"Thank you," Imogen says, too embarrassed to argue. She picks a small raspberry tart, sprinkled artistically with flecks of gold because it would be rude not to take something that's been offered to her like this. They descend once more into awkward silence. She's usually so much better than this, so much more interesting and authoritative and conversational, but he has her flustered. The display of wealth and power in front of her has knocked her completely off balance.

Finally, she just can't take it anymore. Once the desserts have been cleared away and their mains are on their way out from the kitchen, Imogen blurts: "Why are you doing this?"

She immediately regrets it. How can she be so rude? He's giving her everything--so why does it make her so uncomfortable? Why does she catch herself looking at this beautiful man out of the corner of her eye and seeing...something that she quite explain? He's too beautiful, too perfect. Too kind.