between clenched teeth. ‘I have to get back to the kitchen. Thanks to you, and your mother, I am absolutely rushed off my feet this evening!’ she muttered grimly.
‘Well, I can see that the restaurant is busy,’ he murmured with a glance round at the full tables. ‘But surely that’s what you want, isn’t it? I don’t see how my mother or I are involved?’
‘Really?’ The sarcasm unmistakable in her tone, Darcy pulled out a chair to sit opposite him at the table. ‘Then I’ll explain shall I?’ She leaned forward, silver gaze steady on his face. ‘You obviously advised your mother that she was making a mistake in marrying my father—’
‘I—’
‘If you will kindly let me finish?’ Darcy carefully enunciated each word.
Perhaps he had better; she looked ready to explode. Teasing apart, he really didn’t advise another scene in the restaurant so soon after the last one!
‘Thank you,’ she accepted scathingly at his nod of agreement. ‘On your advice, your mother broke her engagement to my father. My father, in the meantime, has decided that he needs a complete break away from everything. Your mother. Me. The restaurant. Everything,’ she repeated emotionally. ‘And so—’
‘Are you telling me that your father isn’t in the kitchen?’ Logan cut in softly.
‘That’s exactly what I’m telling you.’ Darcy nodded firmly.
‘Then who—?’ Logan shook his head, his gaze narrowed. ‘Are you also saying you’re the one that has been producing all the meals this evening?’
She seemed to bristle at his tone, sitting up straighter in her chair. ‘Was there something wrong with your meal?’
‘No, not in the least,’ he assured her a little amazedly.
In fact, the food had been excellent. He just hadn’t real-ised that Darcy could cook like that, thought when she’d said she helped her father out in the kitchen that she probably peeled the vegetables or something. Although perhaps—he dared a glance at Darcy’s set features!—he hadn’t better actually say that…
The fact that Daniel Simon wasn’t actually in the kitchen this evening also explained the maître d’s behaviour earlier. Clearly, although James and the rest of the staff were doing their best to make it appear otherwise—and succeeding too, Logan allowed—all was not right in the Chef Simon kitchen this evening!
‘I did tell you I had trained as a cook,’ Darcy reminded him stiltedly.
Yes, she had, but he had still thought—‘You’re very good,’ he complimented. ‘I had no idea it wasn’t your father in the kitchen producing this mouth-watering food.’ His scallops had been wonderful, his steak succulent enough to melt in his mouth.
‘That’s probably because he helped train me,’ she explained tersely.
‘He did a good job,’ Logan said distractedly. ‘But where is he now?’
Darcy sat back, eyes having suddenly darkened to smoky grey, her mouth trembling slightly as she spoke. ‘I have no idea,’ she told him shakily. ‘He didn’t tell me. And I didn’t like to ask.’
Logan stared at her. Twice he opened his mouth to speak. And twice he closed it again, without having uttered a word.
Another thing that was unusual about Darcy—she had the power to render him speechless!
Why didn’t Logan say something? Anything!
The shock of seeing Logan in the restaurant this evening had quickly been superseded by a desire to tell him—again!—exactly what she thought of him, and what he had done to her family, such as it was. Well, she had done that. Only to have Logan simply stare across at her with those enigmatic blue eyes.
This had been the most awful day. That earlier telephone conversation with Logan. Going to see her father. Only to have him tell her that he just had to get away for a few days, and would she take over the cooking at the restaurant while he was away. In the circumstances, what else could she have said to the latter but yes?
Although she had tried to talk to her father about the situation, sure that going away at this time would solve nothing. But he’d remained adamant that was what he was going to do,